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THE VIOLIN:

Some Account of That Leading Instrument, and Its Most
Eminent Professors, from Its Earliest Date to the
Present Time; with Hints to Amateurs, Anecdotes, etc.

by

GEORGE DUBOURG.

FOURTH EDITION,

Revised and Considerably Enlarged.







LONDON:

Robert Cocks and Co.
Publishers to the Queen,
New Burlington Street;
Simpkin, Marshall and Co. Stationers'-Hall Court.

MDCCCLII.

London:
Printed by J. Mallett,
Wardour Street.



PREFACE

TO THE PRESENT EDITION.


After a lapse of nearly sixteen years since this little work first
appeared in print, I have been called upon to prepare it anew for the
press, incorporating with it the additional matter necessary for the
extension of the subject to the present time.

My new readers may like to know, at the outset, what is the intended
scope of the following pages. This is soon explained. My object has been
to present to the cultivators of the Violin, whether students or
proficients, such a sketch (however slight) of the rise and progress of
that instrument, accompanied with particulars concerning its more
prominent professors, and with incidental anecdotes, as might help to
enliven their interest in it, and a little to enlarge what may be called
their _circumstantial_ acquaintance with it. This humble object has not
been altogether, I trust, without its accomplishment;—and here, while
commending my renovated manual to the indulgent notice of the now
happily increasing community of violin votaries, I would not forget to
acknowledge, gratefully, the liberal and generous appreciation with
which, when it first ventured forth, it was met by the public press, and
introduced into musical society.

  G. D.

  _Brighton, August, 1852._




CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER I.

  ORIGIN AND EARLY HISTORY OF THE VIOLIN.

  The Fiddle Family—the Epigonion—the Semicon—the Plectrum—the
  Magadis and Sambuce—Orpheus and the lyre—the Plectrum an implement
  of percussion, not a bow—the Egyptian Chelys—Orpheus at
  Versailles—the fidicula of the Latin Dictionary—Welch claims—Crowd
  and Crowder—Instrument of the Saxon Glee-men—Strutt’s sports and
  pastimes—Italy—Successive stages of the invention—the
  Sounding-board—the neck—the bow—the Rebec—the viol—conversion of
  the viol into the violin—the tenor viol, &c.—chest of
  viols—Cremona fiddles—Hieronymus Amati—Galilei’s dialogues—claim
  of the Neapolitans—violins and organs in Verona in 1580—Corelli’s
  Violin, and Annibale Caracci—Piccoli Violini alla
  Francese—Monteverdi’s _Orfeo_—Mersennus—the Barbiton—the Kit—the
  Musurgia of Luscinius—the Rebec and Viol-di-Gamba—Violars
  accompanying the troubadours—Saxon word Fidle, German Videl,
  Icelandic Fidla, &c.—Fythelers of the old English romances—passage
  from the Life of St. Christopher—Chaucer and the Canterbury
  Tales—Absolon, the parish clerk—the ribible—the violin in low
  esteem before the Restoration—minstrels included among rogues,
  vagabonds, and sturdy beggars—Percy’s reliques—King of the
  minstrels—Butler’s Hudibras—Crowdero—France—sculptures on the
  portal of Notre Dame, in Paris—the Decameron—Michele Todini—the
  first to introduce the Double Bass—Arms of the Town of
  Alzei—Inhabitants called Fiddlers—Cushion Dance described—Hone’s
  table book—Miss Hutton’s Oakwood Hall—Punch and the fiddler—‘a
  regularly educated Zany’—Purcell’s catches—Epigram upon Young,
  father and son—Anthony à Wood’s Autobiography—the Restoration
  favourable to music—the Violin introduced at Court—Matthew Lock,
  master to the Court band—Cambert, Lulli’s predecessor—the music of
  the drama: act tunes—arrival of Nicolo Matteis—first
  music-engraving in England—‘Musick’s Monument,’ and Thomas
  Mace.—_pp. 1, et seq._


  CHAPTER II.

  THE ITALIAN SCHOOL.

  The Italians the first to develope the powers of the violin—the
  old and modern schools—BALTAZARINI the early violin
  player—GIUSEPPE GUAMI—AGOSTINO AGGAZZARI introduced instrumental
  concertos into churches—CARLO FARINA—MICHAEL-ANGELO
  ROSSI—GIAMBATTISTA BASSANI—violin master of Corelli—
  TORELLI—VALENTINI—ARCANGELO CORELLI—Lulli’s jealousy of
  him—publishes his first twelve sonatas—his solos—becomes
  acquainted with Handel—visits Naples—anecdotes—sickens and
  dies—anniversary performance in the Pantheon—his private
  character—anecdotes—his will—contemporary performers—DON ANTONIO
  VIVALDI—FRANCESCO GEMINIANI—visits Naples—comes to England—visits
  Ireland—his death in Dublin—his character—anecdotes—LORENZO
  SOMIS—his Suonate printed at Rome in 1722—STEPHANO
  CARBONELLI—resides with the Duke of Rutland—leads the opera-band,
  &c.—becomes a wine-importer—dies in 1772—epigram—PIETRO
  LOCATELLI—Arte di nuova modulazione—dies in 1764—GIUSEPPE
  TARTINI—marries, and is discarded by his family—settles at
  Venice—his appointment at the church of St. Anthony of Padua—his
  Suonate and Concerti—his Adagios—dies at Padua—the Devil’s
  sonata—the dream—a legend in verse—FRANCESCO MARIA VERACINI, the
  younger—anecdotes—an excellent contrapuntist—PIETRO NARDINI—a
  favourite pupil of Tartini—visits Tartini in his last
  illness—Thomas Linley one of his pupils—LUIGI BOCCHERINI—settles
  in Spain—dies at Madrid in 1806—his compositions—FELICE
  GIARDINI—studies at Milan and Turin—visits Rome and Naples—arrives
  in London—visits St. Petersburg, and dies at Moscow—his
  character—ANTONIO LOLLI—dies at Naples—anecdote—GAETANO
  PUGNANI—founds a school at Turin—his style—his
  compositions—anecdotes—dies at Turin—GIOVANNI MANE GIORNOVICHI
  (_Jarnowick_) pupil of Lolli—loses his popularity—dies of
  apoplexy—anecdotes—GIOVANNI BATTISTA VIOTTI—eclipses
  Giornovichi—quits public life—anecdotes—ordered to quit
  England—embarks in the wine trade—loses his fortune—proceeds to
  Paris—retires on a pension—dies in England in 1824—his character
  and compositions—FRANCESCO VACCARI—his early proficiency—performs
  in England—MASONI—leaves Italy for South America—goes to
  India—visits England, 1834—an invitation in rhyme—SPAGNOLETTI—his
  enthusiasm—his liberality—his quarrel with Ambrogetti.—_pp. 37, et seq._


  CHAPTER III.

  PAGANINI.

  Birth and parentage—surmises and false rumours—his early
  education—his public début at Genoa—begins to travel on his own
  account—his father’s rapacity—youthful excesses—a bidding for his
  violin—renounces gaming—his favorite Guarnerius—enters the service
  of the Princess of Parma—origin of his performances on one and two
  strings—follows the Princess to Florence—his intense
  application—his “Studies”—revisits Leghorn—anecdote—visits Turin
  and Ferrara—attacked with disease—the story of his uniform—his
  friendship with Rossini—contends with Lafont—remarks of M. Fétis
  and others—Paganini’s tribute to the excellence of Louis
  Spohr—gives two concerts at Pavia—remarkable announcement—invited
  to Vienna in 1828, by Prince Metternich—the Pope confers on him
  the order of the Golden Fleece—Mayseder’s despair—absurd and
  injurious rumours—Paganini’s manifesto—his great popularity at
  Vienna—concert for the benefit of the poor—anecdotes—visits
  Prague, Dresden, Berlin, and Warsaw—opinions of the Berlin
  journalists—declines to compete with Praun—epigram—visits
  Frankfort—mimicked on the stage—goes to Paris—description of
  Paganini’s performance from _La Globe, (with cuts)_—attempts to
  explain his method—M. Guhr’s Treatise—manner of tuning the
  instrument—management of the bow—use of the left
  hand—harmonics—double effects—Paganini’s wonderful gains—his
  letter to the _Révue Musicale_—what occurred at Padua—the devil
  seen at his elbow—foundation of the rumours—comes to
  England—quotation from the “Athenæum”—stringing a gridiron—raising
  the prices of admission—the Claqueurs—his first English
  concert—Mr. Gardner’s description—quotations—Mori’s joke and
  Cramer’s thankfulness—harmonic notes and staccato runs—farewell
  concert—revisits Italy—purchases the Villa Gajona—proposes to
  publish—decorated by Maria Louisa—want of health—gambling
  speculation—serious illness—his last moments at Nice—his son
  Achilles—his burial refused—superstitious rumours—his
  will—bequeaths his favorite violin to the city of Genoa—his
  personal habits and peculiarities—his mode of travelling—his
  habits at home—his desire of repose—anecdote of an
  amateur—Paganini’s slender general knowledge—his projects—mistrust
  of friends—his visitors—invitations—habits in company—aversion to
  light—recollection of names—preparation for a
  concert—rehearsal—his physical conformation—his influence on the
  art—a “farewell”—his compositions—critical remarks of M.
  Fétis—conclusion.—_pp. 110, et seq._


  CHAPTER IV.

  THE FRENCH SCHOOL.

  Italian and French Schools compared—state of instrumental
  performance at the present time—style of Kreutzer, Rode, Baillot,
  and Lafont—the _Conservatoire de Musique_—its origin and
  effects—epigram—BALTAZARINI (M. de Beaujoyeux)—JEAN BAPTISTE DE
  LULLY—becomes scullion to Mdlle. de Montpensier—elevated to the
  rank of Court Musician—his career at Court—Louis the Fourteenth’s
  taste in music—the establishment of an Opera—Lulli’s Te Deum for
  the King’s recovery—an accident—his death—anecdote of his last
  score—his style—JEAN MARIE LE CLAIR (Lecler)—born at Lyons—style
  deviating from the Italian school—appointed Symphonist to Louis
  XV—assassinated in the streets of Paris—JEAN BAPTISTE
  SENAILLÉ—goes to Italy—returns to Paris, 1719—his pupils—JEAN
  PIERRE GUIGNON—his sonatas, duetts, trios, and concertos—instructs
  the Dauphin—dies at Versailles—GABRIEL GUILLEMAIN—loses his
  faculties and destroys himself—PIERRE GAVINIÈS—appointed Professor
  at the Conservatoire—his works—FRANÇOIS JOSEPH GOSSEC—founds the
  Concert of Amateurs—his symphonies—Pagin—instructed by
  Tartini—jealousy of the French musicians—their revenge—PIERRE
  LAHOUSSAYE—plays at the _Concert Spirituel_ when nine years
  old—Pagin undertakes his instruction—goes to Italy—hears Tartini
  at church—spends three years in London—appointed Professor of the
  first class at the Conservatoire—PAISIBLE—makes a progress through
  several parts of Europe—dies by his own hand in 1781—SIMON
  LEDUC—his extant compositions—anecdote of the Chevalier St.
  George—F. HIPPOLITE BARTHÉLÉMON—serves as a midshipman—comes to
  England—engaged at Vauxhall—MONDONVILLE, and others—Viotti’s
  influence on the French School—CASTELS DE LABARRE—_premier violon_
  at the Théâtre François—VACHER—pupil of Viotti—performs at the
  Vaudeville Theatre, &c.—PIERRE RODE—shipwrecked on the English
  coast—obliged to quit England—appointed Professor of the Violin at
  the Conservatoire—travels—his death from paralysis in 1830— M.
  Fétis on his style—RODOLPHE KREUTZER—his mode of instruction—dies
  at Geneva—his compositions—CHARLES PHILIPPE LAFONT—appears at
  Paris as a vocalist—studies under Kreutzer and Rode—his residence
  at St. Petersburg—his contest with Paganini—PIERRE
  BAILLOT—Professor at the Conservatory—his System for the
  violoncello—ALEXANDRE JEAN BOUCHER—his likeness to
  Napoleon—LIBON—first violinist to the Empress Josephine, to Marie
  Louise, and to Charles X—BELLON—his performance at the
  Philharmonic Concert—FRANÇOIS-ANTOINE-HABENECK—appointed Director
  of the Opera, and Inspector General of the Conservatoire—M.
  TOLBECQUE and his brother—PROSPER SAINTON—admitted Bachelor of
  Letters—enters the Conservatory—appears at the Philharmonic
  Concerts in London—Belgian Artists—CHARLES AUGUSTE DE BÉRIOT—early
  development—visits England—his marriage with
  Malibran—anecdotes—HENRI VIEUXTEMPS—his success at Vienna, &c.—his
  sojourn at St. Petersburg—crosses the Atlantic—JOSEPH ARTOT—pupil
  of the Kreutzers.—_pp. 176, et seq._


  CHAPTER V.

  THE GERMAN SCHOOL.

  The Schools of Germany, Italy, and France, compared—early
  performers—DAVID FUNK—a capital performer and general scholar—the
  irregularity of his life—his visit to the Castle of Schleitz—found
  dead—THOMAS BALTZAR—first taught the _whole shift_ in
  England—buried in Westminster Abbey—HENRY JOHN FRANCIS BIBER—his
  solos—GODFREY FINGER—his style—Chapel-Master to King James II—JOHN
  GOTTLIEB GRAUN—Concert-Master to the King of Prussia—FRANCIS
  BENDA—acquaintance with the Hebrew, Löbel—engaged by the Prince
  Royal of Prussia—JOHN STAMITZ—his works—LEOPOLD MOZART—appointed
  _Valet-de-Chambre Musicien_—publishes his “Method” for the
  Violin—travels with his son and daughter—his symphonies—WILLIAM
  CRAMER—leads at the Commemoration of Handel—succeeded at the Opera
  by Viotti—his two sons—TASSENBERG—JOHN PETER SALOMON—his concerts
  in 1791—treaty with Mozart—engagement with Haydn—his compositions,
  &c.—his pupil Pinto—CHARLES STAMITZ—JOHN FREDERICK ECK—ANDREAS and
  BERNARD ROMBERG—their works—FRANÇOIS CRAMER—his character as a
  leader—FRIEDRICH ERNST FESCA—his quartetts—CHRISTOPH GOTTFRIED
  KIESEWETTER—his last performances at Leicester—LOUIS
  SPOHR—patronized by the Duke of Brunswick—travels—becomes
  Concert-Master, &c. to the Duke of Saxe Gotha—visits England in
  1820—his style criticised—the Norwich Musical Festival in 1839—his
  “Violin-Schule”—his compositions—CHARLES WILLIAM FERDINAND
  GUHR—his work on Paganini’s mode of playing—JOSEPH
  MAYSEDER—BERNHARD MOLIQUE—his appointments—his reception in
  Paris—his compositions—ERNST-OLE BULL, the Norwegian artist—his
  arrival in Paris during the prevalence of the cholera—his life and
  history—gives a concert—his successes detailed—his style—The
  BROTHERS LABITSKY.—_pp. 222, et seq._


  CHAPTER VI.

  THE ENGLISH SCHOOL.

  State of the musical art in England—Purcell’s Sonatas and
  Trios—JOHN BANISTER—DAVIS MELL—described by Anthony à Wood—Sonatas
  published by John Jenkins—history of JOHN BANISTER the elder—JOHN
  BANISTER, jun.—OBADIAH SHUTTLEWORTH—HENRY ECCLES—assisted in the
  second part of the “Division Violin”—Purcell’s Airs composed for
  the Theatre—the arrival of Geminiani and Veracini, forming an
  epoch—WILLIAM CORBETT—resides in Rome—political suspicions—his
  works—his bequest to Gresham College—MICHAEL CHRISTIAN
  FESTING—founds the Royal Society for the support of Decayed
  Musicians—succeeded by Abraham Brown—THOMAS PINTO—joint leader
  with Giardini at the Opera—MATTHEW DUBOURG—pupil of
  Geminiani—appointed Master and Composer of the State Music in
  Ireland—instructs the Prince of Wales and the Duke of
  Cumberland—his odes—his solos and concertos—his intimacy with
  Handel—anecdotes—JOHN CLEGG—promoted by Handel—confined in
  Bedlam—THOMAS COLLET—remarkable accident—_Francis
  Hackwood_—convivial anecdotes—ABEL and the Viol-da-Gamba—RICHARD
  CUDMORE—his early distinction—instances of his versatile talent—G.
  F. PINTO—the victim of dissipation—THOMAS LINLEY, jun.—taught by
  Dr. Boyce and Nardini—his death from the upsetting of a pleasure
  boat—THOMAS COOKE—his career—anecdotes and _bon mots_—NICHOLAS
  MORI—his precocious performances—becomes a Director of the
  Philharmonic Concerts, and Professor at the Royal Academy of
  Music—becomes affected with cerebral disease—his character and
  ability—Mr. LODER, of Bath—HENRY GATTIE—ANTONIO JAMES OURY—his
  early career in arms and art—marries Mdlle. Belleville, with whom
  he makes the tour of Europe—his pupils—JOSEPH HAYDON BOURNE
  DANDO—introduces public quartett-playing in England—music in the
  City—a _jeu d’esprit_—the several Quartett Societies—HENRY C.
  COOPER—EDWARD WILLIAM THOMAS—BREAM THOM—CHARLES FREDERICK
  HALL—remarks on Chamber Concerts, and the Royal Academy of
  Music—NEIL GOW.—_pp. 258, et seq._


  CHAPTER VII.

  AMATEURS.

  The amateur compared with the professor—the witty DUKE of
  BUCKINGHAM—a saying of Dr. Johnson’s—Dr. Cooke giving a lesson—The
  BARON BACH—characteristic sketches—amateur quartett-parties—a
  story, with a _mistake_!—Sir WILLIAM HAMILTON—Epigrams—on an aged
  musical trifler—_Ralph Rasper_—advice to amateurs—the
  scales—Corelli’s solos—Spohr’s Violin-School—no real self-taught
  violinists—epigram—self-knowledge necessary—qualities necessary to
  the leader of an amateur party—opera music—listening to classical
  quartetts—a story—friendly advice in rhyme.—_pp. 312, et seq._


  CHAPTER VIII.

  FEMALE VIOLINISTS.

  (_See Addendum, page 397_).

  Objections to ladies playing the violin, answered—Queen ELIZABETH
  and her violin—Madame MARA—her early practice on the
  violin—MADDALENA LOMBARDINI SIEMEN—reprint of a letter from
  Tartini to her—REGINA SCHLICK—her maiden name Sacchi—a particular
  friend of Mozart—anecdote of Mozart and the Sonata in B flat
  minor—LOUISE GAUTHEROT—Minerva and the flute—LUIGIA GERBINI—pupil
  of Viotti—Signora PARAVICINI—patronized by the Empress
  Josephine—her reverses and subsequent success—her graceful mode of
  bowing—CATARINA CALCAGNO—receives instructions from
  Paganini—Madame KRAHMEN—Mdlle. SCHULZ—Mdlle. ELEANORA
  NEUMANN—Madame FILIPOWICZ—Horace Walpole’s visit to St. Cyr—Mrs.
  SARAH OTTEY.


  CHAPTER IX.

  ON THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE VIOLIN.

  The subject stated—Otto’s treatise—the component parts of the
  violin—the _Cremonas_ and their makers—HIERONYMUS AMATI—ANTONIUS
  AMATI—NICHOLAS AMATI—ANTONIUS STRADUARIUS—JOSEPH
  GUARNERIUS—distinguishing characteristics of these makers—Tyrolese
  instruments—JACOB STEINER—later Tyrolese makers—KLOTZ—STATELMANN,
  of Vienna, and others—repairers—the principles of construction—the
  bass-bar, sound post, bridge, _f_ holes, &c.—strings (called
  Roman) from Milan—means of producing a smooth, clear tone—ANDREAS
  AMATI—GASPAR DE SALO—GIOVANNI GRANZINO—GIOVANNI PAOLO
  MAGINI—career of ANTONIO STRADIVARI, GIUSEPPE GUARNERI, and of
  JACOB STEINER—notable sums offered for
  instruments—imitators—RICHARD DUKE and the London makers—M.
  CHANOT’S investigation into the true form of the violin—result—M.
  SAVART’S experiments—M. VUILLAUME’S copies—his adventures in
  search of materials—copies Paganini’s Guarnerius—his
  probity—specimens at the Great Exhibition of All
  Nations—construction of bows—Beware of Vampers!—_pp. 341, et seq._


  CHAPTER X.

  MISCELLANEOUS ANECDOTES, COLLECTED SCRAPS, ECCENTRIC VARIETIES,
  &C.

  Characteristics of the fiddle species—a caricature
  repudiated—ambition let down—a new resource in difficulty—a
  prejudice overcome—fifty years’ fiddling—another fifty years of
  it—glory made out of shame—discrimination—the Cremona fiddle—an
  apt quotation—the leading instrument victorious—sending for
  time-keepers—musical exaction—a device for a dinner—a ‘practising’
  coachman—a footman to match—a royal ‘whereabout’—precocious
  performers—fiddlers’ tricks—eccentric varieties of the violin
  kind—the fiddle of Ireland—of Tartary—African fiddle—Greek
  fiddle—an eight-stringed violin—an intermediate
  instrument—something _more_ than a violin—an air violin—automaton
  violinist—the street-fiddler—epigrams.—_pp. 364, et seq._




  THE VIOLIN,

  ETC.




CHAPTER I.

ORIGINAL AND EARLY HISTORY OF THE VIOLIN.

First seat him somewhere, and derive his race.—DRYDEN.


The Fiddle Family, like other tribes that have succeeded in making a
noise in the world, has given exercise to the ingenuity of learned
theorists and time-seekers, who have laboured to discover for it an
origin as remote from our own era, as it is, I fear, from any kind of
truth. It has probably been conceived that the Fiddle, associated as he
has been, from generation to generation, with jigs, country-dances,
fairs, junketings and other rusticities, had descended too low in the
scale of society—that he had rendered himself, as Shakspeare for a while
did his own genius, “stale and cheap to vulgar company”—and that he
required to be reminded of his primitive dignity, and of his very high
ancestral derivation—if he _had any_. This latter point was of course to
be first established; but, as your zealous antiquary is a wholesale
dealer in time, and is never at a loss for a few centuries to link his
conjectures to, the matter was easy enough; indeed, the more doubtful,
the better, since doubt is the very life of theory. Accordingly, we have
been invited to fall back upon “the ancients,” and to recognize the
_Epigonion_ as the dignified and classic prototype of our merry and
somewhat lax little friend, the Fiddle. To certain ancient Greek tablets
relative to music, which have been somewhere brought to light, Professor
Murchard has minutely assigned the date of 709 years before the
Christian era; and the following passage, Englished from his
translation, is stoutly alleged by the antiquarian advocates of the
glories of the violin race:—“But Pherekydes began the contest, and sat
himself down before all the people, and played the _Epigonion_;—for he
had improved the same; and he stretched four strings over a small piece
of wood, and played on them with a smooth stick. But the strings sounded
so, that the people shouted with joy.”

This is plausible enough, but far from conclusive. It is but the outline
of a description, and admits of various modes of filling up. _If_ the
instrument partook _at all_ of the violin character, it might seem, from
the reference which its name bears to the _knees_, to have been the rude
progenitor of either the double-bass or the violoncello, which have
both, as is well known, their official post between the knees: but then,
the prefix of ἐπί would denote that it was played _upon_ the knees of
the artist. “Very well,” says the antiquarian; “it was a fiddle
_reversed_.” “Nay, Dr. Dryasdust, if you yourself _overturn_ what you
are about, I have no need to say more.” _Au reste_, let any body stretch
four strings over a small piece of wood, and play on them with a smooth
stick, and then take account of what it comes to. No, no; whatever the
_Epigonion_ may have been to the Greeks, he is nothing to _us_: he may
have been a respectable individual of the musical genus of _his_ day,
when people blew a shell or a reed, and called it music; but we cannot
for a moment receive him as the patriarch of the Fiddle Family. As soon
should we think of setting up Pherekydes against Paganini.

Dismissing the Epigonion, we come to the _Semicon_, another pretender of
Greek origin. This also, we are farther told, was a _kind of violin_:
but we deny that he was father to the _violin kind_. The Semicon is said
to have been played on with a bow; and yet a learned German (Koch), in
the fulness of his determination to have _strings_ enough to his bow,
has claimed no less than thirty-five, as the complement of the Semicon.
How could any bow pay its devoirs distinctly to thirty-five strings?
Here, then, the dilemma is this: either to translate the thing in
question into a _bow_ is to _traduce_ the term, or else the _strings_
are an impertinence. _Utrum horum mavis, accipe._

If the word _plectrum_ could, by any ingenuity, be established to mean
_a bow_, quotations enough might be accumulated to prove that
instruments played with bows had their origin in a very remote period.
But the translation of the word into _a bow, or such like thing_, as we
find it in the Dictionaries, arises simply from the want of a known
equivalent—a deficiency which makes it necessary to adopt any term that
offers even the shadow of a synonym.

It has been stated, on the authority of a passage from Euphorion’s book
on the Isthmian Games, that there was an ancient instrument called
_magadis_, which was surrounded by strings; that it was placed upon a
pivot, upon which it turned, whilst the performer touched it with _the
bow_ (or, at least, the _plectrum_); and that this instrument afterwards
received the name of _sambuce_.

The hieroglyphics of Peter Valerian, page 628, chap. 4, present the
figure of a muse, holding, in her right hand, a kind of bass or
contra-violin, the form of which is not _very_ unlike that of our
violins or basses.

Philostratus, moreover, who taught at Athens, during the reign of Nero,
gives a description of the lyre, which has been thus translated:—

“Orpheus,” he says, “supported the lyre against his left leg, whilst he
beat time by striking his foot upon the ground; in his right hand he
held _the bow_, which he drew across the strings, turning his wrist
slightly inwards. He touched the strings with the fingers of his left
hand, keeping the knuckles perfectly straight.”

From this description (if _bow_ it could be called, which bow was none),
it would appear as if the lyre to which Philostratus alludes were,
forsooth, the same instrument which the moderns call the
_contra-violin_, or _viola di gamba_! To settle the matter thus,
however, would be _indeed_ to beg the question.

As before observed, the word _plectrum_ is, in the dictionaries,
translated by _bow_; but, even if this were a warranted rendering of the
word, it remains to be ascertained not only whether the bows of the
ancients were of a form and nature corresponding with ours, but also
whether they were used in the modern _way_. Did the ancients strike
their bow upon the strings of the instrument—or did they draw forth the
sound by means of friction? These questions are still undecided; but
opinions preponderate greatly in favor of the belief that the plectrum
was an implement of _percussion_, and therefore not at all a bow, in our
sense.

A recent French writer, Monsieur C. Desmarais, in an ingenious inquiry
into the Archology of the Violin, takes us back to the ancient
Egyptians, to whom he assigns the primitive violin, under the name of
the _chélys_, and suggests that its _form_ must have resulted from a
studious inspection of one of the heavenly constellations!

M. Baillot, in his Introduction to the _Méthode de Violon du
Conservatoire_, speculating on the origin of the instrument, has a
passage which, in English, runs thus:—

“It is presumed to have been known from the remotest times. On ancient
medals, we behold Apollo represented as playing upon an instrument with
three strings, similar to the violin. Whether it be to the God of
Harmony that we should attribute the invention of this instrument, or
whether it claim some other origin, we cannot deny to it somewhat that
is divine.

“The form of the violin bears a considerable affinity to that of the
lyre, and thus favors the impression of its being no other than a lyre
brought to perfection, so as to unite, with the facilities of
modulation, the important advantage of expressing prolonged sounds—an
advantage which was not possessed by the lyre.”

This is pretty and fanciful, but far too vague to be at all
satisfactory. Apollo might appear to play on an instrument, in which
antiquarian ingenuity might discover some latent resemblance to the
violin; but where was his _bow_? M. Baillot has not ventured to assert
that he had one—and we may safely conclude that he had _not_, if we
except the bow that was his admitted attribute. As for the affinity to
the lyre, it is indeed as faint as the most determined genealogist,
studious of an exercise, could wish.

It has been remarked, by some curious observer, that, among the range
of statues at the head of the canal at Versailles, an Orpheus is seen
(known by the three-headed dog that barks between his legs), to whom the
sculptor has given _a violin_, upon which he appears scraping away with
all the furor of a blind itinerant. But is the statue, or its original,
an antique? We may rest in safe assurance that it is a modern-antique;
as much so, as the ingenious figment of Nero’s _fiddling_ a capriccio to
the roaring accompaniment of the flames of Rome!

As for the _fidicula_ of the Romans (or rather, of the Latin
Dictionary), it is evidently, as far as it has been made to apply to the
fiddle, no legitimate family name. The _violin_ very positively disowns
all relationship with it, and leaves it to settle its claims with the
_guitar_.

As far as the _mere name_ goes, however, it is not impossible that a
connection may exist, and that the word-hunting Skinner may be right in
deriving the Anglo-Saxon word _fithele_ from the older German _vedel_,
and thence from the Latin _fidicula_, which, it is hardly necessary to
state, was any thing but a fiddle, and therefore “had no business” to
lend its appellation in the way here noticed.

On the whole, as regards the pretensions alleged on the side of the
ancients for the honor of having had the violin in existence among them,
it may be safely remarked, that, if nothing like the _bow_, which is
obviously connected most essentially with the expression and character
of the violin, can be traced to their days, the violin itself, _à
fortiori_, cannot be said to have belonged to them; and all those
questionable shapes which have been speculatively put forward as
possible fiddles, must be thrown back again into the field of
antiquarian conjecture, to await some other appropriation. The
following remarks by Dr. Burney may be taken as a fair summary of all
that needs to be observed on this head:

“The ancients seem to have been wholly unacquainted with one of the
principal expedients for producing sound from the strings of modern
instruments: this is the _bow_. It has long been a dispute among the
learned whether the violin, or any instrument of that kind, as now
played with a _bow_, was known to the ancients. The little figure of
Apollo, playing on a kind of violin, with something _like_ a bow, in the
Grand Duke’s _Tribuna_ at Florence, which Mr. Addison and others
supposed to be antique, has been proved to be _modern_ by the Abbé
Winkelmann and Mr. Mings: so that, as this was the only piece of
sculpture reputed ancient, in which any thing like a bow could be found,
nothing more remains to be discussed relative to that point.”—(_Hist. of
Music_, 4to. vol. i, p. 494.)

The Welch, who are notoriously obstinate genealogists, have not failed
to mark the Fiddle for _their_ own, and to assign him an origin, at some
very distant date, among their native mountains. In support of this
pretension, they bring forward a very ugly and clownish-looking fellow,
with the uncouth name of _crwth_. This creature certainly belongs to
them, and is so old as to have sometimes succeeded in being mistaken, in
this country, for the father of the violin tribe—a mistake to which the
old English terms of _crowd_ for fiddle, and _crowder_ for fiddler, seem
to have lent some countenance. A little investigation, however, shows us
that it was merely the name, and not the object itself, that we
borrowed, for a time, from our Welch neighbours; and that, by a
metonymy, more free than complimentary, we fastened the appellation of
_crowd_ upon the _violin_, already current among us by transmission
from the continent. The confusion thence arising has occasioned
considerable misapprehension: nor has the effect of it been limited to
our own island boundaries; for a French writer, M. Fétis, in one of his
Letters on the State of Music in England, reports the error, without any
apparent consciousness of its being such. Let us quote his passage in
English:

“The _cruth_ is a bowed instrument, which is thought to have been the
origin of the viola and violin. Its form is that of an _oblong square_,
the lower part of which forms the body of the instrument. It is mounted
with four strings, and played on like a violin, but is more difficult in
the treatment, because, not being hollowed out at the side, there is no
free play for the action of the bow.”

“What!” exclaims the enquiring virtuoso, “is this box of a thing, this
piece of base carpentry, this formal oblong square, to be supposed the
foundation of that neat form and those graceful inflections which make
up the ‘complement externe’ of what men call the violin? Can dulness
engender fancy—and can straight lines and right angles have for their
lineal descendant the ‘line of beauty?’” The soberest person would
answer, this is quite unlikely; the man of taste would deny it to be in
the nature of things. No, no; our Cambrian codger _may_ have been a
tolerable subject in his way—a good fellow for rough work among the
mountains, and instrumental enough in the amusement of capering
rusticity—but he must not be allowed, bad musician though we freely
admit he may have been, to give himself _false airs_, and to assume
honors to which his form and physiognomy give the lie. Let him be
satisfied to be considered “_sui generis_,” unless he would rashly
prefer illustrious illegitimacy, and be styled the _base violin_.[1]

If we were disposed, in England proper, to get up a claim for the first
local habitation afforded to the violin, we might put together a much
better case for the instrument that was familiar to the Anglo-Saxon
gleemen, as early as the 10th century, than can be shown in behalf of
the candidate just dismissed. We could produce an individual that should
display a far better face, and should appear with, at least, no great
disgrace to the Fiddle Family, though bearing about him none of the
refinements of fashion. It may be as well to exhibit him at once:—

[Illustration]

In this representation (borrowed from “Strutt’s Sports and Pastimes of
the People of England”) we discern something which it is possible to
call a fiddle, without much violence to our notions “de rerum natura.”
There is grotesqueness, but not deformity: there is much of the general
character of the true violin, though some of its most particular
beauties are wanting. It is true that the sound-holes look as if no
notes save _circulars_ were to be permitted to issue through them—that
the tail-piece seems forced to do duty for a bridge—that the sides have
no indented middle, or waist, to give the aspect of elegance, and
accommodate the play of the bow over the two extreme strings—that the
finger-board is non-existent—and that the scroll, that crowning charm of
the fiddle’s form, is but poorly made amends for by the excrescent
oddity substituted at the end of the neck. With all this, however, there
_is_ visible warrant for calling it a _sort_ of fiddle. Though even a
forty-antiquary power might fail to prove it the origin of the stock, it
has claims to be regarded as exhibiting no very remote analogy to the
violin; and thus far, therefore, it may defy the competition of the
_Crwth_. Whether it was really born in Saxon England, however, or
introduced from Germany, might be a point for nice speculation, were it
worth while to agitate the enquiry.

Whither, then, are we to turn, after all, for the solution of this
problem in musical genealogy? That the violin is of a respectable age,
though not so old as what is commonly called antiquity, is a fact
apparent to the least laborious of enquirers; and it seems to have been
the practice, with those who have had occasion to touch on this point,
either to announce the said fact simply, and leave the reader to make
the most of it, or to mix up with it, by way of elucidation, some
general remark about the absence of light on the matter. “The origin of
the violin,” observes one of these authorities, “like that of most of
the several musical instruments, is involved in obscurity. As a species
of that genus which comprehends the viola, violoncello, and violone, or
double-bass, _it must be very ancient_.” Similarly indefinite are the
conclusions of others who have approached the subject; so that it
becomes necessary to dispense with such embarrassing aid, and to _help
oneself_ to the truth, if it is, peradventure, to be gathered. To me,
much meditating on this matter (if I may borrow Lord Brougham’s classic
form of speech), there seems reason to fix on Italy as the quarter to
which we must look for the “unde derivatur” required. Say, thou soft
“Ausonia tellus,” mother of inventions and nurse of the arts, say, soft
and sunny Italy, is it not to _thee_ that belongs the too modest merit
of having produced and cherished the infancy, even as thou hast
confessedly supported and developed the after-growth and advancement, of
the interesting musical being whose history, in its more secret
passages, we are here exploring? Is it a world (as Sir Toby feelingly
asks), is it a world to hide virtues in? Well, if we cannot obtain
_direct_ satisfaction, let us pursue the investigation of our point a
little more circuitously.

The perfect instrument which we now delight to honor by the name of the
violin—the instrument complete in form and qualities—“totum in se teres
atque rotundum”—appears to have been the result of a highly interesting
series of improvements in the art of producing musical sounds from
strings. How long a duration of time was occupied by the elaboration of
these improvements respectively, is not readily to be ascertained, nor,
perhaps, would the enquiry repay the trouble—but the general order of
progression in the improvements themselves, is as clear as it is
agreeable to contemplate. The first great advancement consisted in the
_sounding-board_, by means of which invention a tone was produced,
through the vibration of the wood, that was incomparably better and
fuller than what was previously procured, through the mere vibration of
the strings. As the human voice is evolved from the mouth under a
concave roof, which serves it as a sounding-board, and gives additional
grace and vigour to its inflections, so does the upper shell of the
violin add a power of its own to the language of the strings. The next
improvement in the instrument, thus extended in capability, was the
_neck_ or _finger-board_, which increased the range and variety of the
sounds, by giving to each string the power of producing a series of
notes. The _bow_ was the next great step of advancement; and this, like
other important inventions, has provoked much learned dispute as to the
time and place of its origin, which however we shall not here more
particularly revert to, for indeed, “non nostrum tantas componere
lites.” With all these additions and appliances, we come not yet to the
instrument _par excellence_, the true violin; for an intermediate and
inferior state remains to be gone through. The consideration of that
state brings us to the regular construction of the several instruments
known by the general name of _viol_ (for we pass by the _rebec_, as
being only a spurious or illegitimate kind of fiddle), that were in the
most common use during the 16th, and till about the middle of the 17th,
century. These were similar to each other in form, but in size were
distinguished into the treble-viol, tenor-viol, and bass-viol. They had
six strings, and a finger-board marked with frets, like that of the lute
or guitar[2]. Finally, as the crowning change, the glorious
consummation, came the conversion of the _viol_ into the _violin_,
effected by a diminution of size, a reduction of strings, from six to
four, and the abolition of those impediments to smoothness, and helps to
irritation, the _frets_. The same reformation attended the other
instruments of the viol tribe, which now became, _mutato nomine_, the
viola and the violoncello.

  In former days, we had the _viol_ in,
    ’Ere the _true_ instrument had come about:
  But now we say, since _this_ all ears doth win,
    The _violin_ hath put the _viol out_.

Thus, through a considerable tract of indefinite time, and a succession
of definite changes, we reach the matured and accomplished instrument,
the _Violin proper_; and then, if we recur to the question, to _whom_
does it belong? the answer becomes less difficult. It is to this
instrument, this perfected production, that the Italians may, I think,
exultingly point as their own; and, in doing so, they may well afford to
be indifferent to all disputes about the title to those earlier
apparitions, those crude and half-made-up resemblances to the fiddle,
that were but as the abortions which, in human experience, sometimes
precede a perfect birth. It is of sufficient notoriety that the earliest
instruments _of excellence_, bearing the name of Violin, as well as the
earliest players of eminence, were Italian. The Cremona fiddles of
Hieronymus Amati (to go no farther back) were sent into this breathing
world about two centuries and a half ago; and Baltazarini, the earliest
great player of the genuine Violin on record, is known to have been
imported as a curiosity from Italy, by Catherine de Medicis, in 1577. It
is tolerably clear, too, that, as a _court_ favourite, the Violin began
its career in Italy—its progress, in that capacity, having been, as
Burney observes, from Italy to France, and from France to England.

But the tie of Italian connection may be drawn more closely than this.
Galilei, in his Dialogues (p. 147), states that both the Violin and the
Violoncello were _invented_ by the Italians; and he suggests more
precisely the Neapolitans, as the rightful claimants of this honor. Dr.
Burney, who does not attempt to settle the point, quotes the passage, to
the above effect, from Galilei, and admits his own inability to confute
it. Montaigne, whose travels brought him to Verona in 1580, has recorded,
that there were _Violins_ as well as organs there, to accompany the mass
in the great Church. Corelli’s Violin, an instrument specially Italian,
which afterwards passed into the possession of Giardini, was made in
1578, and its case was decorated by the master-hand of Annibale Caracci,
probably several years _after_ the instrument was finished; as Caracci
at that date had numbered but eight of his own years.

Towards the end of the 16th century, the Violin is found indicated in
some Italian scores, thus:—_piccoli Violini alla Francese_; which
circumstance has been sometimes alleged as rendering it probable, that
the reduction of the old viol or viola to the present dimensions of the
Violin took place in _France_, rather than in Italy: but the fact does
not seem to offer a sufficient basis for the conjecture, when it is
considered that no instruments of French construction, corresponding
with the Violin in its present form, and of as early a date as those
which can be produced of Italian make, are known to exist. It is
reasonable to suppose, therefore, that these _piccoli Violini_, or
little Violins, were not identical with the Violin proper;—although Mr.
Hogarth[3] (from whose respectable authority I am rather loth to differ)
quotes the phrase as one tending to the support of the French claim. The
term in question, which occurs, particularly, in Monteverde’s Opera of
_Orfeo_, printed at Venice in 1615, seems to me to imply merely some
French modification of the already invented Italian model—a modification
applying to the size, and possibly also to some minor details in the
form.

The French writer, Mersennus, who designates all instruments of the
violin and viol class under the term _barbiton_, describes one of them,
the least of the tribe, as the _lesser barbiton_. This latter was a
small violin invented for the use of the dancing-masters of France, and
of such form and dimensions as to be capable of being carried in a case
or sheath in the pocket. It is the origin of the instrument which in
England is called a _Kit_, and which is now made in the form of a
violin.—Is it too great a stretch of conjecture, to hint, that this may,
possibly, have been the kind of thing intended by the term above quoted?

That curious enquirer, Mr. Gardiner, in his “Music of Nature,” assigns
to Italy the local origin of the Violin, but without placing the date as
near to exactness as it might have been. He makes it to have been “about
the year 1600.” He might safely have gone thirty or forty years farther
back, at least, notwithstanding that the shape of the instrument,
towards the end of the 16th century, has been supposed, by Hawkins, to
have been rather vague and undetermined[4]. The transition from the old
shapes to the new _had_ occurred, though it was as yet far from
universal. It is sufficient that the change had commenced.

Admitting the genuine and perfect violin to be rightfully assignable to
the Italians, it may be of some interest, now, to present a few more
records relating, principally, to the instrument in its _imperfect_
character, when it bore only that sort of analogy to the true
instrument, that the ‘satyr’ is said to have borne to ‘Hyperion.’

The “Musurgia, seu Praxis Musicæ,” of the Benedictine Monk Luscinius,
published in 1542, represents (coarsely cut in wood) as the bowed
instruments then in use, the _rebec_, or three-stringed violin, and the
_viol di gamba_. The instruments of the viol tribe, however, which are
supposed to have been those that led more immediately to the
construction of the true violin, considerably precede the above period
in their date of origin. _Violars_, or performers on the viol, whose
business it was to accompany the Troubadours in their singing of the
Provençal poetry[5], were common in the 12th century; and, in a treatise
on music, written by Jerome of Westphalia in the 13th century, there is
particular mention made of the instrument known by the name of viol.

Under various modifications of the term _fiddle_, there are to be found
many very early allusions to an instrument, such as it was, bearing some
resemblance to the violin. _Fidle_ is a Saxon word of considerable
antiquity; and from the old Gothic are traced the derivations of


  1. Middle High German. _Videl_ (noun), _Videlœre_ (noun
       personal), _Videln_ (verb, to fiddle), _Videl-boge_
      (fiddle bow).

  2. Icelandic. _Fidla._

  3. Danish. _Fedel._

Then we have _Vedel_, _Veel_, _Viool_ (Dutch); _Vedel_, _Vedele_
(Flemish), _Fiedel_, _Fidel_, _Geige_ (Modern German).

_Fythele_, _Fithele_,—and _Fythelers_ (fiddlers) are alluded to in the
Old English Romances. In the legendary life of St. Christopher, written
about the year 1200, is this passage:—

  . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cristofre hym served longe;
  The Kynge loved melodye of _fithele_ and of songe.

The poet Lidgate, at the beginning of the 15th century, writes of

  Instrumentys that did excelle,
  Many moo than I kan telle:
  Harpys, _Fythales_, and eke Rotys, &c.

Chaucer, in his “Canterbury Tales,” says of the Oxford Clerk, that he
was so fond of books and study, as to have loved Aristotle better

  Than robes rich, or _fidel_, or sautrie—

and his Absolon, the Parish-Clerk, a genius of a different cast, and
exquisitely described, is a spruce little fellow, who sang, danced, and
played on the species of fiddle then known. An instrument remotely
allied to the fiddle—the _ribible_, a diminutive of _rebec_, a small
viol with three strings—is also alluded to by Chaucer. Referring to a
later period, there is evidence to show that an instrument of the violin
kind was used in England before the dissolution of monasteries, in the
time of our eighth Henry, in the fact that something similar to it in
shape is seen depicted upon a glass window of the chancel of Dronfield
church, in the county of Derby; an edifice which was erected early in
the sixteenth century.

At what period the _legitimate_ violin may have found its way from Italy
into this country, it would, I fear, be very difficult to ascertain with
exactness; but it is easy to suppose that, when once that event had
occurred, the neater shape and superior qualities exhibited by the new
comer, would speedily render him the model for imitation, and lead to
the multiplication of his species here, and to the displacement of the
baser resemblances to him. The true instrument, however, was for a long
while among us, ere its merits came into just appreciation. Until the
period of the Restoration, it was held, for the most part, in very low
esteem, and seldom found in less humble hands than those of fiddlers at
fairs, and such like itinerant caterers of melody for the populace[6].
Its grand attribute, the superior power of expressing almost all that a
human voice can produce, except the articulation of words, was at first
so utterly unknown, that it was not considered a gentleman’s instrument,
or worthy of being admitted into “good company.” The lute[7], the harp,
the viol, and theorbo, were in full possession of the public ear, and
the poetic pen; nor has this latter authority ever been thoroughly
propitiated by the later-born child of Melos, whose first screams on
coming into the world may perhaps have irrecoverably alarmed the
sensitive sons of Apollo. Moreover, poetry is ever apt to prefer the old
to the new, and often recoils with distaste from what is modern.
“Though the violin surpasses the lute,” says a recent ingenious writer,
“as much as the musket surpasses the bow and arrow, yet Cupid has not
yet learned to wound his votaries with a bullet, nor have our poets
begun to write odes or stanzas to their violins.”

In the 39th Queen Elizabeth, a statute was passed by which “Ministrels,
wandering abroad,” were included among “rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy
beggars,” and were adjudged to be punished as such. “This act,” says
Percy, in his Reliques of English Poetry, “seems to have put an end to
the profession.” That writer suggests, however, that although the
character ceased to exist, the appellation might be continued, and
applied to fiddlers, or other common musicians; and in this sense, he
adds, it is used in an ordinance in the time of Cromwell (1656), wherein
it is enacted that if any of the “persons commonly called _Fiddlers_ or
_Minstrels_ shall at any time be taken playing, fiddling, and making
music in any inn, alehouse, or tavern, or shall be taken proffering
themselves, or desiring or intreating any ... to hear them play or make
music in any of the places aforesaid,” they are to be “adjudged and
declared to be rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars[8].” By a similar
change or declension, according to Mr. Percy, John of Gaunt’s _King of
the Minstrels_ came, at length, to be called, like the _Roi des Violons_
in France, _King of the Fiddles_—it being always to be borne in mind,
nevertheless, that it was only as yet a baser kind of instrument which
brought its professors into such _scrapes_[9].

The term _crowd_, as well as that of _fiddle_, was commonly used in
England before the appearance of the perfect Violin, but appears to have
been soon disused (along with the barbarous instrument it designated)
after that period. Butler, in his “Hudibras,” employs both terms
indiscriminately, and seems to find enjoyment in linking them with mean
and ludicrous associations—a tendency which must be allowed to have been
quite in keeping with the feeling of the times he describes. His motley
rabble, whom he puts in the way of the knight and his squire, were
special affecters of the instrument he delights to dishonour,

  And to _crack’d fiddle_, and hoarse tabor,
  In merriment did drudge and labor.

He makes contemptuous allusion, also, to certain persons

  That keep their consciences in cases,
  As fiddlers do their _crowds_ and bases.

Crowdero, the fiddle-noted agent in the story, is made to cut, on the
whole, a very sorry figure. Thus, as to his instrument, and his manner
of calling it into exercise:

  A _squeaking engine_ he applied
  Unto his neck, on north-east side,
  Just where the hangman does dispose,
  To special friends, the knot of noose.

When the knight, in the outset of his career, meets the aforesaid
rabble, with the aggravating accompaniment of the bear and fiddler, and
counsels them to peace and dispersion, he says

  But, to that purpose, first surrender
  The fiddler, as the prime offender!

It is true that the mettle put forth by Crowdero, in the ensuing general
fight, raises him a little out of the mire of meanness: but then, the
weapon with which he batters the cranium of the prostrate Hudibras—to
wit, his own wooden leg—has the effect of disturbing the small dignity
which his gleam of valour might have shed over him; and, besides, he is
speedily exhibited in reverse, being vanquished in turn by Ralpho the
Squire, and forced into the ignominious confinement of the stocks; while
Ralpho exultingly says to Hudibras, the fiddle is your _trophy_,

  And, by your doom, must be allow’d
  To be, or be no more, a crowd.

In France, certain ancient and respectable monuments, and particularly
a figure on the portico of the venerable Cathedral of Notre Dame at
Paris, representing King Chilperic with a sort of Violin in his hand,
have been referred to as proofs that an instrument of this nature was
very early held in esteem in that country; and the minstrels in the
highest estimation with the public, were at all times the best
_Violists_ of their age. Among the instruments represented in the
beautiful illuminations of the splendid copy of the _Roman d’Alexandre_,
in the Bodleian library at Oxford, are Viols with three strings, played
upon with a clumsy bow.

In Italy, as in France, the viol appears to have enjoyed earlier favour
than in England, where the fiddle or _crowd_ (the descendant, probably,
of the Welsh instrument _crwth_) was its predecessor. The instruments
chiefly used by the ladies and gentlemen in the Decameron, are the lute
and the viol—upon which latter some of the _ladies_ are represented as
performing.

An ingenious Piedmontese, Michele Todini, published a pamphlet at Rome,
1676, wherein are described various musical inventions of his own, “of
special merit, though of little note.” Amongst them were two Violins,
the pitch of one of which could, by an adroit mechanical contrivance, be
at once heightened a whole tone, a third, or even a fifth; while the
other, under the usual strings, had a second set of strings, like those
of a kit, tuned in the octave above, and was so contrived that the
Violin and kit might either be played separately, or both together, at
the pleasure of the performer. In the 23rd Chapter of this little tract
is a description of a _Viola di gamba_, so constructed, that, without
shifting the neck, all the four kinds of Violins, namely, the treble
Violin, the contralto (or _Viola bastarda_), and the tenor and bass
viol, could be played upon it. Todini had originally given the bass of
this instrument an unusual depth; but he abandoned that, when he
invented the _double bass_,—which instrument he was the first to
introduce and play upon in oratorios, concerts, and serenades.

The arms and seal of the town of Alzei, in the neighbourhood of Worms,
consist of a crowned lion rampant, holding a _fiddle_ in his paws. The
_fiddle_ alone appears to have been the original bearing; for the
palatine lion was first joined to the _fiddle_ when Duke Conrad of
Hohenstauffen was enfeoffed by the Emperor Frederick I with the
Palatinate of the Rhine. His son-in-law, the Palsgrave Henry, calls the
Steward (_Trucksess_) of Alzei, his vassal, in a bill of feoffment,
dated in 1209, and in another document, 1211. This Steward, however, and
Winter of Alzei, bore the _fiddle_ as their arms. On account of these
arms, the inhabitants of Alzei are mockingly called _fiddlers_ by their
neighbours[10].

Connected with the history of the instrument in England, there is a
curious old custom, now “invisible, or dimly seen,” and I know not when
commenced, which is thus described in Hone’s Table Book:—

“The concluding dance at a country wake, or other general meeting, is
the ‘Cushion Dance;’ and if it be not called for, when the company are
tired with dancing, the _fiddler_, who has an interest in it, which will
be seen hereafter, frequently plays the tune to remind them of it. A
young man of the company leaves the room, the poor young women,
uninformed of the plot against them, suspecting nothing; but he no
sooner returns, bearing a cushion in one hand and a pewter pot in the
other, than they are aware of the mischief intended, and would certainly
make their escape, had not the bearer of cushion and pot, aware of the
invincible aversion which young women have to be saluted by young men,
prevented their flight by locking the door, and putting the key in his
pocket. The dance then begins.

“The young man advances to the fiddler, drops a penny in the pot, and
gives it to one of his companions. Cushion then dances round the room,
followed by pot, and when they again reach the fiddler, the cushion
says, in a sort of recitative, accompanied by the music, ‘This dance it
will no farther go.’

“The fiddler, in return, sings or says (for it partakes of both), ‘I
pray, kind Sir, why say you so?’

“The answer is, ‘Because Joan Sanderson won’t come to.’

“‘But,’ replies the fiddler, ‘she must come to, and she _shall_ come to,
whether she will or no.’

“The young man, thus armed with the authority of the village musician,
recommences his dance round the room, but stops when he comes to the
girl he likes best, and drops the cushion at her feet. She puts her
penny in the pewter pot, and kneels down with the young man on the
cushion; and he salutes her.

“When they rise, the woman takes up the cushion, and leads the dance,
the man following, and holding the skirt of her gown; and, having made
the circuit of the room, they stop near the fiddler, and the same
dialogue is repeated, except that, as it is now the woman who speaks,
it is _John_ Sanderson who won’t come to, and the fiddler’s mandate is
issued to _him_, not to her.

“The woman drops the cushion at the feet of her favourite man: the same
ceremony and the same dance are repeated, till every man and woman (the
pot-bearer last) have been taken out, and all have danced round the room
in a file. The _pence_ are the perquisite of the _fiddler_. There is a
description of this dance in Miss Hutton’s ‘Oakwood Hall.’”

Then follows, in Hone’s Book, a further illustration of this curious
custom, in “numerous verse”—but the prose account is here sufficient.

The dialogue in the old puppet dramas (says Strutt) were mere jumbles of
absurdity and nonsense, intermixed with low immoral discourses passing
between Punch and the fiddler, for the orchestra rarely admitted of more
than one minstrel; and these flashes of merriment were made offensive to
decency by the actions of the puppet. In the reign of James II, there
was a noted merry-andrew named Philips; “This man,” says Granger, “was
some time fiddler to a puppet-show; in which capacity he held many a
dialogue with Punch, in much the same strain as he did afterwards with
the mountebank doctor, his master upon the stage. This zany, being
regularly educated, had confessedly the advantage of his brethren.”

The following may be seen in volume the 1st of Purcell’s Catches, on two
persons of the name of Young, father and son, who lived in St. Paul’s
Churchyard—The one was an excellent instrument-maker, and the other an
excellent performer on the fiddle.

  You scrapers that want a good fiddle, well strung,
  You must go to the man that is old, while he’s Young;
  But if this same fiddle you fain would play bold,
  You must go to his son, who’ll be Young when he’s old.
  There’s old Young and young Young, both men of renown,
  Old sells, and Young plays, the best fiddle in town;
  Young and old live together, and may they live long,
  Young, to play an old fiddle; old, sell a new song!

The zealous, ingenious, minute and gossiping Anthony Wood, to whose
journalizing propensity we are indebted for a free insight into the
state of music at Oxford, during the time of the Civil War (when musical
sounds were scarcely any where else to be heard in the kingdom), was an
ardent admirer of the violin, while its admirers were yet scarce; and
has left us, in his life, written by himself, some particulars relating
to the instrument, that are too pleasant, as well as curious, to be here
passed by. Let me introduce this quaint worthy, speaking of himself in
the third person, and under the abridged designation of A. W.

In 1651, “he began to exercise his natural and insatiable genie to
music. He exercised his hand on the violin, and, having a good eare to
take any tune at first hearing, he could quickly draw it out from the
violin, but not with the same tuning of the strings that others used. He
wanted understanding, friends and money, to pick him out a good master;
otherwise he might have equalled in that instrument, and in singing, any
person then in the University. He had some companions that were musical,
but they wanted instruction as well as he.”

The next year, being obliged to go into the country, for change of air
and exercise, with a view to rid himself of an ague, he states that
“while he continued there, he followed the plow on _well_-days, and
sometimes plowed: and, having had, from his most tender years, an
extraordinary ravishing delight in music, he practised there, without
the help of an instructor, to play on the Violin. It was then that he
tuned his strings in fourths, and _not_ fifths, according to the manner;
and having a good eare, and being ready to sing any tune upon hearing it
once or twice, he could play it also in a short time, with the said way
of tuning, which was never knowne before.

“After he had spent the summer in a lonish and retired condition, he
returned to Oxon; and, being advised by some persons, he entertained a
Master of Musick to teach him the usual way of playing on the violin,
that is, by having every string tuned _five_ notes lower than the one
going before. The master was Charles Griffith, one of the musicians
belonging to the City of Oxon, whom he then thought to be a most
excellent artist: but when A. W. improved himself on that instrument, he
found he was not so. He gave him 2_s._ 6_d._ entrance, _and so
quarterly_. This person, after he had extremely wondered how he could
play so many tunes as he did by _fourths_, without a director or guide,
tuned his violin by _fifths_, and gave him instructions how to proceed,
leaving then a lesson with him to practice against his next coming.

“Having, by 1654, obtained a proficiency in musick, he and his
companions were not without silly frolicks, not now to be
maintained.”—What should these frolics be, but to disguise themselves in
poor habits, and, like country fiddlers, scrape for their livings! After
strolling about to Farringdon Fair, and other places, and gaining money,
victuals and drink for their trouble, they were overtaken, in returning
home, by certain soldiers, who forced them to play in the open field,
and then left them

  But if this same fiddle you fain would play bold,
  You must go to his son, who’ll be Young when he’s old.
  There’s old Young and young Young, both men of renown,
  Old sells, and Young plays, the best fiddle in town;
  Young and old live together, and may they live long,
  Young, to play an old fiddle; old, sell a new song!

The zealous, ingenious, minute and gossiping Anthony Wood, to whose
journalizing propensity we are indebted for a free insight into the
state of music at Oxford, during the time of the Civil War (when musical
sounds were scarcely any where else to be heard in the kingdom), was an
ardent admirer of the violin, while its admirers were yet scarce; and
has left us, in his life, written by himself, some particulars relating
to the instrument, that are too pleasant, as well as curious, to be here
passed by. Let me introduce this quaint worthy, speaking of himself in
the third person, and under the abridged designation of A. W.

In 1651, “he began to exercise his natural and insatiable genie to
music. He exercised his hand on the violin, and, having a good eare to
take any tune at first hearing, he could quickly draw it out from the
violin, but not with the same tuning of the strings that others used. He
wanted understanding, friends and money, to pick him out a good master;
otherwise he might have equalled in that instrument, and in singing, any
person then in the University. He had some companions that were musical,
but they wanted instruction as well as he.”

The next year, being obliged to go into the country, for change of air
and exercise, with a view to rid himself of an ague, he states that
“while he continued there, he followed the plow on _well_-days, and
sometimes plowed: and, having had, from his most tender years, an
Proctor, a young man and a new comer:—John Packer, one of the university
musitians. But Mr. Low, a proud man, could not endure any common
musitian to come to the meeting, much less to play among them. Of this
kind I must rank Joh. Haselwood, an apothecary, a starch’d formal
clister-pipe, who usually played on the base-viol, and sometimes on the
counter-tenor. He was very conceited of his skill (though he had but
little of it), and therefore would be ever and anon ready to take up a
viol[11] before his betters; which being observed by all, they usually
called him _Handlewood_. The rest were but beginners. Proctor died soon
after this time; he had been bred up by Mr. John Jenkins, the mirrour
and wonder of his age for musick, was excellent for the lyra-viol and
division-viol, good at the treble-viol, and violin, and all comprehended
in a man of three or four and twenty yeares of age. He was much admired
at the meetings, and exceedingly pitied by all the facultie for his
loss.”

“A. W. was now advised to entertain one William James, a dancing-master,
to instruct him on the violin, who, by some, was accounted excellent on
that instrument, and the rather because it was said that he had obtained
his knowledge in dancing and music in France. He spent, in all, half a
yeare with him, and gained some improvement; yet at length he found him
not a compleat master of his facultie, as Griffith and Parker were not:
and, to say the truth, there was no compleat master in Oxon for that
instrument, because _it had not been hitherto used in consort_ among
gentlemen, only by common musitians, who played but two parts. The
gentlemen in private meetings, which A. W. frequented, played three,
four, and five parts with viols[12]—as treble-viol, tenor,
counter-tenor, and bass, with an organ, virginal, or harpsicon joined
with them; and they esteemed _a violin_ to be an instrument only
belonging to a _common fiddler_, and could not endure that it should
come among them, for feare of making their meetings to be vain and
fiddling. But, before the restoration of King Charles II, and
_especially after_, viols began to be out of fashion, and only violins
used, as treble violin, tenor, and base violin; and the King, according
to the French mode, would have _twenty-four violins_ playing before him
while he was at meals, as being more airie and brisk than _viols_.”

Under the year 1658, he tells us that “Tho. Baltzar, a Lubecker borne,
and the most famous artist for the violin that the world had yet
produced (!), was now in Oxon, and this day, July 24, A. W. was with
him, and Mr. Ed. Lowe, at the house of Will. Ellis. A. W. did then and
there, to his very great astonishment, heare him play on the violin. He
then saw him run up his fingers to the end of the finger-board of the
violin, and run them back insensibly; and all with alacrity and _very
good tune_, which he nor any in England saw the like before. A. W.
entertained him and Mr. Low with what the house could then afford, and
afterwards he invited them to the taverne; but they being engaged to
goe to other company, he could no more heare him play or see him play at
that time. Afterwards he came to one of the weekly meetings at Mr.
Ellis’s house, and he played to the wonder of all the auditory, and
exercising his finger and instrument several wayes to the utmost of his
power. Wilson thereupon, the public Professor, the greatest judge of
musick that ever was, did, after his humoursome way, stoope downe to
Baltzar’s feet, to see whether he had a huff (hoof) on, that is to say,
to see whether he was a devil or not, because he acted beyond the parts
of man.”

“About this time it was that Dr. John Wilkins, warden of Wadham, the
greatest _curioso_ of his time, invited him (Baltzar) and some of the
musitians to his lodgings in that Coll. purposely to have a consort, and
to see and heare him play. The instruments and books were carried
thither, but none could be persuaded there to play against him in
consort on the violin. At length the company perceiving A. W. standing
behind in a corner neare the dore, they haled him in among them, and
play, forsooth, he must against him. Whereupon he, being not able to
avoid it, took up a violin, as poor Troylus did against Achilles[13]. He
abashed at it, yet honour he got by playing with and against such a
grand master as Baltzar was.”

The restoration of monarchy and episcopacy in England (observes Dr.
Burney) seems to have been not only favorable to sacred music, but to
secular; for it may be ascribed to the particular pleasure which Charles
II received from the gay and sprightly sound of the violin, that this
instrument was introduced at Court, and the houses of the nobility and
gentry, for any other purpose than country-dances, and festive mirth.
Hitherto there seem to have been no public concerts; and, in the music
of the chamber, in the performance of _Fancies_ on instruments, which
had taken place of vocal madrigals and motets, the violin had no
admission, the whole business having been done by _viols_. Charles II,
who, during the usurpation, had spent a considerable time on the
continent, where he heard nothing but French music—upon his return to
England, in imitation of Louis XIV, established a band of violins,
tenors and bases, instead of the viols, lutes and cornets, of which the
Court Band used to consist. Soon after the establishment of this band,
Matthew Lock held the appointment of master to it; and the same title
was conferred, about 1673, on Cambert, a French musician, who had
preceded Lulli in composing for, and superintending, the Opera at Paris,
and who came over to England after Lulli had obtained the transfer of
his patent.

From this time, the Violin Family began to rise in reputation among the
English, and had an honorable place assigned them, in the music of the
Court, the theatres and the chamber; while the succession of performers
and compositions, with which the nation was afterwards supplied from
Italy and elsewhere, stimulated the practice and established the
character of this class of instruments, which have ever since been
universally acknowledged to be the pillars of a well-ordered orchestra,
and more capable of perfect intonation, expression, brilliancy, and
effect, than any other that have ever been invented. It should be
observed, however, that, although the revival of the theatres at the
Restoration was followed by the introduction of what were termed
_act-tunes_ (short compositions played betwixt the acts of the drama),
whereby the public services of the violin were brought into requisition,
yet the state of dramatic music was, for some years, too low to admit of
those services being very important. The music of the drama had attained
scarcely any separate development, but was still confounded with that of
the church, to the disadvantage of both. All the most noted composers
for the theatre, for several years after the Restoration, were members
of cathedral and collegiate churches—a circumstance which encouraged a
jester, Tom Brown, to remark that “men of the musical profession hung
betwixt the church and the play-house, like Mahomet’s tomb betwixt two
load-stones.”

A general passion for the violin, and for pieces expressly composed for
it, as well as a taste for Italian music, seem to have been excited in
this country about the _end_ of Charles the Second’s reign, when French
music and French politics became equally odious to a great part of the
nation. The hon. Mr. North, who listened attentively to every species of
performance, says that “the decay of French music, and favor of the
Italian, came on by degrees. Its beginning was accidental, and
occasioned by the arrival of _Nicola Matteis_; he was an excellent
musician; performed wonderfully on the violin. His manner was singular;
but he excelled, in one respect, all that had been heard in England
before: his _arcata_, or manner of bowing, his shakes, divisions, and
indeed his whole style of performance, was surprising, and every _stroke
of his bow_ was _a mouthful_. When he first came hither, he was very
poor; but not so poor as proud, which prevented his being heard, or
making useful acquaintance, for a long time, except among a few
merchants in the City, who patronized him; and, setting a high value on
his condescension, he made them indemnify him for the want of more
general favor. By degrees, however, he was more noticed, and was
introduced to perform at Court. But his demeanor did not please, and he
was thought capricious and troublesome, as he took offence if any one
whispered while he played; which was a kind of attention which had not
been much _in fashion_ at our Court. It was said that the Duke of
Richmond would have settled a pension upon him, though he wished him to
change his manner of playing, and would needs have one of his pages show
him a better. Matteis, for the sake of the jest, condescended to take
lessons of the page; but learned so fast, that he soon outran him in his
own way. But he continued so outrageous in his demands, particularly for
his _solos_, that few would comply with them, and he remained in narrow
circumstances and obscurity a long while; nor would his superior talents
ever have contributed to better his fortune, had it not been for the
zeal and friendly offices of two or three dilettanti, his admirers.
These, becoming acquainted with him, and courting him in his own way,
had an opportunity of describing to him the temper of the English, who,
if humoured, would be liberal; but, if uncivilly treated, would be
sulky, and despise him and his talents; assuring him that, by a little
complaisance, he would neither want employment nor money. By advice so
reasonable, they at length brought him into such good temper, that he
became generally esteemed and sought after; and, having many scholars,
though on moderate terms, his purse filled apace, which confirmed his
conversion. After this, he discovered a way of acquiring money which was
then perfectly _new_ in this country: for, observing how much his
scholars admired the lessons he composed for them (which were all
_duos_), and that most musical gentlemen who heard them wished to have
copies of them, he was at the expense of having them neatly engraved on
copper plates, in oblong octavo, which was the beginning of engraving
music in England; and these he presented, well bound, to lovers of the
art and admirers of his talents, for which he often received three, four
and five guineas. And so great were his encouragement and profits in
this species of traffic, that he printed four several books of _Ayres
for the Violin_, in the same form and size.”

Of the jealousy which attended the progress of the violin in public
favor among the English, there occurs some amusing evidence in the
“_Musick’s Monument_” of that rich, exuberant and right pleasant
egotist, Thomas Mace, published in 1676. This worthy, who exalted the
lute and viol, his own peculiar instruments, looked with distrust on the
growing importance and credit of that which had been before so
imperfectly understood and insufficiently employed. In speaking of the
instruments till then in chief use, and the propriety of balancing their
relative proportions of sound in concerted pieces, he remarks,
complainingly—“_the scoulding violins will out-top them all_.” In a sort
of dialogue, in rhyme, between the author and his lamenting lute, he
makes the latter exclaim:—

  The world is grown so slight! full of new fangles,
  And takes its chief delight in jingle-jangles,
  With _fiddle-noises_, &c.




CHAPTER II.

THE ITALIAN SCHOOL.

  “Oh! known the earliest, and esteemed the most”

                                            BYRON.


Having shown, on such evidence as I have been able to adduce, that the
Italians are, most probably, the rightful claimants of the distinction
which attaches to the _invention_ of the modern or _true_ violin, it is
now to be considered by what bright array of names, by what successive
efforts of skill and genius, they have likewise become entitled to the
greater distinction of having been the first to develop the wonderful
powers of the instrument, and the chief agents through whom its charming
dominion in the realms of music was diffused, ere the great German
composers, in more recent days, applied their powers to the extension
and enrichment of the field for stringed instruments.

In casting a glance over the catalogue of bright Italian names, we find
two, that demand to be especially noted for their great influence in
advancing the progress of the “leading instrument,” and that serve
indeed to mark two main epochs in its history. These are Corelli and
Viotti—the first constituting the head of the old school, the last that
of the modern; and each (it may be parenthetically said) almost as
interesting to contemplate in personal character, as in professional
eminence. The intermediate names, most entitled to attention, are
Tartini, Geminiani and Giardini. These, with others of considerable
celebrity, though of less effective influence in the formation of what
we have designated the Italian School, will be here noticed critically
and biographically, according to their several pretensions and
proceedings. Before we come to Corelli, however, there are some few to
be treated of in the character of his predecessors, and as having
prepared the way for his more dignified and important career.

BALTAZARINI has been already designated as the earliest violin-player of
real eminence that the annals of music present to notice. His celebrity
was much extended by the transplanting of his talent into France, where
he acquired the new appellation of De Beaujoyeux, by virtue of the
delight he afforded to a people whose natural gaiety of temperament
could not but assort happily with the lighter range of sounds so readily
evoked from the violin. It was in 1577, that Baltazarini, with _a band
of violins_, was sent from Piedmont by Marshal Brissac to Queen
Catherine de Medicis, who appointed him her “Premier Valet de Chambre,”
and Master of her Band. France has reason to be grateful to his memory,
and Italy may fairly be proud of it.

GIUSEPPE GUAMI, organist of Lucca Cathedral, who published, in 1586,
some voluminous compositions belonging to the class of _cantiones
sacræ_, or motetts, is cited by Draudius, in his “Bibliotheca Classica,”
as an excellent performer on the violin.

Another early violinist, AGOSTINO AGGAZZARI, born of a noble family at
Siena, and a scholar of Viadana, appears to have been the first who
introduced instrumental Concertos into the Church; though Dr. Burney
supposes that these Concertos must only be understood in the very
qualified sense of _Salmi Concertati_, or psalms accompanied with
violins; and he adds, that Concertos _merely_ instrumental, either for
the church or chamber, seem to have had no existence till about the time
of Corelli.

CARLO FARINA, of Mantua, who published, in 1628, a Collection of “Pavans
and Sonatas” for the violin, is recorded by Walther (in his Musical
Lexicon), as having figured in the service of the Elector of Saxony, as
a celebrated performer on the instrument.

MICHAEL ANGELO ROSSI, a composer, as well as an able violinist,
signalized himself somewhat oddly at Rome, in 1632, by performing the
part of Apollo, in a musical drama, with the violin as the expressive
symbol and exponent of his melodial powers, _instead_ of the classically
attributed lyre. The strangeness of the anomaly was doubtless lost sight
of amidst the enjoyment it was the means of conferring: nor would the
example, were it taken up in our own times, by a competent artist, be
likely to fail in producing a similar subserviency of taste to pleasure.

  If, in _these_ days, the man who plays Apollo
  Like charms could conjure from the fiddle’s hollow,
  _We_, too, should find the heaven-descended lyre
  Omitted “by particular desire!”
  And Phœbus, fitted with a fiddle so,
  Would dart fresh wonders from his newer _bow_!

Though there was only one violin employed (observes Dr. Burney) in the
first operas by Jacopo Peri and Monteverdi, yet, as the musical drama
improved, and the orchestra was augmented, the superiority of that
instrument was soon discovered by its effects, not only in the theatre,
but in private performances; and the most eminent masters, without
knowing much of its peculiar genius or powers, thought it _no
degradation_ to compose pieces expressly for the use of its votaries.
Among the most early of these productions, may be ranked the _Suonate
per Chiesa_ of Legrenzi, published at Venice, 1655; _Suonate da Chiesa e
Camera_, 1656; _Una Muta di Suonate_ (a Variety of Sonatas), 1664; and
_Suonate a due Violini e Violone_, 1677.

The next individual of eminence in connexion with the instrument is
GIAMBATTISTA BASSANI, of Bologna, whose name derives additional lustre
from his having been the violin-master of Corelli. Bassani was a man of
extensive knowledge and abilities in his art, having been a successful
composer for the church, the theatre and the chamber, between the years
1680 and 1703, as well as an excellent performer on the violin. His
sonatas for that instrument, and his accompaniments for it to his
masses, motetts, psalms and cantatas, manifest a knowledge of the
finger-board and the bow, which appears in the works of no other
composer anterior to Corelli; and the lovers of the pure harmony and
simple melody of that admirable master, would still receive great
pleasure from the performance of Bassani’s sonatas for violins and a
bass. Specimens of Bassani’s music may be found in Latrobe’s and
Stephens’s Selections.

The names of TORELLI, VALENTINI, and the elder VERACINI, may be
dismissed with a brief mention; because, though of eminence in their
day, they are not connected with any very marked influence on the art;
and the published works which they have given to the world have long
since attained a dormant state. It should be observed, however, as
illustrating the very capricious nature of _fashion_, that Valentini for
a while eclipsed Corelli himself in popularity.

ARCANGELO CORELLI, under whose able direction the violin may be said to
have first acquired the definite character and regulated honors of _a
school_,[14] was a native of Fusignano, a town situated near Imola, in
the territory of Bologna, and was born in the month of February, 1653.
His first instructor was Matteo Simonelli, by whom he was taught the
rudiments of music, and the art of practical composition; but, the
genius of Corelli leading him to prefer secular to ecclesiastical music,
he afterwards became a disciple of Bassani.

Corelli entertained an early propensity for the violin, and, as he
advanced in years, laboured incessantly in the practice of it. It has
been said, though without authority, that, in the year 1672, he went to
Paris, and was driven thence by the jealousy and violence of Lully, who
could not brook so formidable a rival.

In 1680, he visited Germany, and met with a reception suitable to his
merit, from most of the German princes, but particularly from the
Elector of Bavaria, in whose service he was retained, and continued for
some time. After a few years’ residence abroad, he returned to Rome, and
there pursued his studies with assiduity. It was at Rome that he
published (about 1683) his first _twelve Sonatas_. In 1685, the second
set appeared, under the title of _Balletti da Camera_. In 1690, he gave
to the press the third “Opera” of his Sonatas; and in 1694, the fourth,
which, consisting of movements fit for _dancing_, like the second, he
called _Balletti da Camera_. This species of instrumental composition,
the sonata, first imagined in the course of the 17th century, has been
fixed, in many respects, by Corelli.

The proficiency of Corelli on his favourite instrument became so great,
that his fame was extended throughout Europe, and the number of his
pupils grew very considerable; for, not only his own countrymen, but
even persons from distant kingdoms, resorted to him for instruction, as
the greatest master of the violin that had, at that period, been heard
of in the world. It does not appear, indeed, that he had attained a
power of _execution_ in any degree comparable to that of later
professors. The style of his performance was, however, learned, elegant,
and occasionally impressed with feeling; while his _tone_ was firm and
even. Geminiani, who was well acquainted with it, used expressively to
compare it with that of a sweet trumpet. One of those who heard him
perform, has stated that, during the whole time, his countenance was
distorted, his eyes were as red as fire, and his eye-balls rolled as if
he were in agony. This was the enthusiasm of genius—the influence of the
“præsens divus,” Apollo—the exalted state so well characterized by the
poet’s exclamation,

  “Est Deus in nobis—agitante calescimus illo!”

About the year 1690, the Opera had arrived at a flourishing state in
Rome, and Corelli led the band as principal Violin[15]. It was not till
ten years after this date, that he published his _Solos_,[16] the work
by which he acquired the greatest reputation during his life-time, and
to which, in its established character of a text-book for students, the
largest share of attention on the whole has been directed. It was the
fifth in the series of his publications, and was issued at Rome under
the following title:—“Sonate a Violini e Violone o Cimbalo: Opera
Quinta, Parte prima, Parte seconda: Preludii, Allemande, Correnti,
Gighe, Sarabande, Gavotte, e Follia.” This work was dedicated to Sophia
Charlotte, Electress of Brandenburgh; and it was these Solo Sonatas that
the author himself was accustomed to perform on particular occasions.

Corelli’s great patron at Rome was Cardinal Ottoboni, the distinguished
encourager of learning and the polite arts, to whom, in 1694, he
dedicated his Opera Quarta,[17] and in whose palace he constantly
resided, “col spezioso carrattere d’attuale Servitore” of his Eminence,
as he expresses himself in the dedication—with more of the humility of
gratitude, by the by, than of the independence of genius. Crescembini,
speaking of the splendid and majestic “Academia,” or Concert, held at
Cardinal Ottoboni’s every Monday evening, observes that the performance
was regulated by Arcangelo Corelli, that most celebrated professor of
the violin—“famosissimo professore di violino.” Another title,
expressive of the high consideration in which he was held by his
contemporaries, is that applied to him by Francesco Gasparini, who calls
him “Virtuosissimo di violino, e vero _Orfeo_ di nostro tempo.”

It was at Cardinal Ottoboni’s that Corelli became acquainted with
Handel, of whom the following anecdote is related. On one of the musical
evenings given there, a Serenata, written by the latter, entitled _Il
Trionfo del Tempo_, was ordered to be performed, out of compliment to
this great composer. Whether the style of the overture was new to
Corelli, or whether he attempted to modify it according to his taste and
fancy, does not appear[18]; but Handel, giving way to his natural
impetuosity of temper, snatched the violin from his hand. Corelli, with
that gentleness which always marked his character, simply replied:—“Mio
caro Sassone, questa musica è nello stile Francese, di che io non
m’intendo.”—“My dear Saxon, this music is in the French style, with
which I am not acquainted.”

The biography of Corelli has received the accession of several
interesting anecdotes, through one of his most illustrious pupils,
Geminiani, who was himself an eye and an ear witness of the matters he
has related. These may find a fitting place here.

At the time when Corelli was at the zenith of his reputation, a royal
invitation reached him from the Court of Naples, where a great curiosity
prevailed to hear his performance. The unobtrusive _Maestro_, not a
little loth, was at length induced to accept the invitation; but, lest
he should not be well accompanied, he took with him his own second
violin and violoncello players. At Naples he found Alessandro Scarlatti
and several other masters[19], who entreated him to play some of his
concertos before the king. This he, for a while, declined, on account of
his whole band not being with him, and there was no time, he said, for a
rehearsal. At length, however, he consented, and, in great fear,
performed the first of them. His astonishment was very great to find
that the Neapolitan band executed his concertos almost as accurately at
sight as his own band after repeated rehearsals, and when they had
almost got them by heart. “_Si suona_ (said he to Matteo, his second
violin) _a Napoli_!”—“They _play_, at Naples!”

After this, he being again admitted into his Majesty’s presence, and
desired to perform one of his sonatas, the king found the adagio so long
and dry, that, being tired of it, he _quitted the room_, to the great
mortification of Corelli. Afterwards, he was desired to lead, in the
performance of a masque composed by Scarlatti, which was to be executed
before the king. This he undertook, but, owing to Scarlatti’s very
limited acquaintance with the violin, Corelli’s part was somewhat
awkward and difficult; in one place it went up to F, and when they came
to that passage, Corelli failed, and could not execute it; but he was
astonished, beyond measure, to hear Petrillo, the Neopolitan leader, and
the other violins, perform with ease that which had baffled his utmost
skill. A song succeeded this, in C minor, which Corelli led off in C
major. “_Ricomminciamo_” (let us begin again), said Scarlatti,
good-naturedly. Still, Corelli persisted in the major key, till
Scarlatti was obliged to call out to him, and set him right. So
mortified was poor Corelli with this disgrace, and the deplorable figure
which he imagined he had made at Naples, that he stole back to Rome, in
silence. Soon after this, a hautboy-player (whose name Geminiani could
not recollect) acquired such applause at Rome, that Corelli, disgusted,
would never again play in public. All these mortifications, superadded
to the success of Valentini, whose Concertos and performance, though
infinitely inferior to those of Corelli, were become fashionable, threw
him into such a state of melancholy and chagrin, as was thought to have
hastened his death.

The account thus furnished by Geminiani, of Corelli’s journey to Naples,
is something beyond mere personal anecdote; for, as Dr. Burney fitly
observes, it throws light upon the comparative state of music at Naples
and at Rome in Corelli’s time, and exhibits a curious contrast, between
the fiery genius of the Neapolitans, and the meek, timid and gentle
character of Corelli, so analogous to the style of his music. To this
reflection it might have been added, that the latter part of the
narrative forms a painful contribution to the catalogue of instances in
which public caprice has done the work of ingratitude, and consigned the
man of genius to a neglect which his sensitive nature must render the
worst of cruelties.

In 1712, the _Concertos_ of Corelli were beautifully engraved, at
Amsterdam, by Etienne Roger, and Michael Charles La Cène, and dedicated
to John William, Prince Palatine of the Rhine. The author survived the
publication of this admirable work but six weeks; the Dedication bearing
date at Rome, the 3rd of December, 1712, and he dying on the 18th of
January, 1713.

Corelli was interred in the church of the Rotunda, otherwise called the
Pantheon, in the first chapel on the left hand of the entrance of that
beautiful temple. Over the place of his interment, there is a sepulchral
monument with a marble bust, erected to his memory, at the expense of
Philip William, Count Palatine of the Rhine, under the direction of
Cardinal Ottoboni. The monument bears an inscription in tributary Latin,
and the bust represents him with a music-paper in his hand, on which are
engraved a few bars of that celebrated air, the _Giga_, in his 5th
Sonata. It is worthy of remark, that this monument is contiguous to
that of the greatest of painters, Raffaelle[20].

During many years after Corelli’s decease, a solemn service, consisting
of selections from his own works, was performed in the Pantheon by a
numerous band, on the anniversary of his funeral. This custom was not
discontinued, until there were no longer any of his immediate scholars
surviving to conduct the performance. Sir John Hawkins and Dr. Burney,
who have both cited testimony as to this practice, concur in
representing, that the works of the great master used to be performed,
on this occasion, in a slow, firm and distinct manner, just as they were
written, without changing the passages in the way of embellishment: and
this, it is probable, was the manner in which he himself was wont to
play them.

Of the private life and moral character of this celebrated musician, no
new information is now likely to be obtained; but the most favorable
impression on this head is derived from analogy, in addition to what we
possess of fact. If we may judge of his natural disposition and
equanimity by the mildness, sweetness and even tenor of his musical
ideas, the conclusion must be that his temper and his talents had pretty
equal share in the office of endearing him to all his acquaintance. It
appears, moreover, that his facile habit did not always render him
insensible of that respect which was due to his character as well as to
his skill. It is said that, when he was once playing a solo at Cardinal
Ottoboni’s house, he observed the Cardinal and another person in
discourse, on which he laid down his instrument; and, being asked the
reason, answered that he “feared the music interrupted the
conversation”—a reply in which modesty and dignity were nicely blended.
He is related, also, to have been a man of humour and pleasantry. Some
who were acquainted with him have censured him for parsimonious habits,
but on no better ground than his accustomed plainness of dress, and his
disinclination to the use of a carriage.

His taste, which was not limited to the circle of his own art, evinced
itself enthusiastically in favor of pictures; and he lived in habits of
intimacy with Carlo Cignani and Carlo Maratti. It seems that he had
accumulated a sum equal to £6000. The account that is given of his
having bequeathed the whole of this amount, besides a valuable
collection of pictures, to his patron, Cardinal Ottoboni, has been
observed to savour more of vanity than of true generosity; and, indeed,
the Cardinal evinced the most considerate appreciation of the bequest,
by reserving only the pictures, and distributing the remainder of
Corelli’s effects among his indigent relations.

In regard to the peculiar merits of Corelli’s productions, it may be
briefly said, that his Solos (or _Opera Quinta_), as a classical book
for forming the hand of a young practitioner on the violin, has ever
been regarded, by the most eminent masters of the instrument, as a truly
valuable work; and it is said, of this elaborate work (on which all good
systems for the instrument have since been founded), that it cost him
three years to revise and correct it. Indeed, all his compositions are
said to have been written with great deliberation, to have been
corrected by him at many different times, and to have been submitted to
the inspection of the most skilful musicians of his day. Of his Solos,
the second, third, fifth, and sixth are admirable; as are the ninth,
tenth, and, for the elegant sweetness of its second movement, the
eleventh. The ninth is probably the most perfect, as a whole; and the
Solos, generally, seem to have been drawn from the author’s native
resources, more extensively than any of his other productions. The most
emphatic evidence of the value of these Solos lies in the fact of their
adoption by the highest instructors. Tartini formed all his scholars on
them; and it was the declaration of Giardini, that, of any two pupils of
equal age and abilities, if the one were to begin his studies by
Corelli, and the other by Geminiani, or any other eminent master
whatever, the first would become the better performer. Let it be
observed, however, that it is not from Corelli, that the niceties and
dexterities of _bowing_, which characterize the modern state of the art,
are derived. The qualities he is capable of imparting are tone and time:
or, in other words, he teaches the full extraction of sound, and the
utmost steadiness of hand.

The _Concertos_ of Corelli (the sixth and last of his works) appear to
have withstood the attacks of time and fashion with more firmness than
any of his other productions. The harmony is so pure; the parts are so
clearly, judiciously, and ingeniously disposed; and the effect of the
whole, from a large band, is so majestic, solemn and sublime, that they
nearly preclude all criticism, and make us forget that there is any
other music of the same kind existing. They are still performed, now
and then, at the Philharmonic Concerts. Though composed at a time when
the faculties of the author might be supposed to have been on the
decline, they exhibit the strongest proof of the contrary. To speak more
definitely of their merits, nothing can exceed, in dignity and majesty,
the opening of the First Concerto, nor, for its plaintive sweetness, the
whole of the Third; and that person must have no feeling of the power of
harmony, or the effects of modulation, who can listen to the Eighth
without rapture.

The following further comments on them are from the pen of a sensible
anonymous writer in a periodical work:—“Though they are no longer
calculated to show off the bow and fingers of the principal
violin-player, yet their effect, as symphonies for a numerous orchestra,
is excellent, and never fails to delight the audience. Their melody is
flowing and simple, and of a kind which is independent of the changes of
fashion: the harmony is pure and rich, and the disposition of the parts
judicious and skilful. The Eighth of these Concertos, composed for the
purpose of being performed on Christmas Eve, has probably had more
celebrity than any piece of music that ever was written. It is
exquisitely beautiful, and seems destined to bid defiance to the attacks
of time. The whole is full of profound religious feeling; and the
pastoral sweetness of the movement descriptive of the ‘Shepherds abiding
in the fields,’ has never been surpassed—not even by Handel’s movement
of the same kind in the ‘Messiah.’ If ever this music is thrown aside
and forgotten, it will be the most unequivocal sign of the corruption of
taste, and the decay of music, in England.”

The compositions of Corelli, taken altogether, are celebrated for the
harmony resulting from the union of all the parts; but the fineness of
the airs is another distinguishing characteristic of them. The
Allemande, in the Tenth Solo, is as remarkable for spirit and force, as
that in the Eleventh is for its charming delicacy. His _jigs_ are in a
style peculiarly his own; and that in the Fifth Solo was, perhaps, never
equalled. In the gavot movements, in the Second and Fourth Operas, the
melody is distributed, with great judgment, among the several parts. In
his Minuets alone, he seems to fail; Bononcini, Handel, Haydn, Martini
and others, have excelled him in this kind of air.

The music of Corelli is, generally speaking, the language of nature. It
is equally intelligible to the learned and to the unlearned. Amidst the
numerous innovations which the love of change had introduced, it still
continued to be performed, and was heard with delight in churches, in
theatres, and at public solemnities and festivals, in all the cities of
Europe, for nearly forty years. Persons remembered and would refer to
passages of it, as to a classic author; and, even at this day, the
masters of the science do not hesitate to pronounce, of the compositions
of Corelli, that, for correct harmony, and for elegant modulation, they
are scarcely to be exceeded. Yet there is one deficiency, that should
not be passed over in a review of the compositions of this master: and
it is one that may suggest itself from what has been already said of
him. They want that stirring quality of passion, which ministers so
importantly to the life of a production, whether in the world of music,
of poetry, or of painting. They lose, through this omission, nearly all
the benefits of the principle of contrast, on which effect, in so
material a degree, depends. Their beauties, wanting this relief, are
scarcely able, sometimes, to escape the charge of insipidity. The
absence of intensity in the works of Corelli, seems to be partly a
consequence of the natural character of the man: but it is doubtless
also partly owing to the state of musical taste at that period. There
was little or no melody in instrumental music before his time; and
although, considering how much slow and solemn movements abound in his
works, they display but a slender portion of the true pathetic, yet has
he considerably more grace and elegance in his _Cantilena_, more
vocality of expression, than his predecessors. Indeed, when we recollect
that some of his productions are more than a hundred and fifty years
old, we must regard, with some admiration and astonishment, the healthy
longevity of his fame, which can only be accounted for on the principle
of the ease and simplicity that belong characteristically to his works.

The following summary of the character of Corelli’s music has been given
by Geminiani. Dr. Burney’s remark, that it seems very just, may be very
fairly assented to.—“His merit was not depth of learning, like that of
his contemporary, Alessandro Scarlatti; nor great fancy, nor a rich
_invention_ in melody or harmony; but a nice ear, and most delicate
taste, which led him to select the most _pleasing_ melodies and
harmonies, and to construct the parts so as to produce the most
delightful effect upon the ear.”

An extensive and rapidly diffused impression in favor of the Violin, and
the larger homogeneous instruments, was produced in Europe by the
publication of the works of Corelli, who indeed must be considered as
the author of the greatest improvements which music, simply
instrumental, underwent at the commencement of the 18th century. As a
consequence of the impulse thus communicated, there was scarcely a town
in Italy, about that period, where some distinguished performer on the
violin did not reside. Dr. Burney enumerates about a dozen of these, in
one paragraph; but the apparent similarity of their merits, which does
not encourage any circumstantial commemoration, may serve to bring to
the mind of the classical reader the “fortemque Gyan fortemque
Cloanthum” of Virgil. One of these locally great individuals, Nicola
Cosimo, who came to England about 1702, has derived some little
accession of fame, from the fact of his portrait having been painted by
Kneller, and _coppered_ by Smith. It is probable, that he is now more
known to print-collectors than to musicians, although his _Twelve
Solos_, published in this country, possess considerable merit, for the
time—a merit not free, however, from pretty large obligations to
Corelli.

Don ANTONIO VIVALDI, Chapel-master of the _Conservatorio della Pietà_,
at Venice, seems to have enjoyed, in his day, a popularity of the most
animated and unhesitating kind, both as composer and performer. Besides
a number of dramatic compositions, in the form of Opera, he published
eleven instrumental works, exclusively of his pieces called
_Stravaganze_, which, among flashy players, whose chief merit was the
novelty of rapid execution, occupied the highest place of favor. To be
loud and brisk, appears to have been the chief ambition of this
exhibitor; no bad method of ensuring a predominance of applause in all
“mixed company.” His _Cuckoo Concerto_ was once the wonder and delight
of all frequenters of English country concerts; and Woodcock, one of the
Hereford _Waits_, was sent for, far and near, to perform it. If
Vivaldi’s musical fame were to rest on this production, it would figure
but poorly; for the thing, though reprinted in London a few years ago,
is indeed, when put to the test, “full of sound and fury, signifying
nothing.” It is just of the order of stuff that might serve to agitate
the orchestral elbows in a pantomime. Doubtless, it found a fitting
exponent in “Mr. Woodcock, of the Hereford Waits:” Vivaldi’s _own_
playing must have been too good for it. Of the pieces styled his
_Solos_, it has been critically remarked, that they are extremely tame
and vapid, while the characteristic of his _Concertos_ is a singular
wildness and irregularity, in which he oftentimes transgresses the
bounds both of melody and modulation. Though, in some of his
compositions, the harmony and the artful contexture of the parts are
their least merit, there is one (the eleventh of his first twelve
concertos) which is esteemed a solid and masterly composition, and is an
evidence that the writer possessed a greater portion of skill and
learning than his works in general discover. To account for the
singularity of Vivaldi’s style, it should be observed that he had been
witness to the dull _imitations_ of Corelli that prevailed among the
masters of his time; and that, for the sake of variety, he unfortunately
adopted a style which had little but novelty to recommend it, and could
serve for little else but “to please the itching vein of idle-headed
fashionists.”

The title of Don, prefixed to Vivaldi’s name, was derived from the
_clerical_ character which belonged to him; and he must, indisputably,
have been one of the most lively of priests. Mr. Wright, in his “Travels
through Italy, from 1720 to 1722,” has a passage indicative of this
union of the clerical and musical functions:—“It is very usual to see
priests play in the orchestra. The famous Vivaldi, whom they call the
_Prete Rosso_, very well known among us for his concertos, was a topping
man among them at Venice.”

Vivaldi, together with Albinoni, Alberti, and Tessarini, is to be
classed among the light and irregular troops. For the more disciplined
and efficient forces, we must look to the Roman school, formed by
Corelli, in which were produced the greatest composers and performers
for the violin that Italy could boast, during the first half of the 18th
century.

FRANCESCO GEMINIANI, the ablest of Corelli’s scholars, and who forms one
of the brightest parts in the chain of Violinists

  “In linked sweetness long drawn out,”

was born at Lucca, about the year 1680[21]. His first instructions in
music were derived from Alessandro Scarlatti; and his study of the
violin was commenced under Lunati (surnamed Il Gobbo), and completed
under the great archetype, Corelli.

On leaving Rome, where Corelli was then flourishing, Geminiani went to
Naples, preceded by a degree of fame which secured his most favorable
reception, and placed him at the head of the orchestra. If, however, we
are to credit Barbella, the impetuosity of his feelings, and the fire of
his genius, too ardent for his judgment, rendered him, at this period,
so vague and unsteady a _timeist_, that, instead of guiding, combining,
and giving concinnity to the performers under his direction, he
disordered their motions, embarrassed their execution, and, in a word,
threw the whole band into confusion.

In the year 1714, he came to England, where his exquisite powers, as a
solo performer, commanded universal admiration, and excited, among the
nobility and gentry, a contention for the honor of patronising such
rare abilities. The German Baron, Kilmansegge, was then chamberlain to
George the First, as Elector of Hanover, and a great favorite of the
King. To that nobleman Geminiani particularly attached himself, and,
accordingly, dedicated to him his first work—a set of Twelve Sonatas,
published in 1716. The style of these pieces was peculiarly elegant; but
many of the passages were so florid, elaborate and difficult of
execution, that few persons were adequate to their performance; yet all
allowed their extraordinary merit, and many pronounced them superior to
those of Corelli. They had, indeed, such an effect, that it became a
point of eager debate, whether skill in execution, or taste in
composition, constituted the predominant excellence of Geminiani; and so
high was the esteem he enjoyed, among the lovers of instrumental music,
that it is difficult to say, had he duly regarded his interest, to what
extent he might not have availed himself of public and private favor.
Kilmansegge, anxious to procure him a more effective patronage than his
own, represented his merits to the notice of the King, who, looking over
his works, became desirous to hear some of the pieces performed by their
author; and soon after, accompanied, at his own earnest request, by
Handel on the harpsichord, Geminiani so acquitted himself, as at once to
delight his royal auditor, and to give new confirmation of the
superiority of the violin over all other stringed instruments.

In 1726, he arranged Corelli’s first six _Solos_, as _Concertos_; and,
soon after, the last six, but with a success by no means equal to that
which attended the first. He also similarly treated six of the same
composer’s _Sonatas_, and, in some additional _parts_, imitated their
style with an exactitude that at once manifested his flexible ingenuity,
and his judicious reverence for his originals. Encouraged, however, as
he might be considered, by the success of this undertaking, to proceed
in the exercise of his powers, six years elapsed before another work
appeared—when he produced his own first set of _Concertos_; these were
soon followed by a second set; and the merits of these two productions
established his character as an eminent master in that species of
composition. The opening Concerto in the first of these two sets is
distinguished for the charming minuet with which it closes; and the last
Concerto in the second set is esteemed one of the finest compositions
known of its kind.

His second set of Solos (admired more than practised, and practised more
than performed) was printed in 1739: and his third set of Concertos
(laboured, difficult and fantastic), in the year 1741. Soon after this,
he published his long-promised, and once impatiently-expected work,
entitled “_Lo Dizionario Armonico_.” In this work, after giving due
commendation to Lully, Corelli and Bononcini, as having been the first
improvers of instrumental music, he endeavours to refute the idea, that
the vast foundations of universal harmony can be established upon the
narrow and confined modulation of these authors; and makes many remarks
on the uniformity of modulation apparent in the compositions that had
appeared in different parts of Europe for several years previously.

This didactic production possessed many recommendatory qualities; many
combinations, modulations and cadences, calculated to create, and to
advance the science and taste of a _tyro_; but it appeared too late.
Indolence had suffered the influence of his name to diminish, and his
style and ideas (new as, in some respects, they were) to be superseded
by the more fashionable manner, and more novel conceptions, of fresh
candidates for favour and fame.

This work was succeeded by his “_Treatise on Good Taste_,” and his
“_Rules for playing in Good Taste_;” and, in 1748, he brought forward
his “_Art of Playing on the Violin_;” at that time a highly useful work,
and superior to any similar publication extant. It contained the most
minute directions for holding the instrument, and for the use of the
bow; as well as the graces, the various shifts of the hand, and a great
number of applicable examples.

About 1756, Geminiani was struck with a most curious and fantastic idea;
that of a piece, the performance of which should represent to the
imagination all the events in the episode of the thirteenth book of
Tasso’s Jerusalem. It is needless to say, that the chimera was too
extravagant, of attempting to narrate and instruct, describe and inform,
by the vague medium of instrumental sounds. Musical sounds may possibly,
according to a conjecture sometimes entertained, constitute the language
of heaven; but as we, on earth, are possessed of no _key_ to their
meaning in that capacity, we must be content to employ, for our purposes
of intercommunion, the _articulate_, which alone is, to us, the
_definite_.

In 1750, Geminiani went to Paris, where he continued about five years;
after which, he returned to England, and published a new edition of his
first two sets of Concertos. In 1761, he visited Ireland, in order to
spend some time with his favourite and much-attached scholar, Dubourg,
master of the King’s band in Dublin. Geminiani had spent many years in
compiling an elaborate Treatise on Music, which he designed for
publication; but, soon after his arrival in Dublin, by the treachery of
a female servant (who, it has been said, was recommended to him for no
other purpose than that she might steal it), the manuscript was
purloined out of his chamber, and could never afterwards be recovered.
The magnitude of this loss, and his inability to repair it, made a deep
impression on his mind, and seemed to hasten fast his dissolution. He
died at Dublin on the 17th of September, 1762, in the eighty-third year
of his age.[22]

Endowed with feeling, a respectable master of the laws of harmony, and
acquainted with _some_ of the secrets of fine composition, Geminiani can
hardly be said to have been unqualified either to move the soul, or to
gratify the sense: yet truth, after being just to his real deserts, will
affirm that his bass is not uniformly the most select; that his melody
is frequently irregular in its phrase and measure; and that, on the
whole, he is decidedly inferior to Corelli, with whom, by his admirers,
he has been too frequently and too fondly compared.

For what was deficient in his compositions, as well as for what was
unfavourable in his fortune, the unsettled habits of his life, and his
inherent inclination for rambling, may perhaps partly account. His
fondness for pictures (a taste very strongly developed in him) was less
discreetly exercised than it had been by his prototype, Corelli. On the
contrary, to gratify this propensity, he not only suspended his studies,
and neglected his profession, but oftentimes involved himself in
pecuniary embarrassments, which a little prudence and foresight would
have enabled him to avoid. To gratify his taste, he bought pictures;
and, to supply his wants, he sold them. The consequence of this kind of
traffic was loss, and its concomitant, necessity. Under such
circumstances, the concentration of thought, requisite for giving to his
productions the utmost value derivable from the natural powers of his
mind, was almost impossible.

A trait creditable to his character, on a graver score, presents itself
in the following transaction. The place of Master and Composer of the
state-music in Ireland became vacant in the year 1727, and the Earl of
Essex obtained from Sir Robert Walpole, the minister, a promise of it.
He then told Geminiani that his difficulties were at an end, as he had
provided for him a place suited to his profession, which would afford
him an ample provision for life. On enquiry into the conditions of the
office, Geminiani found that it was not tenable by a member of the
Romish communion. He therefore declined accepting, assigning this as a
reason, and at the same time observing that, although he had never made
any great pretensions to religion, yet to renounce that faith in which
he had been first baptized, for the _sake_ of temporal advantages, was
what he could in no way answer for to his conscience. The post was given
to Matthew Dubourg, who had formerly been the pupil of Geminiani, and
whose merits were not excluded by similar grounds for rejection.

LORENZO SOMIS, chapel-master to the King of Sardinia, was recorded in
Italy as an imitator of Corelli, but in a style somewhat modernized,
after the model of Vivaldi.

He printed, at Rome, in 1722, his “_Opera Prima di Sonate à Violino e
Violoncello, o Cembalo_,” the pieces contained in which are much in
Corelli’s manner; some of them with double-stopped fugues, like those of
his model, and some without. Somis was one of the greatest masters of
the violin of his time; but his chief professional honour,—“the pith and
marrow of his attribute,”—is the having formed, among his scholars, such
a performer as Giardini.

STEFANO CARBONELLI, who had studied the violin under Corelli, was one of
the Italian Artists who contributed to diffuse the celebrity of the
instrument in this country. About the year 1720, he was induced by the
Duke of Rutland to come to England, and was received into the house of
that nobleman. During his residence there, he published _Twelve Solos
for a Violin and Bass_, which he frequently played in public with great
applause. In each of the first six of these, there is a double-stopped
fugue; and the rest, it has been observed, have pleasing melodies, with
correct and judicious counterpoint. In the progress of his success in
England, Carbonelli was placed at the head of the opera band, and soon
became celebrated for his excellent performance.

About the year 1725, he quitted the opera orchestra for an employment in
Drury Lane Theatre, where he also led, and frequently played select
concert pieces between the acts. After continuing there some time, he
engaged himself with Handel, as a performer in his oratorios. For
several years, he played at the rehearsal and performance at St. Paul’s,
for the benefit of the Sons of the Clergy.

In the latter part of his life, he in a great measure neglected the
profession of music, having become a merchant, and an importer of wine
from France and Germany. He obtained the place of one of the purveyors
of wine to the King; and died in that employment in the year 1772.

At the time of Carbonelli’s relaxing in his homage to Apollo, for the
sake of becoming a minister of Bacchus, the following lines (which have
been admirably set, for two voices, by Dr. Cooke) were made up for the
occasion:—

  Let Rubinelli charm the ear,
    And sing, as erst, with voice divine,—
  To Carbonelli I adhere;
    Instead of music, give me wine!
  But yet, perhaps, with wine combin’d,
    Soft music may our joys improve;
  Let both together, then, be join’d,
    And feast we like the gods above![23]

PIETRO LOCATELLI, another of Corelli’s pupils, but one who made the
boldest innovations upon the manner of that great master, and deviated,
exploringly, into remarkable paths of his own, was born at Bergamo,
about 1693. Being still a youth, at the time of Corelli’s decease, and
full of ardent impulses in relation to the art he had embraced,
Locatelli gave way to these, and soon became conspicuous for a boldness
and originality which, even in our own days, would not pass
unacknowledged. He developed new combinations, and made free use of
arpeggios and harmonic sounds. The compositions of this master, as well
as those of Mestrino, who flourished somewhat later, and was the more
graceful of the two in his style of playing, are supposed to have
furnished hints of no small profit to the penetrating genius of
Paganini.

Locatelli died in Holland, in 1764. The crabbed passages in which he
delighted to display his force, are to be found in his work entitled
“Arte di nuova Modulazione,” or, as it is termed in the French editions,
“Caprices Énigmatiques.”

We now approach one of those names on which the biographer may fairly
delight to dwell, for its association not only with the great and
beautiful in art, but with the interesting in personal character, and
the romantic in incident.

GIUSEPPE TARTINI, of Padua, the last great improver (save Viotti) of the
practice of the violin, was born in April, 1692, at Pirano, a sea-port
town in Istria. His father had been ennobled, in recompense of certain
substantial benefactions, exercised towards the Cathedral Church at
Parenza. Giuseppe was originally intended for the law; but, mixing the
more seductive study of music with the other objects of his education,
it soon gained the ascendant over the whole circle of the sister
sciences. This is not so surprising as another strong propensity, which,
during his youth, much fascinated him. This was the love of fencing—an
art not likely to become necessary to the safety or honor of one
possessed of the pious and pacific disposition that belonged to him, and
one engaged, too, in a civil employment: yet he is said, even in this
art, to have equalled the master from whom he received instructions. In
1710, he was sent to the University of Padua, to pursue his studies as a
civilian; but, before he was twenty, having committed the sin of
sacrificing prudence to love, in a match which he entered into without
the parental _fiat_, he was forsaken, in return, and reduced to wander
about in search of an asylum. This, after many hardships, he found in a
convent at Assisi, where he was received by a monk, his relative, who,
commiserating his misfortunes, let him remain there till something
better might be done for him. While thus secluded and sorrowful, he took
up the violin, to “manage it against despairing thoughts”—an expedient
which the devotion of his soul to music must have lent some efficacy to.
Not only his solace, but, by a singular turn of fortune, his rescue
also, was connected with his violin. On a certain great festival, when
he was in the orchestra of the convent, he was discovered, through the
accident of a remarkably high wind, which, forcing open the doors of the
church, blew aside the orchestral curtain, and exposed all the
performers to the sight of the congregation. His recognition, under
these circumstances, by a Paduan acquaintance, led to the accommodation
of differences; and he then settled with his wife, for some time, at
Venice[24]. This lady proved to be of that particular race which has
never been wholly extinct since the time of Xantippe; but as,
fortunately, poor Tartini was more than commonly Socratic in wisdom,
virtue and patience, her reign was unmolested by any domestic war, or
useless opposition to her supremacy.

His residence at Venice was rendered memorable to him, by the arrival of
the celebrated Veracini (the younger) in that city. The performance of
this “homme marquant” awakened a vivid emulation in Tartini, who, though
he was acknowledged to have a powerful hand, had never heard a great
player before, nor conceived it possible for the _bow_ to possess such
varied capabilities for energy and expression. Under this feeling, he
quitted Venice with prompt decision, and proceeded to Ancona, in order
to study the use of the bow in greater tranquillity and with more
convenience than at Venice, as he had a place assigned him in the
operatic orchestra, of that city. In the same year (1714), his studious
application enabled him to make a discovery—that of the phenomenon of
the _third sound_—which created a great sensation in the musical world,
both in his own time and long afterwards, though it has led to no
important practical results. This phenomenon of the third sound is the
sympathetic resonance of a third note, when the two upper notes of a
chord are sounded. Thus, if two parts are sung in thirds, a sensitive
ear will feel the simultaneous impression of a bass or lower part. This
effect may be more distinctly heard, if a series of consecutive thirds
be played on the violin perfectly in tune. “If you do not hear the
bass,” said Tartini to his pupils, “the thirds or sixths which you are
playing are not perfect in the intonation[25].” This mysterious
sympathy, by which sound is enabled to call up a fellowship of sound,
may be fancifully expressed in a line from the old poet, Drayton:—

  “One echo makes another to rejoice!”

His diligence and exemplary devotion to his art, while at Ancona, led
also to another prominent occurrence in his career—the appointment, in
1721, to the distinguished place of first violin, and master of the
band, to the church of St. Anthony, of Padua. To St. Anthony, as his
patron saint, he consecrated himself and his instrument, with a species
and a constancy of attachment, that may find not only their excuse, but
their credit, in the nature and sentiment of the times he lived in. His
extending fame brought him repeated offers from Paris and London, to
visit those capitals; but, holding to his conscientious allegiance, he
uniformly declined entering into any other service, and was, like St.
Anthony himself, a pattern of resistance to temptation.

By the year 1728, he had made many excellent scholars, and established a
system of practice, for students on the violin, that was celebrated all
over Europe, and increased in reputation to the end of his life. Great
numbers of young men resorted to Padua from different countries, in
order to receive instruction from him in music, but chiefly in the
practice of the violin.

In the early part of his life, he published “_Sonate a Violino e
Violoncello, o Cembalo, Opera Prima_.” This, and his Opera Seconda, of
_Six Sonatas_ or _Solos_ for the same instrument, and another work
entitled “_XVIII Concerti a cinque Stromenti_,” were all published by Le
Cène, of Amsterdam, and prove him to have been a truly excellent
composer. Such, however, was the ascendancy of Corelli’s name, and so
ambitious was Tartini of being thought a follower of the precepts and
principles of that master, that, during the zenith of his own
reputation, he refused to teach any other music to his pupils, till they
had studied the _Opera Quinta_, or _Solos_, of Corelli; and the
excellence of this foundation was made manifest by the result. His
favorite pupils were Bini and Nardini. These, as well as others of
Tartini’s _élèves_, formed, in their turn, scholars of great abilities,
who contributed to spread his reputation and manner of playing all over
Europe.

Tartini’s own first master was an obscure musician, of the name of
Giulio di Terni, who afterwards made a fitting change of position, and
descended into the pupil of his own scholar—a circumstance related by
Tartini himself, who used to say that he had studied very little till
after he was thirty years of age[26]. At the age of fifty-two, Tartini
made a marked alteration in his style of playing, from extreme
difficulty (or what was _then_ so considered) to grace and expression.
His method of executing an adagio has been represented by his
contemporaries as inimitable, and was almost, in their idea,
supernatural—an impression to which the idea of the patron saint must
have not a little conduced.

The particulars that have been preserved respecting his scholar,
Pasquale Bini, are not without interest. Recommended to him at the age
of fifteen, by Cardinal Olivieri, Tartini found him a youth after his
own heart, possessing excellent moral dispositions, as well as musical;
and he accordingly cherished a very marked regard for him. This young
musician practised with such assiduity, that, in three or four years, he
vanquished the most difficult of Tartini’s compositions, and executed
them with greater force than the author himself. When he had finished
his studies, his patron, Cardinal Olivieri, took him to Rome, where he
astonished all the Professors by his performance,—particularly
Montagnari, at that time the principal violinist there; and it is
generally believed, that Montagnari was so mortified by the superiority,
as to have died of grief! When informed that Tartini had changed his
style and taste in playing, Bini returned to Padua,

  “Nil actum reputans, si quid superesset agendum,”—

and placed himself for another year under that excellent and worthy
master; at the end of which period, so intense had been his application,
that he played with a degree of certainty and expression truly
wonderful.

On a certain occasion, in recommending a scholar to him, after his
return to Rome, Tartini expressed his sense of Bini’s powers and
character, and gave evidence of his own modest and ingenuous
disposition, in the following words:—“Io lo mando a un mio scolare chi
suona più di me; e me ne glorio, per essere un angelo di costume, e
religioso.”—“I recommend him (the applicant) to a scholar of mine, who
plays better than myself; and I am proud of it, as he is an angel in
religion and morals.” Such praise has its value enhanced by the source
whence it proceeds; for it was truly “laudari a laudato viro.”

The death of Tartini occurred at Padua, on the 26th of February, 1770,
to the general regret of the people of that city, where he had resided
nearly fifty years, and not only was regarded as its most attractive
ornament, but, owing to the serious and contemplative turn of his mind,
had attained the estimation of being a saint and a philosopher.

Of the general character of Tartini’s compositions, Dr. Burney, who
appears to have studied them closely, has given the following
judgment:—“Though he made Corelli his model in the purity of his harmony
and simplicity of his modulation, he greatly surpassed that composer in
the fertility and originality of his invention; not only in the subjects
of his melodies, but in the truly _cantabile_ manner of treating them.
Many of his adagios want nothing but _words_, to be excellent pathetic
opera-songs. His allegros are sometimes difficult; but the passages
fairly belong to the instrument for which they were composed, and were
suggested by his consummate knowledge of the finger-board, and the
powers of the bow. As a harmonist, he was perhaps more truly scientific
than any other composer of his time, in the clearness, character and
precision of his bases, which were never casual, or the effect of habit
or auricular prejudice and expectation, but learned, judicious and
certain. And yet I must, in justice to others, own that, though the
adagio and solo playing, in general, of his scholars are exquisitely
polished and expressive, yet it seems as if that energy, fire, and
freedom of bow, which modern symphonies and orchestra-playing require,
were wanting.”

The applicability of the latter remark is, of course, considerably
greater in these days than in the Doctor’s time. Another and more recent
critical opinion is subjoined:—

“Tartini’s compositions, with all the correctness and polish of
Corelli’s, are bolder and more impassioned. His slow movements, in
particular, are remarkably vocal and expressive; and his music shows a
knowledge of the violin, both in regard to the bow and the finger-board,
which Corelli had not been able to attain. His works, therefore, though
no longer heard in public, are still prized by the best musicians; a
proof of which is, that some of them have been recently reprinted for
the use of the _Conservatoire_ of Paris. He has frequently injured
their effect, to modern ears, by the introduction of trills and other
ornaments, which, like the flounces and furbelows of the female dress of
his day, have become old-fashioned; but, at the same time, his
compositions are full of beauties, which, belonging to the musical
language of nature and feeling, are independent of the influence of
time.”

Few of my readers have failed, probably, to hear or read of “The Devil’s
Sonata,” that forms so singular a “passage” in the experience of this
remarkable man, and is to be met with in Records, Musical, Literary, and
Pictorial. Monsieur De Lalande informs us that he had, from Tartini’s
own mouth, the following singular anecdote, which conveys an account of
it, and shows to what a degree his imagination was inflamed by the
genius of composition. “He dreamed, one night, in the year 1713, that he
had made a compact with the Devil, who promised to be at his service on
all occasions; and, during this vision, every thing succeeded according
to his mind; his wishes were anticipated, and his desires always
surpassed, by the assistance of his new servant. At length, he imagined
that he presented to the Devil his violin, in order to discover what
kind of a musician he was; when, to his great astonishment, he heard him
play a _solo_, so singularly beautiful, and executed with such superior
taste and precision, that it surpassed all the music he had ever heard
or conceived in his life! So great was his surprise, and so exquisite
his delight, upon this occasion, as to deprive him of the power of
breathing. He awoke with the violence of his sensations, and instantly
seized his instrument, in hopes of expressing what he had just heard;
but in vain. He, however, then composed a piece, which is, perhaps, the
best of all his works, and called it the _Devil’s Sonata_; but it was so
inferior to what his sleep had produced, that he declared he would have
broken his instrument, and abandoned music for ever, if he could have
subsisted by any other means.”

This remarkable legend, under its obvious associations with the fearful
and the grotesque, is so inviting for poetic treatment, that I have
ventured on the following attempt:—


TARTINI’S DREAM.

  Grim-visag’d Satan on the Artist’s bed
  Sat—and a cloud of sounds mirific spread!
  Wild flow’d those notes, as from enchantment’s range,
  “Wild, sweet, but incommunicably strange!”
  Soft Luna, curious, as her sex beseems,
  Shot through the casement her enquiring beams,
  Which, entering, paler grew, yet half illum’d
  The shade so deep that round the Arch-One gloomed:
  And listening Night her pinions furled—for lo!
  The Devil’s Soul, O![27] breathed beneath that bow!
       Tranquil as death Tartini’s form reclin’d,
  And sealing sleep was strong his eyes to bind;
  But the wild music of the nether spheres
  Was in a key that did unlock his ears.
  Squat, like a toad or tailor, sat the Fiend,
  And forward, to his task, his body leaned.
  His griffin fingers, with their horny ends,
  Hammer the stops; the bow submissive bends:
  His lengthy chin, descending, forms a vice
  With his sharp collar-bone, contrariwise,
  To grasp the conscious instrument, held on
  With ’scapeless gripe;—and, ever and anon,
  As flows the strain, now quaint, and now sublime,
  He marks, with beatings of his tail, the time!
  Snakes gird his head; but, in that music’s bliss,
  Enchanted, lose the discord of their hiss,
  And twine in chords harmonic, though all mute,
  As if they owned the sway of Orpheus’ lute.
  Satan hath joy—for round his lips awhile
  Creeps a sharp-set, sulphuric-acid smile;

  And, at the mystic notes, successive sped,
  Pleas’d, winketh he those eyes of flickering red,
  And shakes the grizzly horrors of that head!
      List! what a change! Soft wailings fill the air:
  Plaintive and touching grows the demon-play’r.
  Doth Satan mourn, with meltings all too late,
  The sin and sorrow of his own sad state?

       *       *       *       *       *

  Night flies—the dream is past—and, pale and wan,
  Starts from his spell-freed couch the anxious man.
  Is it a marvel greater than his might,
  Those winged sounds to summon back from flight?
  To clutch them _whole_, in vain fond Hope inclin’d,
  For Memory, overburthen’d, lagged behind,
  Partly the strain fell ’neath Oblivion’s pall,
  But it had partly “an _un_-dying fall;”
  And, in that state defective, to the light
  Brought forth—it lives—a relic of that night!

The next name for notice, in connexion with the Italian School of the
instrument, is that of

FRANCESCO MARIA VERACINI (the younger), a great,
but somewhat eccentric performer, who was born at Florence, at the close
of the 17th century. Unlike his contemporary, Tartini, whose sensitive
and modest disposition led him to court obscurity, Veracini was vain,
ostentatious, and haughty. Various stories have been current in Italy
about his arrogance and fantastic tricks, which obtained for him the
designation of _Capo pazzo_. The following anecdote is sufficiently
characteristic of him.

Being at Lucca at the time of the annual “Festa della Croce,” on which
occasion it was customary for the principal professors of Italy, vocal
and instrumental, to meet, Veracini put down his name for a Solo
Concerto. When he entered the choir, to take possession of the principal
place, he found it already occupied by the Padre Girolamo Laurenti,[28]
of Bologna, who, not knowing him, as he had been some years absent,
asked him whither he was going? “To the place of first violin,” was the
impetuous answer. Laurenti then explained that _he_ had been always
engaged to fill that post himself; but that if he wished to play a
concerto, either at vespers or during high mass, he should have a place
assigned to him. Veracini turned on his heel with contempt, and went to
the lowest place in the orchestra. When he was called upon to play his
concerto, he desired that the hoary old father would allow him, instead
of it, to play a solo at the bottom of the choir, accompanied on the
violoncello by Lanzetti. He played this in so brilliant and masterly a
manner as to extort an _e viva!_ in the public church; and, whenever he
was about to make a close, he turned to Laurenti, and called out, _Così
si suona per fare il primo violino_—“This is the way to play the first
fiddle!”

Another characteristic story respecting this performer is the
following:—

Pisendel, a native of Carlsburg, and one of the best violinists of the
early part of the eighteenth century, piqued at the pride and hauteur of
Veracini, who thought too highly of his own powers not to disdain a
comparison of them with those of any performer then existing,
determined, if possible, to mortify his conceit and self-consequence.
For this purpose, while both were at Dresden, he composed a very
difficult concerto, and engaged a _ripienist_, or inferior performer, to
practise it till he had conceived the whole, and rendered the most
intricate passages as familiar to his bow and finger as the more
obvious and easy parts of the composition. He then took occasion, the
practitioner being present, to request Veracini to perform it. The great
executant condescended to comply; but did not get through the task
without calling into requisition all his powers. When he had concluded,
the _ripienist_, agreeably to his previous instructions, stepped up to
the desk, and began to perform the same piece; upon which Veracini, in a
passion, tore him away, and would have punished on the spot his perilous
presumption, had not Pisendel actively interfered, and persuaded him,
were it only for the jest of the thing, to “let the vain creature expose
himself.” Veracini became pacified, the ripienist began again, and
executed the whole even more perfectly than his precursor, who stamped
on the floor with rage, swore he would never forgive Pisendel, and,
scarcely less abashed than tormented, immediately quitted Dresden.

Veracini would give lessons to no one, except a nephew, who died young.
The only master he himself had was his uncle, Antonio Veracini, of
Florence; but, by travelling all over Europe, he formed a style of
playing peculiar to himself. Besides being in the service of the King of
Poland, he was for a considerable time at the various courts of Germany,
and twice in England, where he composed several _operas_, and where Dr.
Burney had the opportunity of witnessing and commenting on the bold and
masterly character of his violin performance. Soon after his being here
(about 1745), he was shipwrecked, and lost his two famous Steiner
violins, reputed the best in the world, and all his effects. In his
usual light style of discourse, he used to call one of these instruments
St. Peter, and the other St. Paul.

As a composer, he had certainly a great share of whim and caprice; but
he built his freaks on a good foundation, being an excellent
contrapuntist; and indeed it is probable enough that these very freaks,
if tested by a contact with some of the fiddle _capriccios_ and
_pots-pourris_ of our own day, would fall very much in the measure of
extravagance, and leave us to wonder at what constituted a wonder in the
more sober musical times of Burney and Hawkins. The peculiarities in his
performance were his bow-hand, his shake, his learned arpeggios, and a
tone so loud and clear that it could be distinctly heard through the
most numerous band of a church or theatre[29].

PIETRO NARDINI, a noted Tuscan Violinist, was born at Leghorn, in 1725.
Instructed by Tartini, he soon became his most distinguished pupil;—nor
as such only was he regarded by that great master, who, besides loving
and admiring his rising genius, found in him a congeniality of character
and sentiment, that served to establish a firm mutual friendship. In
this instance, as in that of his other favourite pupil, Bini, we may
remark the exemption of Tartini’s mind from that sordid spot of
jealousy, that too often dims the lustre of professional talent.
Attached, in 1763, to the Chapel of the Duke of Wirtemberg, Nardini soon
evinced abilities that made him conspicuous. On the reduction or
suppression of that establishment, a few years afterwards, he returned
to Leghorn, where he composed almost all his works. In 1769, he went to
Padua, to revisit Tartini, whom he attended in his last illness, with
attachment truly filial. On his return to Leghorn, the generous offers
of the Grand Duke of Tuscany determined him to quit that city, and enter
the Duke’s service. Joseph the Second, when he visited Italy, was
greatly struck with the execution of this distinguished virtuoso, and
made a curious gold snuff-box the memorial of his admiration. In 1783,
the president, Dupaty, being in Italy, listened to him with a rapture
which occasioned his exclaiming, “His violin is a voice, or possesses
one. It has made the fibres of my ear to tremulate as they never did
before. To what a degree of tenuity Nardini divides the air! How
exquisitely he touches the strings of his instrument! With what art he
modulates and purifies their tones!”

Michael Kelly makes reference to this distinguished artist, in speaking
of a private concert at Florence. “There,” observes he, “I had the
gratification of hearing a sonata on the violin played by the great
Nardini. Though very far advanced in years, he played divinely. He spoke
with great affection of his favourite scholar, Thomas Linley, who, he
said, possessed powerful abilities.”—Kelly adds, that Nardini, when
appealed to on that occasion, as to the truth of the anecdote about
Tartini and the Devil’s Sonata, gave distinct confirmation of it, as a
thing he had frequently heard the relation of from Tartini himself.

Like some other masters of the old school, Nardini exhibited his powers
to most advantage in the performance of _adagios_; and a high tribute
to his capacity for expression is conveyed in what has been recorded of
the magic of his bow—that it elicited sounds, which, when the performer
was concealed from view, appeared rather those of the human voice than
of a violin. Of his Sonatas, now almost consigned to oblivion, the style
is ably sustained, the ideas are clear, the motive well treated, and the
expression natural, though of a serious cast, as was the character of
the composer.

Nardini died at Florence, in 1796, or, according to others, in 1793.
Among the compositions of this pupil of Tartini, are to be reckoned six
concertos for the violin; six solos for the same instrument (opera
seconda); six trios for the flute; six other solos for the violin; six
quartetts, six duetts; and, in manuscript, many concertos for the same
instrument.

LUIGI BOCCHERINI, a composer of distinguished talents, to whom, and to
Corelli, stands assigned the honour of being considered the fathers of
_chamber-music_ for stringed instruments, was a native of Lucca, and
born in the year 1740. His first lessons in music and on the violoncello
were imparted by the Abbate Vanucci. His disposition for music was early
and strong; and his father, himself an ingenious musician, after
attending with care to the cultivation of his son’s talent, sent him to
Rome, where he soon acquired a high reputation for the originality and
variety of his productions. Returning, a few years afterwards, to Lucca,
he gave there the first public performance of his Sonatas. It chanced
that another Lucchese, Manfredi, a pupil of Nardini’s, was also present
at the time of Boccherini’s return from Rome; and they executed
together, with great public success, the Sonatas of the latter for
violin and violoncello—his seventh work. The two professors, becoming
further associated in friendship, as well as in the musical art, quitted
Italy together for Spain, where they met with such encouragement as
determined Boccherini to establish himself in that country. Basking in
the sunshine of royal favour, the only condition required of Boccherini
for the continuance of its rays, was that he should work enough to
produce, annually, nine pieces of his composition, for the use of the
Royal Academy at Madrid; and he adhered faithfully to the engagement. He
appears to have passed through life smoothly, as well as with honour.
His death occurred at Madrid, in 1806, at the age of 66.

The compositions of this master, which have been of marked importance in
connection with the progress of stringed instruments, are characterized
by a noble sweetness, a genuine pathos, deep science and great nicety of
art. It belongs to him, as a distinction, to have first fixed (about
1768) the character of three several classes of instrumental
composition—the _trio_, the _quartett_, and the _quintett_. In the trio,
he was followed by Fiorillo, Cramer, Giardini, Pugnani, and Viotti; and
in the quartett, by Giardini, Cambini, Pugnani, and, in another style,
by Pleyel, Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven; while, in his quintetts for
_two_ violoncellos, he may be said to have no successor but Onslow. His
productions of this last species, of which he has left no fewer than
ninety-three—for he was little inferior to Haydn in fecundity of
genius—are particularly deserving of study; and it was the remark of Dr.
Burney, that he had supplied the performers on bowed instruments, and
the lovers of music in general, with more excellent compositions than
any other master belonging to that time, except Haydn. His manner, as
the same writer adds, “is at once bold, masterly and elegant; and there
are movements in his works of every style, and in the true genius of the
instruments for which he wrote, that place him high in rank among the
greatest masters who have ever written for the violin or violoncello.”

“As in the symphonies of Haydn,” says a writer in the _Harmonicon_, “so
in the quintetts of Boccherini, we observe the genuine stamp of genius,
differing in the manner, but alike in the essence. Boccherini had
studied, profoundly and thoroughly, the nature and capabilities of the
_violoncello_. He composed nearly the whole of his music for this
instrument, and was the first who wrote quintetts for two violoncellos.
Striving to impart to these productions the sweet, pathetic, and, if the
expression may be allowed, the religious character which distinguished
most of his works, he conceived the idea of giving the _leading_ part to
the _violoncello_, and of throwing the harmony into the violin, alto and
bass; the second violoncello, in the mean time, sometimes accompanying
the first, and occasionally playing the air in concert with it.”

The beautiful style of his quintetts, and the exquisite manner in which,
in some of them, he has thus combined the two violoncellos, constrained
an impassioned amateur to compare them to the music of the angels.
Boccherini’s first work was published at Paris, where it excited the
highest admiration: his _Stabat Mater_ is worthy of being placed by the
side of that of Pergolesi, of Durante, or of Haydn; and to his genius
for composition he added so much executive skill on the violin,
violoncello and pianoforte, that a musical enthusiast said (with a
rapture probably too honest to be regarded as altogether profane), “If
God chose to speak to man, he would employ the music of Haydn; but, if
he desired to hear an earthly musician, he would select Boccherini:”—and
Puppo, the celebrated violinist, has described him thus:—“The tender
Boccherini is the softer second self of Haydn.” It is said, indeed, that
Boccherini kept up a regular correspondence with Haydn,—these two great
musicians endeavouring to enlighten each other respecting their
compositions.

FELICI GIARDINI, by the novel powers and grace of his execution, appears
to have made, in England, almost as great a sensation as that created,
eighty years later, by Paganini, with whom, also, he may be placed in
competition, on the score of a capricious and difficult temper. He was
born at Turin, in 1716; his musical education was received, at Milan,
under Paladini, and subsequently, for the violin in particular, at
Turin, under Somis, one of the best scholars of Corelli. At the age of
17, animated by the hope of fame, he went to Rome, and afterwards to
Naples. At the latter city, he obtained, by the recommendation of
Jomelli, a post far too humble for his large ambition—that of one of the
_ripieni_, or make-weights, in the opera orchestra. Here his talents,
nevertheless, began to appear, and he was accustomed to flourish and
change passages, much more frequently than he ought to have done.
“However,” said he himself, in relating the circumstance to Dr. Burney,
“I acquired great reputation among the ignorant for my impertinence;
till, one night, during the opera, Jomelli, who had composed it, came
into the orchestra, and seated himself close by me, when I determined to
give the _Maestro di Capella_ a touch of my taste and execution. In the
symphony of the next song, which was in a pathetic style, I gave loose
to my fingers and fancy; for which I was rewarded by the composer with—a
violent slap in the face; which (added Giardini) was the best lesson I
ever received from a great master in my life.” Jomelli, after this, was
very kind, in a different and less indirect way, to this young and
wonderful musician.

After a short continuance at Naples, followed by visits professional to
the principal theatres in Italy, and by an enthusiastic reception at
Berlin, Giardini came to England, and arrived in London in the year
1750. Here his performance on the violin, in which, at that time, he was
considered to excel every other master in Europe, was heard, both in
public and in private, with the most rapturous applause. His first
public performance in London afforded a scene memorable among the
triumphs of art. It was at a benefit Concert for old Cuzzoni, who sang
in it with a thin, cracked voice, which almost frightened out of the
little Theatre in the Haymarket the sons of those who had, perhaps,
heard her, at the Great Theatre of the same street, with ecstacy
supreme. But when Giardini came forward, and made a display of his
powers in a solo and concerto, the applause was so long, loud and
furious, as nothing but that bestowed on Garrick had probably ever
equalled. His tone, bowing, execution, and graceful carriage of himself
and his instrument, formed a combination that filled with astonishment
the English public, unaccustomed to hear better performers than Festing,
Brown and Collett.

Such was the estimation accruing to Giardini from his talents, that, in
1754, he was placed at the head of the opera orchestra. Two years
afterwards, he joined the female singer Mingotti in attempting that
labyrinth of disaster, the management of the Italian Opera; but,
although they acquired much fame, their management was not attended with
success. During this time, Giardini composed several of the dramas that
were performed. In leading the Opera band, he had the merit of
introducing improved discipline, and a new style of playing, much finer
in itself, and more congenial with the poetry and music of Italy, than
the level and languid manner of his predecessor, Festing, who had
succeeded Castrucci (Hogarth’s “Enraged Musician”), and had since, with
inadequate powers, continued to maintain the post, with the exception of
one or two seasons, during which Veracini had been in the ascendant.

Fashion, in the folly of its excess, has not often been seen to cut so
extravagant a figure as on the occasion of the associated performances
in private by Giardini and Mingotti, during the “high and palmy state”
of their credit. The absolutism of Mrs. Fox Lane (afterwards Lady
Bingley) over the fashionable world, as the enthusiastic patroness of
these two artists, is a thing that satire might feast on. Rank, wealth,
manhood, and beauty, prostrate before the domination of this “pollens
matrona,” were content (lest, forsooth! they should have “argued
themselves unknown”) to pay tax and tribute to her two favourites, and
take a passport to the notice of “the town,” in the shape of a
benefit-ticket. At such scenes, it is not using too strong a figure to
say that Folly must have clapped her hands, displayed her broadest grin,
and given an extra jingle to the bells on her cap. To all who reflect,
it scarcely needs to be observed that the false raptures and artificial
stimulus, belonging to a system like this, are nearly as injurious as
they are absurd; that to pamper thus the artist, is not only to spoil
him, but to injure the interests of the art, by making it the object of
popular ridicule or disgust.

The contrast afforded by the close of Giardini’s career with the
brilliancy of its middle course, makes one think of Johnson’s bitter
association of “the patron and the jail.” Those were, truly, the days
when patronage was a thing of rank luxuriance, that sometimes overgrew
and choked the flowers of genius to which it fastened itself. The case
is now, happily, become somewhat different—the free and fostering breath
of general opinion being the air in which talent has learned to seek and
attain its full growth; and a more limited resort being had to the
forcing influence of the aristocratic temperature.[30]

The losses that Giardini had sustained on that ready road to ruin, the
Italian Opera, drove him back to the resources of his own particular
talent; and he entered upon the occupation of teaching in families of
rank and fashion, at the same time continuing unrivalled as a leader, a
solo-player, and a composer for his favourite instrument.

Mr. Gardiner, of Leicester, has made the following record concerning
him, in his “_Music and Friends_,” on the occasion of a concert at the
above town, in 1774:—“There I heard the full and prolonged tones of
Giardini’s violin. He played a concerto, in which he introduced the then
popular air “Come, haste to the wedding,” which moved the audience to a
state of ecstacy, but now would disgust every one by its vulgarity. He
was a fine-figured man, superbly dressed in green and gold; the breadth
of the lace upon his coat, with the three large gold buttons on the
sleeve, made a rich appearance, which still glitters on my imagination.”

Giardini resided in England until the year 1784, when he went to Naples,
under the protection and patronage of Sir William Hamilton. There he
continued five years, and then returned to this country; but his
reception was not what it had formerly been. Fashion is a goddess of so
gay a turn as cannot assort with infirmity; and an old favourite is but
too likely to find that favour easily gets a divorce from age. The
health of the Italian was greatly impaired, and sinking fast under a
confirmed dropsy. With a dimmer eye, a feebler hand, and doubtless an
aching heart, he found himself still doomed to the prosecution of his
calling, when all his former excellence was lost. Instead of _leading_
in all the most difficult parts, he now played in public only the tenor
in quartetts that he had recently composed. After attempting,
unsuccessfully, a burletta opera at the little Theatre in the Haymarket,
he was at length (in 1793) induced to go to St. Petersburgh, and
afterwards to Moscow, with his burletta performers. The most cruel
disappointment, however, attended him in each of these cities; in the
latter of which, he died, at the age of 80, in a state (as far as it
could be discovered) of poverty and wretchedness.

It is certain that the wayward and splenetic character evinced by this
brilliant artist, was his bane through the greater part of his life. To
enquire how much of that character was indigenous to the man, and how
much the evil fruit of the private-patronage system, were, perhaps, to
consider too curiously. That he was careless of his own interest, and
that he quarrelled with some of his most valuable friends, can excite
little surprise, when we note the furor of favoritism, the perversity of
petting, that were thrust upon him. We must not expect, in the _morale_
of the musician

  “Made drunk with honor, and debauch’d with praise,”

that “sterner stuff,” which we look for in the philosopher.

As a composer for the instrument on which he shone, Giardini is not
entitled to rank very high. His Solos and Concertos, numerous, pleasing
and of neat effect, were not of so marked a character as to ensure any
great duration to their popularity; nor did they admit of any severe
analysis as to science in their structure. It is from his _playing_ that
his high reputation is derived; and he confirmed into triumph, by more
than thirty years of brilliant performance, the previously growing
favour of the instrument in England, where indeed he may be said to have
completely reformed the Violin system. A living testimony to the
excellence of his playing, with a few words as to its manner, has been
given, not long since, by Parke, the oboist, who heard him in 1776, and
states that he displayed a fund of grace and expression—that his tone
united sweetness with power—and (an odd addendum) that he made use of
strings so large as to give rise to the idea that his fingers must have
been blistered by the necessary pressure he gave them.

ANTONIO LOLLI, born at Bergamo, in 1728, attained eminence in his own
country, and afterwards (from 1762 to 1773) became Concert-Master to the
Duke of Wurtemburg. Subsequently he went to Russia, where he obtained,
from the Empress, Catherine II, a signal token of her admiration, in the
shape of a violin-bow, made for him by her order, and bearing on it an
inscription in her own potential autograph:—“_Archet fait par ordre de
Catherine II, pour l’incomparable Lolli_.” In 1785, he visited England,
whence he proceeded to Spain, and thence to Paris, where he performed at
the _Spirituel_ and other Concerts. In 1788, he returned to Italy, where
he glorified his own name with the title of Concert-Master to the
Empress of Russia; and in 1794, he was at Vienna, ascribing himself
under the same character to the King of Naples. He died, after a
lingering illness, at Naples, in 1802. His excellence in practice was
chiefly evinced in quick movements: he was rarely inclined to exhibit in
an adagio.[31] An anecdote in proof of his professional assiduity is
recorded by Gerber. When he entered on his engagement at Stuttgard, in
1762, he found a superior there, in the person of Nardini. This
circumstance roused all his energies, which speedily took a settled
purpose. He requested the Duke to allow him a year’s leave of absence,
to travel; instead of which, he retired, diligent, but disingenuous, to
a secluded village, and applied himself indefatigably to his instrument.
At the end of the accorded absence, he returned from his pretended
journey, “clarior è tenebris,” and shone forth with such effect, that
Nardini gave up the contest, and returned to Italy.

With regard to the compositions of Lolli, it is known that he never
wrote more than the theme, and obtained from other hands the bass, or
the parts for the several instruments: yet it is curious to note that he
gives difficult passages, of considerable compass, to be executed on the
_fourth string_ only. There are extant various sets of his Solos, a
Preceptive Treatise on the Violin, &c.

GAETANO PUGNANI, first violinist to the King of Sardinia, was born at
Turin, in the year 1728. At a very early age, he began to practise the
instrument on which he was destined to excel. His first tutor was Somis,
his countryman, already named as one of the most distinguished scholars
of Corelli. After displaying his extraordinary abilities at the
Sardinian Court, Pugnani went to Paris, and received the highest
applause at the _Concert Spirituel_, as an admitted rival of J. Stamitz,
Gavinies, and Pagin.

Pugnani afterwards visited many parts of Europe, and remained a
considerable time in England. It was here that he composed a great
portion of his violin music. In 1770, he returned to Italy; and, at
Turin, founded a school for violinists, as Corelli had at Rome, and
Tartini at Padua. From this practical academy issued the first
performers of the latter part of the eighteenth century; among whom were
Viotti, Bruni and Oliveri. Pugnani’s style of execution is recorded to
have been broad and noble, and characterized by that commanding sweep of
the bow which afterwards formed so grand a feature in the performance of
Viotti; the germs of whose high qualities are clearly traceable to his
master. It has been remarked, that all the pupils of Pugnani proved
excellent leaders. To lead well, was his most distinguishing excellence;
and he possessed the art of transmitting it to others. In the orchestra,
says Rangoni, he commanded like a general in the midst of his soldiers.
His bow was the baton of authority, which every performer obeyed with
the most scrupulous exactitude. With a single stroke of this bow, he
could correct the erroneous, or animate the lethargic. He even indicated
to the _actors_ the tone and sentiment in which they ought to deliver,
their respective melodies, and brought every thing to that harmony of
expression, without which the operatic scene fails of its most powerful
charm. His strong and acute mind possessed with the great object to
which every leader ought to attend, he promptly and powerfully seized
all the grand points, the character, the style and taste of the
composition, and impressed it upon the feelings of the performers, both
vocal and instrumental.

Pugnani, in addition to the display of brilliant and powerful abilities
as a performer, gave, in his compositions, evidence of a free and
elegant imagination. His several instrumental pieces, which consist of
solos, trios, quartetts, quintetts and overtures, were published
variously, in London, Amsterdam and Paris. On the Continent, they are
still in some request, but are become very scarce. They display an
eloquence of melody, and an animated and nervous manner. The ideas are
natural, both in themselves and in their succession; and, however
pointed and striking, never desert the style of the _motivo_. The operas
of this distinguished master, seven or eight in number, were all highly
successful; and there is scarcely a theatre in Italy, at which some of
them have not been performed.

Amongst the anecdotes that have been related of Pugnani, are the
following. In his early youth, but when already much advanced on the
violin, feeling far from satisfied with the degree of excellence he had
attained, he resolved to quit Paris for Padua, in order to see Tartini,
to consult him on his playing, and to improve himself under his
instruction. Desired by that great master to give him a specimen of his
performance, he requested of him, beforehand, to express frankly his
opinion of his style and manner. Before he had played many bars, Tartini
suddenly seized his arm, saying, “Too loud, my good friend; too loud!”
Pugnani began afresh; when, arriving at the same passage, his auditor
again stopped him short, exclaiming, “Too soft, my good friend; too
soft!” He immediately laid down his instrument, and solicited Tartini to
admit him among his scholars. His request was granted; and, excellent
violinist as he really already was, he began his practice _de novo_,
and, under the guidance of his new instructor, soon became one of the
first performers of his time. Not long after this, at the house of
Madame Denis, Pugnani heard Voltaire recite a poetical composition, in a
style that enchanted him; and he, in his turn, at the lady’s request,
began to perform on his violin; when, vexed at the interruption and
ill-breeding of Voltaire’s loud conversation,[32] he suddenly stopped,
and put his violin into the case, saying, “M. Voltaire fait très-bien
les vers, mais, quant à la musique, il n’y entend pas le diable.” Once,
in performing a concerto before a numerous company, he became so
excited, on arriving at an _ad libitum_ passage, and so lost in
attention to his playing, that, thinking himself alone, he walked about
the room, “turbine raptus ingenii,” till he had finished his very
beautiful cadence.

Pugnani died at the city of his birth, in 1798. The violinist, Cartier,
has written his eulogium in few words, but of strong import:—“He was the
master of Viotti.”

GIOVANNI MANE GIORNOVICHI (or Giarnovick, or Jarnowick, as he has been
variously called) was born at Palermo, in 1745, and had Antonio Lolli
for his preceptor. Resorting to Paris for his first public display, he
appeared at the _Concert Spirituel_, with indifferent success, but, by
perseverance, soon turned the scale of opinion in his favour so
effectually, that, during a space of ten years, the style of Giornovichi
was in fashion in the French capital. His sway there was terminated by
the superior power of Viotti, and he quitted France about the year 1780,
proceeding to Prussia, where, in 1782, he was engaged as first violin in
the Royal Chapel of Potsdam. He was, subsequently, for some time in
Russia.[33] Between the years 1792 and 1796, he was in high vogue in
various parts of England, but lost his popularity through a dispute with
an eminent professor, in which the sense of the public went against him.
A residence of some years in Hamburgh, a shorter stay at Berlin, and
then a change to St. Petersburgh, brought him to the end of his career.
He died of apoplexy, in 1804.

The eccentricity which marked the character of this artist, is shown in
various anecdotes that have been current respecting him. On one
occasion, at Lyons, he announced a concert, at six francs a ticket, but
failed to collect an audience. Finding the Lyonnese so retentive of
their money, he postponed his performance to the following evening, with
the temptation of tickets at half the price. A crowded company was the
result; but their expectations were suddenly let down by the discovery
that “the advertiser” had quitted the town _sans cérémonie_. At another
time, being in the music-shop of Bailleux, he accidentally broke a pane
of glass.

“Those who break windows must pay for them,” said Bailleux. “Right,”
replied the other; “how much is it?” “Thirty sous.” “Well, there’s a
three-franc piece.” “But I have no small change.” “Never mind that,”
Giornovichi replied; “we are now quits!” and immediately dashed his cane
through a second square—thus taking _double panes_ to make himself
disagreeable.

The authoress of the “Memoirs of the Empress Josephine” has furnished an
anecdote connected with his sojourn in London. He gave a concert, which
was very fully attended. On the commencement of a concerto which he had
to perform, the company continued conversing together, while their
whispering was intermingled with the clattering of tea-cups and
saucers—for it was then customary to serve the company with tea
throughout the evening, during the performance as well as in the
intervening pauses. Giornovichi turned to the orchestra, and desired the
performers to stop. “These people,” said he, “know nothing about music.
I will give them something better suited to their taste. Any thing is
good enough for _drinkers of warm water_.” So saying, he immediately
struck up the air, “J’ai du bon tabac.” The best of the matter was, he
was overwhelmed with applause; the second piece was listened to with
great attention, and the circulation of the tea-cups was actually
suspended until its conclusion.

“Giornovick,” says Michael Kelly, again, in his “Reminiscences,” “was a
desperate duellist, quarrelled with Shaw, the leader of the Drury Lane
orchestra, at an oratorio, and challenged him. I strove all in my power
to make peace between them. Giornovick could not speak a word of
English[34], and Shaw could not speak a word of French. They both
agreed that I should be the mediator between them. I translated what
they said to each other, most faithfully; but, unfortunately, Shaw, in
reply to one of Giornovick’s accusations, said, “Pooh! pooh!”—“Sacre!”
said Giornovick, “what is the meaning of dat ‘pooh! pooh?’ I will not
hear a word until you translate me ‘pooh! pooh!’” My good wishes to
produce harmony between them, for some time, were frustrated, because I
really did not know how to translate ‘pooh! pooh!’ into French or
Italian. I, however, at last succeeded in making them friends; but the
whole scene was truly ludicrous.”[35]

The mettlesome _vivacity_ of this strange being was further shown in his
intercourse with the Chevalier St. George, who was expert at the sword,
as well as the _bow_. Giornovichi often disagreed with this formidable
master of fence, and, one day, in the heat of a dispute, dealt him a box
on the ear. Instead of resenting it, however, by means of his “so potent
art,” St. George turned round, with laudable self-restraint, to a person
who was present, and said, “_J’aime trop son talent pour me battre avec
lui!_” (“I am too fond of his talent, to fight him.”)

“Jarnowick,” says a recent critic, “was a sort of erratic star or
meteor, which cannot be brought into the system of the regular planets
of the violin. Slightly educated, and shallow as a musician, his native
talent, and the facility with which he was able to conquer mechanical
difficulties, rendered him so brilliant and powerful a player, that, for
a time, he was quite the rage, both in France and England. We have been
told, by a gentleman who knew him well,” adds this writer, “that he has
seen him, with his violin in his hand, walking about his room, and
groping about on the strings for basses to the melodies he was
composing. His concertos are agreeable and brilliant, but destitute of
profundity and grandeur, and are, therefore, totally thrown aside. His
performance was graceful and elegant, and his tone was pure. He was
remarkably happy in his manner of treating simple and popular airs as
_rondos_, returning ever and anon to his theme, after a variety of
brilliant excursions, in a way that used to fascinate his hearers. But,
both as a composer and a performer, the effect he produced was
ephemeral, and has left no trace behind it. He contributed nothing
either to the progress of music, or to that of the instrument which he
cultivated.”

In giving the reverse side of the picture, there appears to be here a
little exaggeration of its defects. That so eminent a performer should
have contributed _nothing_ to the progress of his instrument, is
scarcely to be held probable. The crowds he drew, and the admiration he
excited, must surely have been the means of diffusing some increased
regard for the instrument of whose single powers he made such brilliant
exhibition. To the steady advancement of the art, through the formation
of pupils, he might contribute nothing; but he must have added
something to its success, by stimulating the public disposition to
encourage it. To create admirers, is of less importance than to make
proficients; and yet it is an achievement of _some_ value, inasmuch as
it promotes the _demand_ for proficients. Even when the public, for
personal reasons, withdrew their patronage from Giornovichi, they only
transferred, in favor of others, the admiration for violin solo-playing,
which he had been one of the agents to instil into them: and thus it is
that no performer of great abilities, unless, by introducing a vicious
style, he corrupts taste (which has not been charged upon Giornovichi),
can be justly said to be destitute of advantageous influence upon his
art.

GIOVANNI BATTISTA VIOTTI, the first violinist of his age, and the
enlightened originator of the modern order of violin-playing, was born
in 1755, at Fontaneto, a small village in Piedmont. Possessing the
happiest dispositions for his art, the progress he made under Pugnani
was so rapid, that, at the age of twenty, he was chosen to fill the
situation of first violinist to the Royal Chapel of Turin. After about
three years’ residence there, he proceeded on his travels, having
already attained maturity of excellence. From Berlin, he directed his
course towards Paris, where he displayed his talents in the _Concert
Spirituel_, and speedily obliged Giornovichi, who was then figuring as a
star of the first pretensions, to “pale his ineffectual fire.” The
concertos of Giornovichi, agreeable and brilliant as they were, and
supported by his graceful and elegant playing, lost their attraction
when brought into rivalry with the beauty and grandeur of Viotti’s
compositions, aided by the noble and powerful manner in which he
executed them.

Viotti’s fame very soon drew on him the notice of the French Court; and
he was sent for to Versailles by Marie Antoinette. A new concerto of
his own composition, to be performed at a courtly festival, was to
afford a treat worthy of Royalty; and every one of the privileged was
impatient to hear him. At the appointed hour, a thousand lights
illumined the magnificent musical saloon of the Queen; the most
distinguished symphonists of the chapel-royal, and of the theatres
(ordered for the service of their Majesties) were seated at the desks
where the parts of the music were distributed. The Queen, the Princes,
the ladies of the royal family, and all the persons belonging to their
Court, having arrived, the concert commenced. The performers, in the
midst of whom Viotti was distinguished, received from him their impulse,
and appeared to be animated by the same spirit. The symphony proceeded
with all the fire and all the expression of him who conceived and
directed it. At the expiration of the _tutti_, the enthusiasm was at its
height; but etiquette forbade applause; the orchestra was silent. In the
saloon, it seemed as if every one present was forewarned by this very
silence to breathe more softly, in order to hear more perfectly the
_solo_ which he was about to commence. The strings, trembling under the
lofty and brilliant bow of Viotti, had already sent forth some prelusive
sounds, when suddenly a great noise was heard from the next apartment.
_Place à Monseigneur le Comte d’Artois!_ His Highness entered, preceded
by servants carrying flambeaux, and accompanied by a numerous train of
bustling attendants. The folding-doors were thrown open, and the concert
was interrupted. A moment after, the symphony began again; “Silence!
Viotti is going to play.” In the meantime, the _Comte d’Artois_ cannot
remain quietly seated: he rises, and walks about the room, addressing
his discourse loudly to several ladies. Viotti looks round with
indignant surprise at the interruption, puts his violin under his arm,
takes the music from the stand, and walks off, leaving the concert, her
Majesty and his Royal Highness, to the reproaches of all the
audience—and leaving his biographers, afterwards, in some doubt whether
a just independence of spirit, or a petulance beyond the occasion,
should be regarded as the motive to this premature _finale_. Of those
who read the anecdote, some may associate it with the story of “the
_bear_ and fiddle,” while others, siding with Viotti, may consider the
interruption that provoked him as something parallel to Beranger’s
ironical summons of

          Bas, bas!
        Chapeau bas!
  Place au Marquis de Carabas!

It has never been satisfactorily discovered what were the reasons which
induced Viotti, at an early period of his life, to relinquish all idea
of ever performing in public. Some have referred to the incident above
narrated, as the cause of this; but they who pretended to be well
acquainted with his character, have asserted that he disdained the
applause of the multitude, because it was afforded, almost
indiscriminately, to superiority of talent, _and_ to presumptuous
mediocrity. It is well known that he rejected the solicitations of
people who were termed of the great world, because he would have no
other judges than such as were worthy of appreciating him; and that,
notwithstanding the pretensions asserted by the great and fashionable
persons of his day, on the score of knowing every thing, and of being
the supreme arbiters of arts, of artists, and of taste, he observed that
it was very rare to find among them men capable of a profound sentiment,
or who could discover in others any thing beyond their exterior, and
judge of things otherwise than by the same superficial admeasurement.
He, however, yielded again to the eagerness which was evinced for
hearing him,—but on two occasions only; of which the one did honour to
his heart; and the other, as it serves to acquaint us more intimately
with his character, may be here related.

On the fifth story, in a little street in Paris, not far from the _Place
de la Révolution_, in the year 1790, lodged a deputy of the Constituent
Assembly, an intimate and trusty friend of Viotti’s. The conformity of
their opinions, the same love of the arts and of liberty, an equal
admiration of the genius and works of Rousseau, had formed this
connection between two men who thenceforward became inseparable. It
was during the exciting times of enthusiasm and of hope, that the ardent
heart of Viotti could not remain indifferent to sentiments which
affected all great and generous minds. He shared them with his friend.
This person solicited him strongly to comply with the desire which some
of the first personages in the kingdom expressed to hear him—if only for
once. Viotti at last consented, but upon one condition—namely, that the
concert should be given in the modest and humble retreat of _the fifth
floor! La fortune passe par tout_—‘We have,’said he, ‘long enough
descended to _them_: but the times are changed; they must now mount, in
order to raise themselves to _us_.’ This project was no sooner thought
of, than prepared for execution. Viotti and his friend invited the most
celebrated artists of the day to grace this novel festival:—Garat, whom
nature had endowed with a splendid voice, and a talent of expression
still more admirable—Herman, Steibelt, Rode (the pupil of Viotti). To
Puppo was confided the direction of the orchestra; and to Bréval, the
office of seconding Viotti. Among the great female _artistes_ of the
day, were Madame Davrigny, with Mandini, Viganoni, and Morichelli, a
lady as celebrated for her talents as for her charms. On the appointed
day, all the friends arrived. The bust of Rousseau, encircled with
garlands of flowers, was uncovered, and formed the only ornament of this
novel music-saloon. It was there that Princes, notwithstanding the pride
of rank; great ladies, despite the vanity of titles; pretty women, and
superannuated fops, clambered for the first time up to the _fifth
story_, to hear the almost celestial music of Boccherini, performed by
Viotti; and, that nothing might be wanting to complete the triumph of
the artist, there was not one of these persons who, after the concert,
descended without regret, although it was the lot of some of them to
return to sumptuous palaces, and into the midst of etiquette, luxury and
splendour.

Among those friends who enjoyed the envied privilege of hearing this
great artist in private, was Madame Montgerault, who had a country-house
in the valley of Montmorency. Some of his most brilliant ideas had their
access in the society of this amiable and gifted woman, in whom he found
an enthusiasm for the art equal to his own. She would frequently seat
herself at the piano, and begin a Concerto _all’improvviso_; while
Viotti, catching in an instant the spirit of the _motivo_, would
accompany her extemporaneous effusions, and display all the magic of his
skill.

The spirit and honesty of Viotti’s character are not ill shewn in the
following anecdote. Giuseppe Puppo, who possessed no mean command over
the violin, and whose talents were acknowledged by Viotti with the
readiest candour, cherished the more than foolish vanity of boasting
himself a scholar of the great Tartini, which was known to be an
untruth, or, as a French term leniently expresses such deviations, “une
inexactitude.” On some public occasion, when M. Lahoussaye chanced to be
present (who was really a disciple, and an enthusiastic one, of
Tartini’s), Viotti begged him, as a favor, to give him a specimen of
Tartini’s manner of playing. “And now,” said he, in a tone loud enough
to be heard by all the company—“now, Signor Puppo, listen to my friend,
Monsieur Lahoussaye, and you will be enabled to form an idea as to how
Tartini played!”

Viotti’s stay in Paris was abruptly terminated by the bursting of the
revolutionary storm in 1790, which drove him to England. His début in
London, at the memorable concerts under the management of Salomon, was
as brightly marked as it had been in Paris. The connoisseurs were
delighted by his originality and felicitous boldness, tempered as these
qualities were by a pure and exalted taste. In the years 1794 and 1795,
he had some share in the management of the King’s Theatre, and
subsequently became leader of the band in that Temple of (occasional)
Concord. But, as an ancient author has said, success is a thing of
glass, and, just when it begins to wear its brightest looks, it
provokingly meets with a fracture. The quiet and blameless habits of
life of the great musician had not sufficed to exempt him from the
officious visitations of political suspicion, prompted, it has been
supposed, by some whispering tale of slander, from professional envy.
The result was, that poor Viotti suddenly received an order from the
Government to leave England immediately. By what subtle ingenuity of
apprehension, the proceedings of a violin-player came to be associated,
at the Home-Office, with the Revolutions of Empires, is as yet a mystery
more dark than Delphos. Possibly some future D’Israeli, enquiring for
“farther particulars within,” may find the means of enlightening the
world on this transaction, which certainly does seem, at present, to
afford scantier material for the historian than for the epigrammatist.

Thus expelled from the country which had evinced towards others so many
generous proofs of hospitality, Viotti passed over to Holland, and
subsequently fixed himself in the seclusion of a beautiful spot near
Hamburgh, named Schönfeld. Here he gave up his mind to the cares of
composition, as most likely to displace or diminish those more painful
ones which harassed his sensitive mind, on account of the treatment he
had been subjected to. Some of his best works were the product of this
retreat; including his celebrated _Six Duetts Concertante_, for two
violins; in the preface to which, he touches on the circumstance that
was still affecting him:—“Cet ouvrage est le fruit du loisir que le
malheur me procure. Quelques morçeaux ont été dictés par la peine,
d’autres par l’espoir;”—and indeed it has been justly remarked that it
would be difficult to find any musical work that should seem to have
proceeded more directly from a feeling heart, than these exquisite
Duetts.

In Hamburgh, he met with his former competitor, Giornovichi, who, like
himself, had been compelled to fly from Paris, the scene of his pristine
glories. The latter gave two concerts in this place, attended with the
meed of money, as well as that of praise; but the graver-minded Viotti
could not be persuaded to appear in public, and imitate his example.

In 1801, Viotti found himself at liberty to return to London. Having
determined to relinquish the musical profession, he devoted his
resources, like Carbonelli of foregone fame, to the ministry of
Bacchus, and associated himself with a respectable member of the
wine-trade. Disappointment was the issue, however, of this undertaking;
and, after years of endeavour, he discovered that his whole fortune was
gone. Thus reduced, he prevailed with his own struggling spirit to
solicit some appointment from the French Court, and received, from Louis
XVIII, the nomination to the management of the Grand Opera. Impelled
anew by what Byron calls

  “The various joltings of life’s hackney coach,”

he proceeded to Paris, and entered upon the office; but neither his age,
nor his quiet character, was congenial with the temper of such a scene;
and he retired, unsuccessful, but with the grant of a pension. He then
came over to end his days in England, loving rather to be an _habitué_
of London, than a citizen of the world; for he had become closely
familiarized with the ways and habits of our metropolis, and seemed to
have cherished an almost Johnsonian attachment to it. His previous cares
and misfortunes, however, had left him little power to continue the race
of life, already a protracted one; and, after visibly declining for some
time, he died on the 3rd of March, 1824.

Viotti’s long retirement from the profession of that art on which his
fame was built, had not impaired his love of it, nor his inclination to
support it. On the institution of the Philharmonic Society, that “decus
et tutamen” of instrumental music in this country, he was one of the
original members, and, as an honorary performer, not only led the band
in turn with Salomon, F. Cramer, Yaniewicz, Spagnoletti and Vaccari,
but, like them, interchanged direction and submission, by taking his
seat, on the other nights, among the _ripieni_; thus assisting to form
an orchestral phalanx that certainly never was witnessed before, and is
little likely to be surpassed.

Viotti was a person of feelings and sentiments far less artificial than
are commonly produced in men whose intercourse with society is fostered
by their powers of contributing to its amusement. Mixing, of necessity,
a great deal with the world, he seems, nevertheless, in a remarkable
degree, to have preserved himself from its corrupting influence; and
though, as just remarked, he loved London much, there is very
interesting evidence to shew that he loved nature more. The purity and
rectitude of his taste—its association with the poetic and the
true—stand thus recorded by one who had good opportunities of
appreciating him:—“Never did a man attach so much value (says M. Eymar)
to the simplest gifts of nature; and never did a child enjoy them more
passionately. A simple violet, discovered in its lowly bed among the
grass, would transport him with the liveliest joy; a pear, a plum,
gathered fresh by his own hands, would, for the moment, make him the
happiest of mortals. The perfume of the one had always something new to
him, and the taste of the other something more delicious than before.
His organs, all delicacy and sensibility, seemed to have preserved,
undiminished, their youthful purity. In the country, everything was, to
this extraordinary man, an object of fresh interest and enjoyment. The
slightest impression seemed communicated to all his senses at once.
Every thing affected his imagination; every thing spoke to his heart,
and he yielded himself at once to its emotions.”

The natural bias of his character receives further illustration in the
sketch which he himself has given, descriptive of his picking up one of
the varieties of the popular _Ranz des Vaches_, among the mountains of
Switzerland.

“The _Ranz des Vaches_ which I send you,” says he to a friend, “is
neither that with which our friend Jean Jacques has presented us, nor
that of which M. de la Borde speaks, in his work upon Music. I cannot
say whether it is known or not; all I know is, that I heard it in
Switzerland, and, once heard, I have never forgotten it since.

“I was sauntering alone, towards the decline of day, in one of those
sequestered spots where we never feel a desire to open our lips. The
weather was mild and serene; the wind (which I detest) was hushed; all
was calm—all was unison with my feelings, and tended to lull me into
that melancholy mood which, ever since I can remember, I have been
accustomed to feel at the hour of twilight.

“My thoughts wandered at random, and my footsteps were equally
undirected. My imagination was not occupied with any particular object,
and my heart lay open to every impression of pensive delight. I walked
forward; I descended the valleys, and traversed the heights. At length,
chance conducted me to a certain valley, which, on rousing myself from
my waking dream, I discovered to abound with beauties. It reminded me of
one of those delicious retreats so beautifully described by Gesner:
flowers, verdure, streamlets, all united to form a picture of perfect
harmony. There, without being fatigued, I seated myself mechanically on
a fragment of rock, and again fell into that kind of profound reverie,
which so totally absorbed all my faculties, that I seemed to forget
whether I was upon earth.

“While sitting thus, wrapped in this slumber of the soul, sounds broke
upon my ear, which were sometimes of a hurried, sometimes of a prolonged
and sustained character, and were repeated, in softened tones, by the
echoes around. I found they proceeded from a mountain-horn; and their
effect was heightened by a plaintive female voice. Struck, as if by
enchantment, I started from my lethargy, listened with breathless
attention, and learned, or rather engraved upon my memory, the _Ranz des
Vaches_ which I send you. In order to understand all its beauties, you
ought to be transplanted to the scene in which I heard it, and to feel
all the enthusiasm that such a moment inspired.”

This susceptibility of pure and simple emotions, which it is delightful
to recognize as one of the attributes of real genius, was in Viotti
associated with a clear and cultivated intellect. He passed much of his
life in the society of the accomplished, the literary, and the
scientific; and his active mind gathered strength and refinement from
the intercourse. If the Horatian dictum be right, that

  “Principibus placuisse viris haud ultima laus est,”

it may be added to the sum of Viotti’s personal merits, that he gained
the respect and esteem of the great, with whom he mixed on proper terms,
not forgetful of their rank as persons of birth and fortune, nor of his
own, as a man of rare talent. The strictest integrity and honour
regulated his transactions; and his feelings were kind and benevolent.
Thus it may be seen that his character, as a man, was calculated to give
increased dignity and influence to his name as a musician.

In the latter capacity, it has, with great truth, been remarked of him,
that though the _virtuosi_ of the present day contrive to execute manual
difficulties exceeding those which were attempted in his time, he has
never been surpassed in all the _highest_ qualities that belong to
performance on his instrument. His compositions for it remain, to this
day, unrivalled in spirit and grandeur of design, graceful melody, and
variety of expression; and they still furnish, when performed by the
surviving disciples of his school, one of the most delightful treats
which a lover of the great and beautiful in music can receive. The
_Concerto_, in particular, which attained some of its improvements in
the hands of the elegant Jarnowick, and the sweetly-expressive Mestrino,
derived a marked advancement from Viotti, who gave to this style the
character which seems so peculiarly its own, and brought it to a degree
of elevation which it seems incapable of surmounting. The specimens of
his composition in this line, that principally claim the attention of
the amateurs of instrumental music, are those in G, in A minor, in D,
and in E minor. The theme of the Concerto in D is in the highest degree
brilliant, though it must not be forgotten that it is taken from a trio
of Pugnani’s in E flat.

It has been well suggested, as a hint to the solo-players at our London
Concerts, that Viotti’s Concertos offer material far more desirable for
their use than those eternal “Airs with Variations,” which convey to the
feelings of the auditor so little sense of variety, and in general tend
to exhibit nothing beyond the dexterity of what the Italians call a
_spacca-nota_, or note-splitter.

The most popular of his _Trios_ are Op. 16, 17, and 18. The whole of his
_Duos_ are admirable, as respects both invention and energy: they may be
called Concertos in miniature[36].

Among the disciples of the school of this great master, may be
enumerated Rode (on the whole regarded as the best), Alday, Labarre,
Vacher, Cartier, Pixis, Madame Paravicini, Mademoiselle Gerbini, and our
countryman, Mori.

FRANCESCO VACCARI, born at Modena, about the year 1772, commenced his
practice of the instrument at the infantine age of five years, under the
tutelage of his father, who, delighted with his quickness of
apprehension, would frequently encourage him to play at sight, not by
the gauds and “immoment toys” that are the common habits of childhood,
but by gifts of new music. After four years of domestic study, he was
introduced by his father to Pugnani, who, with a natural mistrust of
precocious powers, did not like, at first, to be troubled with
“child’s-play,” although, on hearing him, he could not refrain from
applauding his execution. The boy went afterwards to Florence, and had
instructions from Nardini. The habit so early instilled into him by his
father, of playing at first sight, procured him a triumph at Mantua,
when he was yet but thirteen; for he was enabled to execute, without
hesitation, a new Concerto which Pichl, its composer, placed before him.
In 1804, after he had visited most of the great towns in Italy, he
obtained from the King of Spain the appointment of First Violin of his
chamber-band. The disturbed state of that country drove him into
Portugal; and he was, at two several periods, performing in England.
Vaccari was distinguished by purity of tone and of taste, a tender
expression, execution without trick, and a nice exactitude of
intonation.

MASONI, a Florentine, born 1799, attained very brilliant powers of
execution, which he displayed chiefly in foreign countries—quitting
Italy in 1817, for South America, from whence, after various migratory
musical labours, he passed over to India, and stirred to liveliest
emotion the languid people of Calcutta. In the spring of 1834, he
visited England, where his _tours de force_, and surprising dexterities
of bowing, would have won for him a more copious admiration than they
did, if, instead of coming so closely in the rear of the Genoese
“Miracle of Man,” who had well nigh exhausted our stock of musical
sympathies, he had been his antecedent. I would here ask the gentle
reader’s indulgence towards the following bit of measured hyperbole,
perpetrated at the above time, and admitted into a weekly publication of
Mr. Leigh Hunt’s:—

  If your soul be not too _drony_,
  Haste, to hear renowned Masoni!
  Scarce Napoleon (nick-named Boney)
  Was more wondrous than Masoni!
  ‘Pollo’s pet, Euterpe’s crony,
  Is the exquisite Masoni.
  All the sweets that live in honey
  Are concentred in Masoni!
  Fiddlers _should_ be rich and _toney_—
  This—and _more_, is great Masoni.
  Swifter, far, than hare or poney,
  Run the triplets of Masoni—
  And Astonishment bends _low_ knee
  To the flights of high Masoni!
  Utterly _himself_ unknown he
  Should be, who _not_ knows Masoni.
  Dead must be the heart, and _stony_,
  That is moved not by Masoni!
  Money, without ceremony,
  _Shower’d_ should be on Masoni!
  E’en from Greece Colocotroni
  Well might come, to hear Masoni!
  So, again I tell ye, _on’y_
  Go, and listen to Masoni!

The length to which these notices of the artists of Italy has already
extended, is one of the reasons precluding detail with respect to some
others of the later names belonging to that country. Paganini, however,
is neither to be thus dismissed, nor to be here briefly treated of at
the end of a chapter. To him, as standing alone in the history and
practice of his art, and as forming an object of very widely-diffused
curiosity, I propose devoting a separate notice in the ensuing chapter.
I cannot, in the mean time, omit wholly to advert to the name of
Spagnoletti, whose taste and refinement, in the conspicuous situation
which he filled for so many years in London, rendered him a highly
valued model for the attention of our own cultivators of the instrument.
Who is there amongst those who were frequenters of the King’s Theatre,
during his time of office, that will not recollect, with feelings of
interest, the delicate grace of Spagnoletti’s playing—his obviously
intense, yet not obtrusive, enthusiasm—and his oft-repeated sidelong
depressions of the head, as if to drink in more fully, at the left ear,
the delicious tones which he enticed from his own instrument? His
peculiar sensitiveness under the impression of a false note, and his
liberality of spirit, and readiness to speak commendingly of his
brethren of the bow, are among the further traits which denoted him to
those who had the opportunity of closer observation. Spagnoletti’s
original name is said to have been Paolo Diana. I have heard an anecdote
which, if it may be depended on, exemplifies his quickness of temper. It
was to the effect that Spagnoletti, having chanced to quarrel one
morning with Ambrogetti, challenged him on the spot; and that the singer
put aside the abrupt invitation, by the phlegmatic remark that he had
_not breakfasted_!




CHAPTER III.

PAGANINI.

  “Natura il fece, e poi ruppe la stampa.”—_Ariosto._

  “The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.”—_Pope._


Who has not heard of Paganini—and who, that boasts of an ear, has not
heard Paganini himself? Fame, catching up the echoes of his glory, has
caused them to reverberate through her trump, and to _far furore_ even
to the uttermost parts of the civilized world; and the hero himself,
following in her rear, has gone forth to fulfil her proclamations, to
reap his laurels, to achieve the general conquest of ears, and to
receive in gold the tribute of admiring nations! Tongues and pens have
vied with each other in celebrating his name; and _‘Ercles’ vein_ has
been drawn upon in his behalf, till its exhausted stream could no
further go.

NICOLO PAGANINI came into this breathing world at Genoa. The date of his
birth, like most of the circumstances of his life, has been variously
represented; but the most probable account fixes it on the 18th of
February, 1784. His parents were of humble rank, but not so low as has
been pretended in some of the “supposures hypothetical” that have been
mixed up with the history of their marvel-moving son. To suit the humor
of these fancies, the _conjectured_ father has been depressed to the
condition of a street-porter, bearing (along with his burdens) some name
too obscure to be recorded; while the person known as Paganini _père_
has been asserted to possess no other rights of paternity than what are
conferred by adoption. This story, were it a true one, would reflect no
discredit on an artist who has owed to his own genius the wide celebrity
attaching to his name. “Miserum est aliorum incumbere famæ,” says the
Roman poet; and the feeling of modern times is daily more and more
confirming the sentiment. By another version, the father of Paganini has
been styled a small trader, with a large tendency to seek his fortune
through the calculation of lottery-chances. His actual station, as
appears most likely, was originally that of a mercantile clerk; and it
is concurrently allowed that this father, putative or positive, had
music enough in his soul, or in his head, to perceive the indications of
the faculty in his infant son, and to resolve on its full development;
although the means he took for this purpose were as little creditable to
his paternal pretensions, as they were injudicious with reference to
their object. Ere yet the boy, however, had received into his tiny hands
the instrument that was destined to make him “a miracle of man,” the
world, it appears, was very near being deprived of him altogether! It is
stated that, at the age of four years, he was attacked by the measles,
attended, in his case, with unusually aggravated symptoms. So
extraordinary an influence did the disease exercise on his nervous
system, that he remained during an entire day in the state of catalepsy,
or apparent death, and had actually been enveloped in a shroud, when a
slight movement fortunately revealed the fact of his existence, and
saved him from the horrors of a premature interment.

The musical discipline adopted by his father appears to have begun in
pretty close sequence to this shock; and the days of hard work for poor
little Paganini were made to commence, by a shameful perversion, before
he could plainly speak. As soon as he could hold a violin, his father
put one into his hands, and made him sit beside him from morning till
night, to practise it. The willing enthusiasm of the child, as well as
the tenderness of his age, might have disarmed the severity of any
ordinary preceptor; but the rigor of a stern father, when sharpened by
ambition and avarice, _can_ forget the measure of an infant’s powers.
The slightest fault, the most pardonable inadvertence, was harshly
visited upon the Liliputian performer; and even the privation of food
was sometimes resorted to, as part of the barbarous system to enforce
precocity. A lasting influence of baneful kind was thus wrought upon a
constitution naturally delicate and sensitive: the sickly child,
incapable of attaining a healthful maturity, was merged into the
suffering man.

His mother, with equal but more tender zeal for the development of the
talent of young Paganini, succeeded in inspiring him with no slight
portion of her own enthusiasm, by persuading him that an angel had
appeared to her in a vision, and had assured her that he should outstrip
all competition as a performer on the violin. Whether this vision was
the result of a pardonable stratagem, or whether it was really the dream
of a southern imagination, it is certain that it had the greatest effect
on the mind of the infant artist, whose instinctive and irresistible
inclination for the art made him an easy recipient of this maternal tale
of encouragement. He began also to relish the domestic plaudits which
were occasionally awarded to him for the boldness wherewith he produced
new, if not legitimate, effects, indicative of future mastery over the
powers of the instrument; for the instinct of his mind towards _the
extraordinary_ was, even thus early, a thing clearly discernible. He
speedily outstripped his father’s slender reach of musical knowledge, as
well as that of a minor violinist named Cervetto, who, for a short time,
attempted to teach him. Giacomo Costa, director of the orchestra, and
first violin in the principal churches, at Genoa, was next charged with
his musical direction, and led him more rapidly onwards. At this period
(when he was about eight years old), he was to be seen performing some
three times a week in the churches, and at private musical parties, upon
a fiddle that looked nearly as large as himself. At this time, too, he
composed his first Violin Sonata, which, with others of his early
musical pennings, is, unfortunately, not extant. A year later, he made
what was considered his public _début_, in the great theatre of Genoa,
at the request of the noted singers, Marchesi and Albertinotti, who
begged of his father to allow the youthful artist to play for their
benefit, undertaking, in return, to sing for Paganini at the first
concert he should offer to the public. On both occasions, he played a
series of variations, believed to be his own, on the French republican
air, “La Carmagnole,” which were received with a force of approbation
that seemed to carry with it the conviction of his future fame. Already,
indeed, had his native genius urged him into a new path, both as to
_fingering_ and the management of the _bow_.

Stimulated by the opening prospects of solid advantage, his father next
carried him to Parma, then the residence of Alessandro Rolla, in order
to place him under the care of that celebrated composer. It so happened
on their arrival, that Rolla was confined to his room by indisposition;
and the strangers, having been shown into a neighbouring apartment,
found there, on a table, the score of a work which the composer had just
finished. At the suggestion of his father, Paganini took up the violin
which lay by the manuscript, and performed the new concerto at sight,
with so much point and precision as to raise the sick composer from his
bed, that he might ascertain to what master’s hand he owed this
agreeable surprise! The father, having explained the object of their
visit, was assured by Rolla that he was incapable of adding any thing to
his son’s acquirements: he advised them to go to Paër, who was then the
director of the Conservatory at Parma. Paër, in his turn, directed his
visitors to his old master, Giretti, who received young Paganini as one
of his pupils, and for six months gave him regular lessons in
counterpoint. The good use which he made of this short apprenticeship is
proved by the four-and-twenty fugues which he composed in the course of
it. His rapid progress inspired Paër with so lively an interest in his
success, that he also devoted several hours a day to his instruction,
and, at the end of four months, entrusted him with the composition of a
_duo_, which was eminently successful. But these advantages were
interrupted by the removal of Paër to Venice, where he had undertaken
the composition of an opera.

Thus additionally qualified for the gratification of the “auri sacra
fames” in the paternal breast, Paganini was now hawked about the country
in a professional tour (at the commencement of 1797), through the
principal cities of Lombardy; after which the father and son returned to
Genoa, where the youthful artist was again subjected to those daily
toils which had previously been forced on him with such wanton rigor:
but the bonds were not to be of much longer endurance. In his 14th year,
he was permitted, under the protection of an elder brother, to attend
the Musical Festival of St. Martin, which is annually celebrated at
Lucca, in the month of November; and, after meeting with a very
flattering reception in all his public appearances, he extended his tour
among the towns in the neighbourhood. The extreme degree of severity and
restraint, with which his education had hitherto been conducted, was now
beginning to work its natural result. At the age of fifteen, finding
himself relieved from all effectual control by means of the ascendancy
of his talent, and capable of attaining, through the same means,
unlimited pecuniary supplies, he commenced the itinerant system on his
own account; and soon, by a reaction of mind, that is in no degree
surprising, acquired a decided partiality for a course of life that was
accompanied by freedom from the trammels of such a father. The bonds of
affection towards that persecuting parent were only loosened, however,
not severed; for, after acquiring, by his independent exertions, a sum
equal to about a thousand pounds, he proposed to assign a portion of it
towards the maintenance of his father and mother. The cupidity of the
former rejected this, and demanded the whole. The interest of the
capital was then offered, equally in vain; and the violence of the
father proceeded to the extent (as it has been asserted) of threatening
Paganini with instant death, unless the whole of the principal were
relinquished to him. This outrage, supposing it true, appears but a
concentration, as it were, of the ill usage more diffusely applied
before. To procure peace—perhaps to save his life—Paganini gave up the
greater part of the sum.

Resuming the exercise of his emancipated powers, Paganini visited many
parts of Italy, and was flattered and rewarded in all. The intoxication
of his rapid successes, combined with his joy at the escape from
domestic fetters, seem to have led him into some youthful excesses at
this period, and to have made the roving course of his travel rather
_too_ close a type of his moral career—

  Erring here, and wandering there,
  Pleas’d with transgression every where.

The increased celebrity which he afterwards acquired, or rather,
perhaps, the jealous envy by which such celebrity is commonly pursued,
has exercised a magnifying effect upon these early aberrations, and
presented them as crimes of a serious and disgraceful nature. Whenever
duly examined, they will be probably found to shrink back into something
not greatly beyond peccadillo proportions. The feverish and unhealthy
excitement besetting his peculiar position should be taken into full
account, in forming a moral estimate of his youthful course. That the
seductions of the gaming-table for a while swayed his fancy, and
checquered his fortunes, is made clear by his own confession, which I
will here extract from the interesting “Notice Biographique” by Monsieur
Fétis (written as a _pendant_ to the Collection of Paganini’s
Compositions, about to appear in Paris), to which pamphlet I am indebted
for some of the additional facts in the present sketch.

“I shall never forget,” says Paganini, “that I once placed myself in a
position which was to form the turning point of my whole career. The
Prince De * * * * * had long felt a desire to become the possessor of my
excellent violin, which I still retain, and which was _then_ the only
one I had. He sent to me one day, in the endeavour to make me fix a
price for it; but, reluctant to part with my instrument, I declared
that I would only do so for 250 gold Napoleons. The Prince remarked to
me, shortly afterwards, that I was probably joking when I asked so much,
but that he was disposed to go as far as 2000 francs. I was, that very
day, in much embarrassment as to funds, owing to a considerable loss
encountered at _play_; so that I was on the point of resolving to give
up my violin for the sum offered, when a friend came in, with an
invitation to join a party in the evening. My whole supply amounted to
thirty francs; and I had already stripped myself of my watch, jewels,
rings, pins, &c. I formed the instant resolve to hazard my last
pittance, and then, if fortune were adverse, to sell the violin for what
had been offered, and set off for Petersburgh, without either instrument
or property, there to re-establish my circumstances. My thirty francs
were presently reduced to _three_,—and I fancied myself already on the
road towards the great city, when fortune, shifting like the glance of
an eye, turned my petty remainder into a gain of 160 francs. That
favorable moment rescued my fiddle, and set me on my feet. From that
day, I renounced gaming, to which a portion of my youth had been
sacrificed; and, in the conviction that a gambler is universally
despised, I abandoned for ever that fatal passion.”

The imperilled instrument above referred to, appears to have been the
same that figures in the following anecdote, as related by M. Fétis.
Whilst the youthful artist was still under the dominion of the passion
for play, that sometimes robbed him, in a single evening, of the produce
of more than one concert, and sometimes did not leave to him even his
violin, he had recourse (at Leghorn) to the kindness of a French
merchant, Monsieur Livron, a zealous musical amateur, who very readily
lent him a fine Guarnerius instrument. After the concert for which it
had been required, Paganini took it back to the owner, who, however,
declined to receive it, saying, “I shall take good care how I profane
the strings that your fingers have touched! It is to _you_ that my
violin now belongs.” The instrument was afterwards used by Paganini at
all his concerts.

A similar incident occurred to him at Parma, though under different
circumstances. Pasini, a painter, with musical propensities, had refused
to credit the prodigious facility attributed to Paganini, in the way of
playing the _crabbedest_ music at sight, like one who had fully studied
it. The sceptic therefore placed before him a manuscript concerto, in
which all manner of difficulties had been brought together, and, handing
to him an excellent Straduarius instrument, exclaimed, “This is _yours_,
if you play that at sight, like a master.” “In that case,” observed
Paganini, “you may say farewell to it at once;” and, in fact, his
_fulminating_ execution presently threw the convinced Pasini into an
ecstasy of admiration.

To those earlier days belongs also the fact of Paganini’s transient
passion for the _guitar_, or rather for a certain fair Tuscan lady, who
incited him to the study of that feebler instrument—of which she was
herself a votary. Applying his acute powers to the extension of its
resources, he soon made the guitar an object of astonishment to his fair
friend; nor did he resume in earnest that peculiar symbol of his
greatness, the violin, till after a lapse of nearly three years.
Paganini tickling the guitar, may almost suggest, for analogy, Hercules
dallying with the distaff!

After declining, for the freer indulgence of his rambles, various offers
of profitable engagement on permanent grounds, he was induced to enter,
in 1805, the service of Napoleon’s sister with the exquisite name (Elisa
Bacciocchi), then Princess of Lucca and Piombino, to whose elegant
little court several distinguished artists were at that time attracted.
Paganini became concertist and director of the orchestra there; and it
was in this situation that he first attempted the execution of those
triumphs of art under _diminished resources_, that have had, in the
sequel, so large a share in the production of his success with the
multitude. I allude to his acquired habit, displayed from time to time,
of dispensing with the aid of _two_ or even _three_ of the strings of
his instrument, and working apparent impossibilities with the remaining
_two_ or _one_—a habit which, owing to his occasional abuse of it, has
laid him open to a charge of charlatanism, even from the Italians. His
incredible address in these extraordinary efforts, produced a degree of
astonishment which may probably have given rise to some of those
rumours, both romantic and ludicrous, that have been so freely
associated with his name. The explanation he has himself given of the
origin of these performances, in the following letter to a friend, seems
so consistent with his disposition at the period, that it may very
readily command the preference in point of credibility:—

“At Lucca,” he says, “I led the orchestra whenever the Reigning Family
attended the opera. I was often sent for also to the court circle,—and
once a fortnight I gave a grand concert,—but the Princess Eliza retired
always before the conclusion, declaring that her nerves were too keenly
affected by the sounds of my instrument. A certain lady, on the
contrary, whom I had long adored in secret, was constant and assiduous
in her attendance at these musical meetings. I thought I could perceive
that some secret influence attracted her towards me. Our mutual passion
insensibly increased; but, as motives of prudence made secrecy
indispensable, and forbade any open declaration, the idea occurred to me
of surprising her with a piece of musical gallantry, which would convey
to her the expression of my feelings. Having announced my intention to
produce a novelty at Court, under a title (that of “A Love Scene”) well
calculated to excite the general curiosity, I could observe that that
feeling was not diminished on my entering the music-room, with a violin
provided with only _two strings_, the first and the fourth. The _first_
was intended to express the sentiments of a lady; the _fourth_, those of
a despairing lover. Between the two, I established a sort of impassioned
dialogue, in which the tenderest accents succeeded the violence of
repeated fits of jealousy. Alternately plaintive and insinuating, there
was at one moment a cry of grief or anger, and the next, of joyful
reconciliation. The whole scene was eminently successful; the lady to
whom it referred rewarded me by looks full of delighted amiability; and
the princess Eliza, after loading me with praises, enquired if, after
doing the impossible with _two_ strings, _one_ might not possibly
suffice me. I instantly gave my promise to make the attempt; and, a few
weeks afterwards, I produced a _Sonata on the fourth string_, which I
entitled “Napoleon,” and executed it on the 25th of August, before a
brilliant and numerous Court. Its success having far surpassed my
expectation, I may date from that period my predilection for the lower
string; and, as my audience seemed never to tire of the pieces I had
composed for it, I have at length arrived at that degree of facility
which appears to have so much surprised you.”

To find out sufficient scope for an entire field of melody, as the
produce of a single musical string, must have demanded great study, as
well as unremitting manual practice. Paganini extended the capability of
the string to three octaves, including the harmonic sounds, which he
developed into a most important resource. The success of this novelty
was prodigiously increased, after he had presented it beyond the courtly
circle, and made it public[37].

When the Princess Eliza became Grand Duchess of Tuscany, Paganini
followed her to Florence, where he became an object of even fanatic
admiration. His talent developed itself daily in new forms; but he had
as yet very imperfectly learned to regulate its exercise. The amount of
study, however, to which he had subjected himself, after ceasing to be
the slave of his father, is a thing to excite astonishment. He had
abandoned himself, in solitude, to the research with which his mind was
occupied; and had then formed the plan of the _Studies_ which are known
under his name, and wherein he proposed difficulties that he himself
could not surmount without immense labour. It is a remarkable fact,
also, that he suddenly interrupted his enquiries as to the possibility
of augmenting the resources of the violin, in order to study seriously
the works of Corelli, Vivaldi, Tartini, Pugnani and Viotti, and to
ascertain the successive progress of his instrument. He afterwards
familiarized himself with the works of the Violinists of France.

In the summer of 1808, after three years passed at Lucca, Paganini, with
the consent of his patroness, visited Leghorn, which city had been a
scene of triumph to him seven years previously. How, at his first
concert on this re-appearance, a cloud was converted into sunshine, has
been pleasantly enough recorded by himself:—

“Having accidentally run a nail into my heel, I came on the stage
_limping_—and the public greeted me with _a laugh_. At the moment when I
was beginning my concerto, the tapers fell from my music-stand, drawing
a fresh burst of laughter from the audience. Again, after the first few
bars of the solo, my upper string broke—which raised the merriment to a
climax:—but I went through the piece upon three strings—and the laughter
was turned into shouts of enthusiasm.”

Still retaining his engagement in the service of the Princess
Bacciocchi, who was now become Grand Duchess of Tuscany, and established
at Florence with her court, the great artist made professional
excursions to various Italian cities—including one to Turin (where he
was first attacked by the abdominal ailment which, in the sequel, so
much enfeebled his health, and so often interrupted his travels, and
disturbed the order of his concerts)—and another to Ferrara, where his
grotesque mode of retaliation for an affront received in public, led to
such a misunderstanding with the townspeople, as caused some jeopardy to
his life.

About the commencement of 1813, his position at the Court of the Grand
Duchess Eliza was suddenly and disagreeably abolished. On a certain
state occasion, Paganini appeared in the orchestra in the full-blown
uniform of a Captain of the _Gendarmerie Royale_, which, as a general
privilege, his fair patroness had authorized him to wear. He was now
requested, however, to exchange it immediately for a suit of plain
black. The sudden shock to his dignity was met by a refusal to comply
with the order, and the result of this bearding of authority was his
precipitate retreat from Florence, with (it is probable) a resolution to
decline all future offers of a “fixed position.”

In the city of Milan, where Paganini found many congenial attractions,
he passed a considerable time, at various epochs of his life. There he
first saw, and entered into friendship with, Rossini. There, too (in
March 1816), occurred, within the walls of _La Scala_, his contest with
Lafont, the champion of French renown in the fiddle field. The story has
been variously represented. It appears that Lafont challenged Paganini
to join him in a concert, and conceived great hopes of beating him,
when, after acceptance of the proposal, the wary Italian was found to
make a very indifferent exhibition of power at the previous rehearsal.
When the rival display came on in earnest, however, the impression
produced by Lafont, with his fine tone, and his graceful and elegant
performance, was presently eclipsed _in toto_ by the superlative mastery
shewn in the performance of the Genoese enchanter, who purposely
followed in the track of his competitor, to establish his superiority at
all points—outweighing him in the deliberate _adagio_, and outstripping
him in all the agile feats of execution, besides transcending him wholly
in the nicer _arcana_ of the art. Of this purport, at least, is the more
common and probable account of the affair. But, if the Frenchman was
thus conspicuously beaten, it would seem that (as in the case of
Falstaff) it would “discolor too much the complexion of his greatness”
to acknowledge it: Monsieur Lafont wrote a letter of negation to a
French journal, some fourteen years after the momentous day. In this
letter he even decides himself to have obtained a partial advantage,
alluding to some particular “phrase de chant,”—and he indulges in this
passage:—“On all occasions I have taken pleasure in rendering homage to
his great talent but I have never said that he was the _first violinist
in the world_: I have not done such injustice to the celebrated men,
Kreutzer, Rode, Baillot, and Habeneck and I declare now, as I have
always done, that the French school is the first in this world for the
violin!”—To this self-and-country-vaunting epistle, as translated in the
_Harmonicon_, Lafont found a respondent (April 7, 1830) in Signor
Francesco Cianchettini, who asserts, as one present on the occasion,
that the public decision was in favour of the Italian, and compares the
vain glory of French fiddlers, in their talk of Paganini, to the empty
freedom of the gladiators of the Neronian age, in speaking of Hercules.

Paganini’s own account of the affair exhibits a modest simplicity,
tending to confirm any previous impressions of his having been the
victor. After quoting it, however, Monsieur Fétis, who has repeatedly
heard Lafont’s relation of the circumstances, offers some remarks, which
it is but right here to subjoin:—“It is not to be denied,” says he,
“that Lafont displayed much imprudence on that occasion. Doubtless he
possessed qualities of a classic order, more pure, and more analogous to
the French taste of his time, than those of Paganini. Doubtless he had
greater volume and evenness of tone: but, with respect to original
fancy, the poetry of playing, and the mastery over difficulties, he
could place himself in no comparison with his antagonist. In a concert
at the Paris _Conservatoire_, the palm, in 1816, would perhaps have been
awarded to _him_ (Lafont): but, in presence of an Italian audience,
eager for novelty, originality, and impulsion, he must needs have
succumbed.” To continue our narrative of Paganini’s “life, behaviour
and conversation,”—the French musical Amateur, Count de Stendhal
(Monsieur Beyle) has alluded to him descriptively at two periods. In
1814, he observes, “Paganini, the Genoese, is, it appears to me, the
first violinist in Italy. He cultivates an exceeding softness of
expression. He plays concertos as unmeaning as those which set us gaping
at Paris; but his delicate softness is always a distinction in his
favour. I love especially to hear him execute variations on the fourth
string of his instrument.” And again, in 1817, he writes of him, as of a
Genoese who played very finely on the violin—being “_equal to the
French_ in execution, and superior in fire and originality!”—Mathews,
the author of the “Diary of an Invalid,” offers the following remarks on
him in the year 1818:—“He is a man of eccentric character and irregular
habits. Though generally resident at Turin, he has no fixed engagement,
but, as occasion may require, makes a trading voyage through the
principal cities of Italy, and can always procure a theatre, upon the
condition of equal participation in the receipts. Many stories are told
of the means by which he has acquired his astonishing style; such as
having been imprisoned ten years, with no other resource. His
performance bears the stamp of the eccentricity of his character. His
tone, and the thrilling intonation of his double stops, are electric.
His bow moves as if it were part of himself, and endued with life and
feeling.”

In proof of the extensive sphere of his attraction, the following
anecdote, having reference to the year 1824, has been published. A
northern traveller, and passionate lover of music, M. Bergman, reading
accidentally, the evening before, in the Journal, at Leghorn, an
announcement of Paganini’s concert, instantly set out for Genoa, a
distance of 100 miles, and luckily reached the spot just half an hour
before the concert began! He came with his expectations raised to the
utmost; but, to use his own expression, the reality was as far above his
anticipations, as the heavens are above the earth. Nor could this
enthusiastic amateur rest content with once hearing Paganini, but
actually followed him to Milan, to hear him _de novo_. Of the two
concerts which the great artist gave at _La Scala_ at that time, the
first consisted entirely (as far as regarded his own performance) of
exhibitions on the fourth string! and may be said to form a remarkable
antithesis to the case of the man so specially indicated by the late
Charles Mathews, as having _lost_ his G! The public were in ecstacies;
but it was observed, with some regret, by the judicious among Paganini’s
auditors at these two concerts, that he was neglecting the _cantabile_,
and the nobler powers of his instrument, for the difficult and
astonishing. Yet it was to no want of sensibility in the soul of the
artist, that this deviation was to be attributed; for he had before
expressed his high admiration of Spohr, the German violinist, so
celebrated for the excellence of his _cantabile_, and had given him full
credit for being the greatest and most perfect _singer_ upon his
instrument—retaining, however, the satisfactory consciousness, as it has
been supposed, of his own immeasurable superiority in the _aggregate_ of
the qualities for which all the greatest masters have been
distinguished.

At Pavia, Paganini likewise gave two concerts, and was received with no
less enthusiasm than at Milan. The bill which set forth the pieces to be
performed was headed with the following autocratical annunciation:—

  PAGANINI.

  _Farà sentire il suo Violino!_

  (“_Paganini will cause his violin to be heard!_”)

In the bills of a concert he gave at Naples, in 1825, his name was
announced with the style and title of _Filarmonico_; and various sage
debates and conjectures were the consequence, among the idlers of the
place.

But it is needless to go thrice over the map of Italy, and detail all
the triumphs of our acoustic hero among his own countrymen. Let us shift
the scene to Germany, and the time to the year 1828, when he was
exhibiting before the people at Vienna, and exciting the admiration and
astonishment of the most distinguished professors and connoisseurs of
that critical city. His inducement to quit his native Italy had been
furnished, it appears, by Prince Metternich, who had witnessed his
performances in the preceding year at Rome, when the Pope (_soit dit en
passant_) had conferred on our Artist the order of the Golden Spur, an
honor which had formerly been awarded to Gluck and Mozart.

All notion of rivalling the foreigner was at once banished from among
the Germans; and it is said that Mayseder, their violinist of then
highest fame, with an ingeniousness that did him honor, intimated, in a
letter to a London friend, that he felt he might now lock up his violin
as soon as he liked!

The successes of Paganini gave new currency to the tales of crime and
_diablerie_ which inventive fame, “ficti pravique tenax,” had so often
circulated in connection with him. A captain of banditti—a Carbonaro—a
dungeon-détenu—a deadly duellist—a four-mistress man—a friend of
Beelzebub—a “bowl-and-dagger” administrator—_these_ are some of the
characters that were freely assigned to him. Over the mouth of his aged
mother, _in articulo mortis_, he was asserted to have placed a leathern
tube, and to have caught her last breath at the S holes of his
fiddle!—He was made out, in short, the very _beau idéal_ of a fellow
that might do the “First Murderer” in a Melodrama. These romantic
rumours, however they might assist his success with the public, could
not be passed by in silence. The injured, yet profited, object of them,
made a public manifesto of his innocence in the leading Journals of
Vienna, and appealed to the magistrates of the various States under
whose protection he had lived, to say if he had ever offended against
the laws. This was all very well; but, what was still better, enough of
the pleasing delusion remained, in spite of all disavowals, to render
Paganini the continued pet of the public. Indeed, a general intoxication
with regard to him prevailed for some time with the Viennese public.
Verses were daily poured forth in honour of him—medals were struck—and
Fashion made profuse appropriation of his name to her various objects.
Hats, gloves, gowns, stockings, were _à la Paganini_:—purveyors of
refreshment fortified their dishes with his name; and if a brilliant
stroke were achieved at billiards, it was likened unto a stroke of his
bow! snuff-boxes and cigar-cases displayed his portrait—and his bust was
carved upon the walking-stick of the man of mode.

Amid the glare of the enchanter’s triumphs, it is pleasing to discover,
in a record of a concert given for the benefit of the poor, that the
cause of benevolence was not forgotten;—nor will it be uninteresting to
bestow a moment’s attention on the following little anecdote, which
certainly reveals something not unlike a heart:—

One day, while walking in the streets of Vienna, Paganini saw a poor
boy playing upon his violin, and, on entering into conversation with
him, found that he maintained his mother, and an accompaniment of little
brothers and sisters, by what he picked up as an itinerant musician.
Paganini immediately gave him all the money he had about him; and then,
taking the boy’s violin, commenced playing, and, when he had got
together a crowd, pulled off his hat, and made a collection, which he
gave to the poor boy, amid the acclamations of the multitude.

The following fact will give some idea of the hearty love of music, the
real _dilettantism_, prevailing among the peasants of Germany. In the
autumn of 1829, Paganini was summoned to perform before the Queen
Dowager of Bavaria, at the Castle of Tegernsee, a magnificent residence
of the Kings of Bavaria, situated on the banks of a lake. At the moment
when the concert was about to begin, a great bustle was heard outside.
The Queen, having enquired the cause, was told that about sixty of the
neighbouring peasants, informed of the arrival of the famous Italian
violinist, were come, in the hope of hearing some of his notes, and
requested that the windows should be opened, in order that _they_ also
might enjoy his talent. The Queen went beyond their wishes, and, with
truly royal good nature, gave orders that they should all be admitted
into the saloon, where she had the pleasure of marking their
discernment, evidenced by the judicious manner in which they applauded
the most striking parts of the performance.

Prague, Dresden, Berlin and Warsaw were successively visited by the
triumphant ear-charmer. Great was the excitement he produced at
Berlin—but somewhat contradictory the opinions about him. “Most
assuredly,” said one journalist, “Paganini is a prodigy; and all that
the most celebrated violinists have executed heretofore is mere child’s
play, compared with the inconceivable difficulties which he has created,
in order to be the first to surmount them.” The same writer declared
that Paganini executed an air, quite _sostenuto_, on one string, while,
at the same time, a _tremolo_ accompaniment upon the next was perfectly
perceptible, as well as a very lively _pizzicato_ upon the fourth
string: that he executed runs of octaves on the single string of G with
as much promptitude, precision and firmness, as other violinists on
_two_. Nay, his celebrator went so far as to say that, in order to
produce this latter effect, he employed one finger only; and further
declared him able to render the four strings of the instrument available
to such a degree, as to form concatenations of chords that could be
heard together, and that produced as full and complete harmony as that
of six fingers of a pianoforte-player on the key-board; adding,
moreover, that, in moments of the most _daring vivacity_, every one of
his notes had all the roundness and sonorousness of a bell! Another
journalist averred that he was incapable of producing a _grand_ tone,
but that he executed the _adagio_, and impassioned _cantilenas_, with
profound sensibility and great perfection of style. It was the remark of
another critic, that “whoever had not heard Paganini, might consider
that there existed a _lacuna_ in the chain of his musical sensations.”

Lipinski, a Pole, had ventured to seek, at Placentia, in 1818, a contest
with Paganini, such as Lafont had previously sought. Whilst at Berlin,
he met with a _third_ challenge to a trial of skill. Sigismund Von
Praun, an ambitious youth, asserting claims to universal genius—a
counterfeit Crichton—attempted to dispute the palm with him, and paraded
a public defiance in the papers: but, this time, Apollo would not
compete with Marsyas Praun, who had made some impression, a few years
before, at Malta and other places, appears to have had talents far from
contemptible, although immature, but his presumption exposed him to
merited ridicule:—

  Low sinks, where he would madly rise,
    This most pretentious imp!
  See! while with Paganin’ he vies,
    _Praun_ looketh _less_ than _shrimp_!

After returning from Warsaw, Paganini visited Frankfort. It is related
that, while he was in this latter city, an actor from the Breslau
Theatre, taking advantage of his marked peculiarities of look, manner
and gesture, made successful public mimicry of him; and that he had the
good sense, himself, to attend one of these performances, and join in
the general laugh with the best grace imaginable. He remained for a year
at Frankfort; and it seemed as if he had renounced the previously
well-circulated notion of his visiting Paris and London, when he
suddenly made his appearance at Strasbourg, and soon afterwards arrived
upon the banks of the Seine, to delight and astonish those idolators of
novelty, the inhabitants of the French metropolis.

Of the impression produced by Paganini among the Parisians, as well as
of his personal and musical characteristics, I find so graphic and
picturesque an account in a French journal (_Le Globe_), that I am
induced to translate, for my purpose, the chief portion of it, under the
conviction that the length of passages leading to what is so far the
_reverse_ of “nothing” will be easily pardoned. Whether the writer’s
moral estimate of the spectacle-hunting branch of the Parisian public be
not a little overcharged with severity, is a point which I have no
pretensions to determine. That there is some eloquence in the thoughts
of the French writer, whoever he might be (and, alas! for common sense,
he is, or was, a St. Simonian), will be, I think, admitted, even by
those who would not so far admire his composition as to “mark it for a
rapture nobly writ.” Here follows his sketch, however; and Paganini
himself (in pictorial effigy) shall attend, and give it a sort of
personal confirmation.

“_The Artist_ is about to make his appearance—silence begins to be
restored—the overture is over, without having been listened to—somewhat
less of coldness and unconcern is expressed on the faces around—and the
hands of the white-gloved are all armed with the double opera-glass.
_Enter Paganini and his Violin!_

“A universal clapping of hands attends his first advent on the scene. He
advances, with sundry awkward and heavy steps; he makes obeisance, and
the applause is renewed: he moves forward, with increased oddity of
gait, and the noise of hands is prolonged on all sides.

[Illustration]

“He makes several further salutations—he endeavours to animate his
countenance with a smile of acknowledgment, which is instantly succeeded
by a look of icy coldness.... He makes a halt, and, with still greater
eccentricity of manner, it may be, than in his reverences and his walk,
he seizes his fiddle, hugs it betwixt chin and chest, and fixes on it a
look at once of pride, penetration and gentleness. Thus resteth he
several seconds, leaving the public at leisure to examine and make him
out in his strange originality—to note with curiosity his gaunt body,
his lengthy arms and fingers, his dark hair descending to his shoulders,
the sickness and suffering denoted in his whole frame, his sunken mouth,
his long eagle nose, his wan and hollow cheeks, his large, fine,
manifest forehead, such as Gall would have delighted to
contemplate,—and, beneath the shelter and shadow of that front, eyes
that dilate, sparkle and flash at every instant!

“Such doth Paganini show himself, formed, at every point of his person,
to catch the greatest possible quantum of applause from a public whom it
is his office to _amuse_. Behold him, a compound of chill irony and
electric enthusiasm,—of haughtiness, with seeming humility,—of sickly
languor, and fitful, nervous, fatal exultings,—of wild oddity, chastened
by some hidden and unconscious grace—of frank abandonment, of charming
attractiveness, of a superiority of talent that might fix the most
indifferent,—but, above all this, a very _man-fiddle_—a being of
extraordinary nature, created as if expressly for the gratification of a
public delighting, before all things, in the extraordinary!

“‘Sufficient for the eyes!’ seems he now to say within himself, as he
notes in their operation the incoherent reveries and speculations of his
beholders. Promptly his looks descend from his violin to the
orchestra—he gives the signal—he raises his right hand briskly into the
air, and dashes his bow down upon the instrument!

[Illustration]

“You anticipate the rupture of all its strings! On the contrary, the
lightest, the finest, the most delicate of sounds comes forth to win
your surprise. He continues for some moments to sport with your
pre-conceptions, to look askance at you, to irritate you; and every whim
that occurs to him, is employed to draw you out from your supposed
indifference. He teases you, he pleases you: he springs, he runs, he
wanders from tone to tone, from octave to octave; achieves, with
incredible lightness and precision, the widest intervals; ascends and
descends the chromatic and diatonic scales; touches harmonic
accompaniments in his way; extracts unknown sounds; searches, with easy
success, for difficulties and tricks of skill; exhausts, within the
space of a few bars, the whole range of chords and sounds possible upon
the instrument—discourses, sings, bewails, ejaculates, describes! ’Tis
suddenly a murmur of waves, a whistling in the air, a warbling of birds;
a something undefinably musical, in the most acute as well as the lowest
tones—an unrestricted impulse of caprices, and contrasts, without guide
or measure! ’Tis, in a word, a perfect union of incoherence and nameless
clatter, beyond which, the world-worn and vitiated beings around, the
worshippers of singularity, can see nothing, imagine nothing, desire
nothing!

“The great Artist has, nevertheless, resources other than those of
phantasy, by which to captivate the public—and presently there succeeds
to this musical phantasmagoria a broad, stately, harmonious (albeit
somewhat too bare) simplicity. The fatigue of the public and of the
Artist now gives place to a species of joy, that visibly blooms on every
countenance. Chords that are pure sweet, melodious, brilliant, stream
from beneath the bow; and then come accents of nature that seem to flow
from the heart itself, and affect you with a perspiring thrill of
delight; and then (prodigy of harmony!) the vague moans and unfinished
plainings of a melancholy abandonment! You sympathize, in gentle pain,
with the touching and melodious artist; you dispose yourself to follow,
at his direction, the course of (as it should seem) some mournful,
fleeting, intangible vision—when instantly a fit of violent distress, a
sort of shuddering fury, seizes him, and we are startled, chilled,
tormented, by cries which pierce the inmost recesses of our frame, and
make us tremble for the hapless being whom we behold and hear! We dare
not breathe—we are half suffocated;—fearfully the head burns, and the
heart aches.

[Illustration]

“And yet—and yet, despite this too positive pain which the unfortunate
artist has forced both upon us and himself, he bethinketh him mindfully
that ’tis his vocation to serve for _sport_ to the public that does him
the _honor_ to come and listen to him. He snatches away, therefore, your
ladies with delicate nerves, and your men of effeminacy, from the
suffocation and syncope that threaten them. Truce to the cries of agony!
truce to despair! A fantastic chaunt, a wild laugh, springs up—and then
succeeds a sort of buffoon dance, to complete the relief of these
people, and restore them to _life_. _Encore_ he sings, he laughs, he
dances: each face is completely reassured, and its owner, to prove to
the rest, and to his own satisfaction, that he has not so far forgotten
himself as to quit the precincts of _bon ton_ and eternal frigidity,
smiles listlessly upon his neighbour, strokes his cravat adjustingly,
and throws a careless glance from side to side! Amidst this returning
indifference, let there come a new passage of arduous brilliancy, some
more or less astonishing sleight of hand—and a reiterated clapping of
palms convinces the unhappy purveyor of diversion that he has but too
well served the public according to their taste!

“And now, should the rondo come, in its light and laughing gaiety—should
the hymn of love and delight succeed, ’twill be the same case as with
the cry of grief or despair. Each burst of simple gaiety must be
followed by an air in the coquettish style, an impulse from the head, to
give it stimulus. Amid the passionate harmonies of love, you shall hear
interspersed the accents of coldness, of disdain, of raillery. After a
voluptuous transport, you shall have mincings and caprices:—

[Illustration]

for there is no gaiety, whether for _him_, or for the listening public,
of a natural, fresh and youthful character; there is no frank and
confiding attachment; there is no serene and grateful pleasure; there is
no sadness that pours itself out for the sake of consolation; no joys
but such as are like scentless flowers, that one picks to pieces in
sport; no passion save what is akin to delirium, debauchery, or deadly
poison! What the public must have, and the artist, are your _pizzicati_,
your contrasts, your satanic schooleries, your touches of the
extravagant;—’tis a dose of madness or despair,—’tis an agony—the
sensation of a man suspended over a bottomless abyss;—’tis a violin,
which is at once a flute, a bass, a guitar, and a whole orchestra,
intermixed, confounded, and getting into harmony only by fits;—’tis a
professional visage, revealing a wounded and withered heart; ’tis a
human skeleton—death, in grotesque attire; ’tis the “talented
exhibition” of a rebellious angel, who gnashes his teeth, and howls, and
jeers! And so the public, seeing their artist hold forth to them, under
convenient forms, all possible monstrosities, seem to applaud themselves
inwardly, and to exclaim instinctively, ‘Here is our interpreter, our
plaything, and our own handywork!’

“Of such a public, and such an artist, how saddening the sight!... The
public, made up of idlers—of beings isolated, selfish, cold,
corrupt—must be _amused_, forsooth! and the artist exhausts his taste
and his sentiment, and well nigh perspires blood and water, to comply
with their exactions—to _amuse_ them!—and if he attain this end, the
public clap their hands, the manager of the theatre counts out to him a
heap of gold, and he goes away, with his ears deafened at the noise
which has surrounded him, and which, for a moment, (it may be), has
made his heart beat high;—he goes away, with a loving grasp tightened
over the coin he has so hardly won; and inwardly exclaims, with a smile
of pity, ‘The blockheads—the barbarians! Who is there among them that
can comprehend me—that can _feel_ my intentions?’—and then the
home-returning public, selfish to the very soul, indemnify themselves
for their fingers’-end applause, by sottish contempt, by remarks that
are empty, or worse—that are scornful, bitter, shocking, disgusting
even—such as those which may have been buzzed into one’s ears in Italy
or in Paris, but varied in a hundred ways, and aggravated at will, just
as _he_ varies and enlarges, twists and turns, beneath his magic bow, a
subject of apparently the most simple and insignificant kind. And now
the voices most distinguishable among the ebbing crowd murmur out the
words, ‘Gambler! Libertine!’ or worse.... And the privileged public
resort again to the theatre, to admire the talent of him whom they
comprehend not; and the artist returns in like manner, to _amuse_ those
who provoke his pity, and whom he beholds so far below him! Thus, we
have contempt on one side, compassion on the other—applause from hands
chilled with the touch of gold, on the one part,—on the other, sounds
that borrow their animation from no social sympathy! Such are the
relations between the public and the professor—such the bonds that
connect them!”


So much for the pungently descriptive, as regards this singular being.
It is less difficult, however, to exhibit effects and appearances, than
to analyze the causes or means which produce them—and it is in this
latter endeavour, accordingly, that there has been least success
attained by those who have made Paganini their theme, in Paris, as
elsewhere. That which was already obscure in relation to him, has been
forced into denser obscurity by the attempted demonstrations of certain
pompous literary showmen, who have succeeded only in illustrating the
proverb of “ignotum per ignotius.” Mystification and generalization, the
resources of ambitious ignorance, have been copiously employed in these
endeavours. Of a less unsatisfactory character, however, are the
pretensions of M. Guhr, the able violinist, of Frankfort, who has
attempted an analysis of the means employed, and the effects produced,
by Paganini. Like most professors of a secret, the arch Italian was
always studious of maintaining the mystery so provocative of curiosity
and admiration. He assumed the air cabalistic, and, with a severe front
and sullen eye, would stimulate and foster the impression of his being
“profited in strange concealments.” M. Guhr, though he had the seeming
advantage of personal and friendly access to him, found he could make
nothing of him by the interrogatory system, and therefore adopted the
alternative of becoming a silent student of his peculiarities, till he
made certain discoveries of more or less importance, which he shaped
into five heads, to show that Paganini’s chief points of difference from
other violinists were—

1. In his manner of tuning the instrument.

2. In a management of the _bow_, entirely peculiar to himself.

3. In his mode of using the left hand in the _passages chantans_, or
passages of a singing character.

4. In the frequent employment of harmonic sounds.

5. In the art of putting the violin into double employ, so as to make it
combine with its own usual office the simultaneous effects of a
mandolin, harp, or other instrument of the kind, whereby you seem to
hear two different performers.

As to the first of these points, “his manner of tuning the instrument,”
observed M. Guhr, “is wholly original, and to me appears
incomprehensible in many respects. Sometimes he tunes the first three
strings half a tone _higher_, while that of G is a third _lower_, than
ordinary. Sometimes he changes this with a single turn of the peg, and
he invariably meets the due intonation, which remains sure and firm.
Whoever is aware how much the higher strings stretch with the least
relaxation of the G, and how much all the strings generally lose, by a
sudden change in tuning, the faculty of remaining with certainty at one
point, will join me in the lively desire that Paganini may decide on
communicating his secret in this respect. It was surprising to find,
especially on one occasion, when he played for nearly an hour and a half
in the most opposite keys—without its being perceptible that he had
changed his tuning—that none of the strings became disturbed. In an
evening concert, between the _Andante_ and the _Polacca_, his G string
snapped, and that which he substituted, though afterwards tuned to B,
remained firm as a rock. His manner of tuning his instrument contains
the secret of many of his effects, of his succession of chords, and
striking vibrations, which ordinarily appear impossible to the
violinist.”

According to this statement, “curious, if true,” Paganini improved his
effects by playing on an instrument _out of tune_, and, with something
like a miracle of creative power, produced harmony out of discord.
Paganini must of a surety have “pegged hard,” and with a screwing that
was inscrutable, to have attained such a management of his pegs! Was M.
Guhr a misty demonstrator, or was Paganini inexplicable? As to the G,
that can bear to be pulled about in this fashion without resenting it,
we must suppose it to possess a passive virtue, a habit of
accommodation, quite beyond the custom of the stringy tribe.[38]

In expatiating on the _second_ point, M. Guhr seems content to describe
effects, rather than to labour (in vain) for the indication of a
cause—but his description is not infelicitous:—

“Paganini’s management of the bow is chiefly remarkable by the
_tripping_ movement which he imparts to it in certain passages. His
_staccato_ is no way similar to that ordinarily produced. He dashes his
bow on the strings, and runs over a succession of scales with incredible
rapidity, while the tones proceed from beneath his fingers, round as
pearls. The _variety_ of his strokes with the bow is wonderful. I had
never before heard marked with so much precision, and without the
slightest disturbance of the measure, the shortest unaccented notes, in
the most hurried movements. And again, what force he imparts in
prolonged sounds! With what depth, in the adagio, he exhales, as it
were, the sighs of a lacerated heart!”

However he might sometimes err in his doctrine, M. Guhr was at least
right in his faith. The supremacy, which he assigned to the great
Genoese genius, was expressed in the language of a handsome enthusiasm:—

“Rode, Kreutzer, Baillot, Spohr—those giants among violinists—seemed to
have exhausted all the resources of the instrument. They had extended
its mechanism, introduced the greatest imaginable variety in the use of
the bow, which was made subservient to all the shades of expression and
execution: they had succeeded, by the magic of their sounds, which
rivalled the human voice, in painting all passions and all the movements
of sentiment. In short, advancing rapidly in the path marked out by
Corelli, Tartini, and Viotti, they had raised the violin to that rank
which ensures to it the dominion of the human soul. In _their_ style,
they are, and remain, great and unsurpassed. But, when we hear Paganini,
and compare him with the other masters, it must be confessed that he has
passed all the barriers which custom had hitherto raised, and that he
has opened a way peculiar to himself, and which essentially separates
him from those great Artists; so much so, that whoever hears him for the
first time, is astonished and transported at hearing what is so
completely new and unexpected;—astonished by the fiend-like power with
which he rules over his instrument;—transported that, with a mechanical
facility which no difficulty resists, he at the same time opens to the
fancy a boundless space, gives to the violin the divinest breathings of
the human voice, and deeply moves the inmost feelings of the soul.”

But we have left Paganini himself at Paris, where we must now rejoin him
and his fortunes. As for the latter, in the moneyed meaning, they grew
with a ratio of increase that would have been more wonderful, had it not
been afterwards outdone by that of his gains in London. As it was, they
were sufficient to inspire one of the Parisian dilettanti, a nicer
worker in figures, with a special access of passion for calculating the
value of notes—that is to say, of Paganini’s musical “notes of hand.”
The result, based upon a concert given at the Opera at Paris, producing
16,500 francs, and presenting 1365 bars of _the_ fiddling, indicated a
quotient of 12 francs for _each bar_, and was still more curiously
distributed into proportions as follows:—for a semibreve, 12 francs; a
minim, 6 francs; a crotchet, 3 francs; a quaver, 1 franc, 50 centimes; a
semiquaver, 15 sous; a demisemiquaver, 7½ sous. This exemplary
calculation did not overlook, moreover, the cash value of each of the
occurring sorts of _rests_; besides working out a “contingent remainder”
of 420 francs—that residue happening to be, by the most curious
coincidence, exactly the price of such a violin as the Conservatory
usually awards by way of prize to its most successful pupils![39]

The provoking impertinence of Rumour, with her thousand busy tongues
darting conjecture and accusation, drew forth, at Paris, as at Vienna,
some effort at self-defence on the part of the assailed Artist. His
letter to the Editor of the _Révue Musicale_ may claim a place here (in
translated form), as well for its pleasantry and ingenuity, as for the
clue it affords to the origin of some of the slanderous liberties which
had and have been taken with his character. Of this letter, it
subsequently appears that the materials were furnished by Paganini, and
the diction arranged by his friend, M. Fétis:—

  “Sir,

  _Paris, 21 April, 1831._

  “So many marks of kindness have been lavished on me by the
  Parisian public,—so many plaudits have been awarded to me,—that I
  am bound to give credit to that celebrity which is said to have
  preceded my arrival. But, if any doubt on the subject could have
  remained, it must have been dissipated by the care I see taken by
  your artists to make representations of my likeness,—by the
  numerous portraits of Paganini, more or less like the original,
  with which the walls of your capital are covered. It is not,
  however, to simple portraits, Sir, that their speculations are
  confined. While walking yesterday along the Boulevard des
  Italiens, I saw, in a print-shop, a lithograph representing
  _Paganini in prison_. “Well!” said I to myself, “here have we
  some worthy citizen who, in imitation of Don Bazilio, has been
  turning to account the calumny which has pursued me for the last
  fifteen years.” While smilingly examining all the details of this
  mystification with which the fancy of the artist had furnished
  him, I perceived that a numerous circle had gathered around me,
  and that every one, as he compared my features with those of the
  young man represented in the lithograph, was taking pains to
  satisfy himself as to the degree in which I was altered since the
  period of my imprisonment! Thus I found that the thing was taken
  _au sérieux_, and that the speculation, at least, was no bad one.
  It occurred to me that, as every one _must live_, I might as
  well, of myself, furnish a few anecdotes to those enterprising
  persons who take so much interest in me and my affairs; so that,
  if so disposed, they may have a few more subjects for prints, as
  good, and quite as true, as that in question. It is with this
  view that I beg you, Sir, to do me the favour of inserting this
  letter in your Musical Review.

  “These gentlemen have represented me _in prison_, but they do not
  seem to know what _took me there_; and, so far, they are about as
  wise as myself, or as those who have brought the story into
  circulation. It bears, in fact, a great many versions, and
  presents a corresponding variety for the designer. It has been
  said, for instance, that, having surprised a rival in the chamber
  of my mistress, I had bravely stabbed him from behind, when he
  was incapable of defending himself. By others, it has been
  pretended that it was against the person of my mistress herself,
  that my fury had been directed; but they are not agreed as to the
  _mode_ I had adopted to accomplish her destruction,—some
  contending for the poniard, and others for poison; so that, as
  each has indulged his imagination in describing the affair, it
  would be hard to deny a similar license to the dealers in
  lithographs. I will relate what occurred to me at Padua some
  fifteen years ago.

  “I had given a concert there, and had met with considerable
  success. On the following day, I was one of sixty at a _table
  d’hôte_, where I had entered the room without being recognized.
  One of the guests was pleased to express himself in very
  flattering terms on my public appearance the evening before.
  Another concurred in the praise thus bestowed, but added, by way
  of explanation, “There is nothing in the talent of Paganini which
  ought to excite surprise. He is indebted for it to the sojourn he
  has made for eight years of his life within the walls of a
  dungeon, with nothing but his violin to mitigate the rigors of
  his captivity. He was condemned to this long confinement for
  having basely assassinated a friend of _mine_, who was his
  rival.”

  “The whole company, as you may well believe, exclaimed against
  the enormity of the offence. For _my_ part, I got up, and,
  addressing the person who seemed so well acquainted with my
  previous history, begged him to tell me where, when and how, the
  adventure had taken place. Every eye was turned towards me as I
  spoke, and you may judge of the general astonishment, when one
  amongst themselves was thus recognized as the chief actor in the
  tragedy. The historian was sadly embarrassed. It was no longer
  one of _his friends_ who had fallen; “he had heard it said,”—“he
  had been credibly informed,”—“he had believed,—but it was
  possible that he might have been mistaken!”

  “It is thus, Sir, that the reputation of an artist is trifled
  with, because others, of more indolent habits, are at a loss to
  understand how a man should apply himself as effectually to
  study, while at full liberty in his own house, as within the
  walls of a dungeon!

  “At Vienna, a still more preposterous rumour put the credulity of
  the inhabitants to the test. I had been playing those variations
  known by the name of _Le Stregghe_ (the Witches). A young man,
  who was described to me as of a pale and melancholy aspect, with
  eyes of the most inspired cast, said that he saw nothing
  surprising in my performance, for, while I was executing my
  variations, he had distinctly perceived the devil at my elbow,
  guiding my fingers, and directing my bow; that the said devil was
  dressed in red; had horns and a tail; and that, moreover, the
  striking likeness of our countenances plainly established the
  relationship between us! It was impossible to refuse credence to
  so circumstantial and descriptive an account: and the curious
  became satisfied that this was the true secret of what are called
  my _tours de force_.

  “For a long time, I was weak enough to allow my tranquillity to
  be disturbed by such idle rumours. I tasked myself to demonstrate
  their absurdity. I called attention to the fact, that, from the
  age of fourteen, I had been constantly under the public eye, and
  giving concerts; that I had been employed, for sixteen years, as
  chief of the orchestra and director of the music, to the Court;
  and that, if it were true that I had been eight years in prison
  for killing my mistress or my rival, it must have been before my
  first appearance in public; so that I must have had a mistress,
  and a rival, before I was seven years of age. I invoked even the
  testimony of my country’s ambassador at Vienna, who declared that
  he had known me, for nearly twenty years, in the situation which
  became an honest man; and I thus succeeded, for the moment, in
  silencing the calumny; but calumny is never totally extinguished,
  and it does not surprise me to find it revive in this city.

  “Under such circumstances, Sir, what ought I to do? I see nothing
  for it but to submit with resignation, and give free scope to
  the exercise of an ingenious malignity. Before concluding,
  however, I may as well communicate an anecdote, which has
  probably given rise to some of these injurious rumours about me.
  It is as follows:

  “A performer on the violin, named D...i,[40] who was at Milan in
  1798, had connected himself with two men of bad character, who
  persuaded him to go with them during the night to a neighbouring
  village, to assassinate the clergyman, who was reported to have
  been possessed of great wealth. Happily, the heart of one of the
  associates failed him at the decisive moment, and he resolved to
  denounce his confederates. The gendarmerie went to the spot, and
  arrested D...i, and his friend, at the moment of their arrival at
  the house of the _curé_. They were condemned to twenty years’
  confinement, and thrown into prison; but General Menou, then
  Governor of Milan, at the end of the second year, set the artist
  at liberty.

  “Would you believe it, Sir? It was on this foundation, that all
  my history has been raised. A performer on the violin was in
  question, and his name ended in _i_—so that it _must_ have been
  _Paganini_. It was _I_ who had been in prison, and the
  assassination became that of my mistress, or my rival. Thus, to
  explain the discovery of my new style of performance, they
  encumber me with fetters which would but add to the difficulty.
  Let me hope, Sir, that if I must yield to the propagators of a
  calumny so obstinately persevered in against all verisimilitude,
  they will at least consent to abandon their prey _after
  death_,—and that those who so cruelly avenge themselves of my
  success, will leave my ashes to rest in peace. Accept, Sir, the
  assurance, &c.

  “PAGANINI.”

Largely profited in honours and revenue, through his exertions in
France, the great artist directed his course to the shores of England,
where the reception which awaited him was destined to form a climax to
his previous triumphs. Fame, that most eager, but inexact lady-usher,
who had introduced him to the French with so many whispers of wild
import, took similar liberties when she presented him to the marvelling
Londoners. “The page will be a strange one in the history of Art, to be
written some fifty years hence (says a writer in the _Athenæum_), which
shall contain all the rumours that heralded Paganini’s first appearance
in England, and were quoted in explanation of his outward eccentricities
of person and manner. Our children will laugh at the credulity of their
fathers, when they read of a magician who strung his instrument with the
heart-strings of his mistress—a sort of demon Orpheus, who had been
initiated into his power by the gentle ordeals of murder and solitary
confinement;—and yet such reports were widely spread, and, strange to
say, believed! The writer of this notice remembers having heard it
gravely said in society, “that Paganini could play upon his violin when
all its strings were taken off!” and, when another of the party, to
expose the absurdity of the tale, declared that this wonder of the world
had done more, having once actually _strung a gridiron_ (his own violin
not arriving in time), on which he performed a concerto with immense
applause—this second and surpassing marvel (of course fabricated in the
humour of the moment) was not only swallowed, but absolutely retailed,
as an accredited fact!”

The capacious area of the King’s Theatre, scarcely adequate to the large
expectations founded upon his fame, was selected as the scene of his
London début. An awkward collision with public opinion marked, however,
the interval immediately preceding his appearance. An endeavour to
elevate the prices of admission above the usual _concert-pitch_, raised
a storm of opposition, that was only allayed by prompt and necessary
concession. To attribute the attempt, thus properly frustrated, to an
extortionate spirit on the part of Paganini, as was pretty generally
done at the time, seems hardly fair. It is more reasonable to suppose
that his ignorance of the English customs was taken advantage of, for
the sordid purposes of others; and on this point it may be worth while
here to say a few words. There is in London a class of needy and
adventurous foreigners, who, with no available talent of their own, have
just industry enough to make them beset those of their countrymen, whose
genius or good fortune enables them to figure successfully in our
metropolis. Whoever, at the period here referred to, has had occasion to
direct his course through the Regent’s Quadrant, either in the twilight
of a departing day, or during the brighter reign of gas and night, must
have noted the loose, idle, swaggering gait, the tawdry and _outré_
habiliments, and the dark and dirty looks, of certain figures who
loitered about in obstructive knots, or sauntered on in pairs or threes,
among the more regulated passengers. Their equipment was ordinarily
completed by a reeking cigar, which added to their sense of importance,
and was an auxiliary to their impertinencies of demeanour towards the
females, of whatever grade, who chanced to pass within their track. But
their “high and _palmy_ state” was in the gallery of the King’s Theatre,
where their pertinacious “manual exercise,” and their laudatory
vociferations, in favour of the dancers who successively occupied the
stage during the ballet, were a serious annoyance to all around them.
Under this character, which seems to have no English term that will
exactly fit it, they were (and still are) known as the _claqueurs_.
Externally, they are altogether the personification of impudent
pretence—and, to enable them to support their equivocal character, they
seek out the private quarters of the great singer, or the fortunate
artist, in whatever line, and, by all the arts of the meanest flattery,
contrive to extract from his purse such tribute as his vanity, or his
complaisance, may be willing to afford. It is no unnatural conjecture to
suppose that, on the occasion just named, Paganini acted under a mistake
produced by influence of this kind.[41]

Perhaps no achievement in the musical art, performed by one person, has
ever been attended with more enthusiasm than marked the exhibition made
by Paganini at his first concert in London, given on the 3rd of June,
1831. Certain it is that nothing in the way of musical performance, that
had ever preceded it in this country, had exceeded it in _novelty_. It
was the prevalent theme of talking wonder; and all the ingenuities of
written criticism were tasked to describe and estimate it. Allowing for
the difficulty of appreciating, where the singularity was so great,
there was a remarkable acuteness shewn in some of the accounts that
appeared in the journals of the day. From these I propose to make a few
extracts, selecting such as seem best to illustrate the peculiarities
with which they had to deal. Let us commence with a statement given in
the first person, by Mr. Gardner, of Leicester.

“At the hazard of my ribs, I placed myself at the Opera door, two hours
and a half before the concert began; presently, the crowd of musicians
and violinists filled the Colonnade to suffocation, all anxious to get
the front seat, because they had to pay for their places, Paganini not
giving a single ticket away. The Concert opened with Beethoven’s Second
Symphony, admirably performed by the Philharmonic band; after which
Lablache sang _Largo al Factotum_, with much applause, and was encored.
A breathless silence then ensued, and every eye was watching the action
of this extraordinary violinist: and, as he glided from the side scenes
to the front of the stage, an involuntary cheering burst from every part
of the house, many rising from their seats to view the _spectre_ during
the thunder of this unprecedented cheering—his gaunt and extraordinary
appearance being more like that of a devotee, about to suffer martyrdom,
than one to delight you with his art. With the tip of his bow, he set
off the orchestra, in a grand military movement, with a force and
vivacity as surprising as it was new. At the termination of this
introduction, he commenced with a soft streamy note of celestial
quality: and, with three or four whips of his bow, elicited points of
sound that mounted to the third heaven, and as bright as the stars. A
scream of astonishment and delight burst from the audience at the
novelty of this effect. Immediately, an execution followed, that was
equally indescribable, in which were intermingled tones more than human,
which seemed to be wrung from the deepest anguish of a broken heart.
After this, the audience were enraptured by a lively strain, in which
you heard, commingled with the tones of the instrument, those of the
voice, with the _pizzicato_ of the guitar, forming a compound of
exquisite beauty. If it were possible to aim at a description of his
manner, we should say that you would take the violin to be a wild animal
which he is endeavouring to quiet in his bosom, and which he
occasionally, fiend-like, lashes with his bow; this he dashes upon the
strings as you would whip with a walking switch; tearing from the
creature the most horrid as well as delightful tones. He has long legs
and arms, and his hands, in his playing, often assume the attitude of
prayer, with the fingers pointed upwards. The highest notes (contrary to
every thing we have learnt) are produced as the hand recedes from the
bridge; overturning all our previous notions of the art. During these
effects, a book caught fire upon one of the desks, which burned for some
time unobserved by the musicians, who could neither see nor hear (though
repeatedly called to by the audience) any thing but the feats of this
wonderful performer. Some few pieces were played by the orchestra, that
gave repose to the admiring audience. He then entered upon his
celebrated performance of the single string, introducing the air of _Nel
cor più_ (_Hope told a flattering tale_), to which he imparted a tone so
‘plaintive and desolate that the heart was torn by it;’ in the midst of
this he was so _outré_—so comic—as to occasion the loudest bursts of
laughter! This feat was uproariously encored. He then retired to put on
three other strings, and ended this miraculous performance with the
richest _arpeggios_ and echoes, intermingled with new effects that no
language can describe! Though he retired amidst a confusion of huzzas
and bravos that completely drowned the full orchestra, yet he was called
for to receive the homage of the audience. There was no trick in his
playing; it was all fair, scientific execution, opening to us a new
order of sounds, the highest of which ascended two octaves above C in
alt.”

Our next demonstration is from the able pen that gave life and eloquence
to the new “Tatler:”—

“Those of our readers who have heard the most eminent of violin
performers, eminent for strength, sweetness, and purity of tone, will
hear all these requisites to absolute perfection in Paganini. They who
have heard difficulties in the way of execution overcome, which it
seemed bordering on desperation to attempt, may tax their faculties to
invent new enormities, and they will not only fall short in their
imaginings, but he will perform all, and more, not merely without show
of effort, but as if they were a fanciful prelude, or pastime, to some
laborious undertaking. In the course of the concert given last evening
at the Opera-house, he performed four pieces, in which, we conceive, he
exhibited every feature that the instrument can display, and many more
than it has hitherto been thought capable of. The first was a concerto
of the most florid character, varied with movements of exquisite
expression and tenderness. The second was a composition in the minor
key, and which, for its own intrinsic merit, made the strongest appeal
to our feelings. In it he satisfied at once any doubt we might have that
he would prove unequal in a _cantabile_.—His expression in this piece
was the most genuine display of passionate feeling we ever remember to
have heard on any instrument. It required no explanatory chorus, no
voice of accompaniment—it was the perfection of musical sighing, and
gentle sorrow. The third performance was a military rondo, the whole of
which he played upon one string—the fourth. In it he introduced the
subject of ‘_Non più andrai_’ from _Figaro_, with variations of the most
astonishing description. He introduced passages of imitation in octaves,
with wonderful rapidity and neatness, and with a purity of tone that was
delicious. The precision, too, with which he dashed from the lowest
note of the string to the opposite extreme, and all with the utmost
indifference of manner, was one of the commonest of his achievements.
The last piece, which was a brilliant rondo, he played entirely without
the orchestral accompaniment; and this was the triumph of the evening.
It consisted of an air with variations, crowded with enharmonic
passages. The subject, now legato, and now hurried, was at one time
attended with a florid, and at another with a _pizzicato_ accompaniment;
and, as he drew to a close, he accelerated his time to a _prestissimo,
the air and the pizzicato moving on together_, and ending with a _rapid
shake upon the latter_! The violin-player will fully appreciate the
difficulty of this achievement. It is scarcely necessary to state that
the audience were _satisfied_. The applause was showered upon him in
torrents.”

Another commentator thus expresses himself:—

“Paganini’s playing is in a very high degree intellectual. It is mental,
as well as physical and mechanical. The instant he seizes his violin,
which he usually coquets with for a time before bringing it up to its
proper place, a sudden animation passes over his countenance. He has the
advantage, which all concerto players, by the way, ought to adopt, of
_never using a book_. This mode, in itself, has as much the superiority
as a speech delivered has over one that is read. When the first bow is
drawn, Paganini is evidently lost to every other thought, and is
revelling probably in a world of his own creation. All his passages seem
free and unpremeditated, as if conceived on the instant. One has no
impression of their having cost him either forethought or labour. The
word difficulty has no place in his vocabulary, so completely is all
brought under his subjection and mastery.

“Nothing can be more intense in feeling than his conception and delivery
of an adagio passage. His tone is not, perhaps, so full and round as
that of some other players—as Baillot, or De Beriot, for example: it is
delicate, rather than strong; but that delicacy is inconceivable, unless
one has heard it, and was probably never possessed equally by any other
player. His touch is occasionally so fine, that the note seems to float
in the air, and not to spring from any instrument. In point of
expression, it is impossible to imagine any thing more perfect. The
melancholy or tender (as should be the case in slow movements) mostly
predominates; but there is no shade or form of expression which the
genius of Paganini does not draw forth. His adagios are intermixed with
passages of rapid execution, which go off with the rapidity of a rocket,
or a falling star—a break of the subject, or an impertinence, in any
hands but his own—but, if analyzed, all is in perfect keeping.

“The only thing that can be said to lessen the wonder of Paganini’s
powers in the way of mere mechanism, is that he is indebted for them, in
some measure, to his own peculiar conformation. His long arms, and
slender frame, allow him to place the instrument in the most
advantageous position that is possible; and his left arm is brought so
completely under it, that his hand seems to cover the whole extent of
the finger-board. Such is the flexibility, besides, of his joints, that
he can throw his thumb nearly back upon his wrist, and extend his little
finger, at the same time, in the opposite direction. By these means,
when in the first position, as it is called, of the violin, he can
reach, without shifting, to the second octave. His extreme high
notes—for he contrives to play three octaves on each string—are given,
consequently, with a precision and certainty never heard before. This
flexibility, without doubt, is indispensable to the execution of many of
the passages, though it is, probably, not wholly natural to him, but
acquired, in part, by his long and severe practice. His solo on the
fourth or G string (the other three being discarded for the occasion) we
consider among the most charming, as well as the most wonderful,
specimens. There are few players, we apprehend, who, in point of mere
difficulty, could do on four strings what Paganini does on one; but that
is nothing. The charm lies in the peculiar effect—in the soft and
silvery tone of that string, which one almost imagines to be increased,
though, perhaps, without reason, by taking the others away. No defect is
felt, as regards compass, in this piece. There appear to be as many
notes as in the violin in its ordinary state; and, in fact, by the aid
of the harmonics, he does make nearly as many.”

Such were the wonders achieved, and such the impressions created, by
this superlative master of the most versatile of instruments. After he
had performed at this his first concert, Mori went about with the
jesting enquiry, “Who’ll buy a fiddle and bow for eighteen-pence?” and
John Cramer exclaimed, “Thank Heaven, I am not a violin-player!” It
seemed, in short, to be commonly admitted, that, as nothing had been
heard before, in violin performance, equal to this exhibition, so
nothing could be expected ever to exceed it—that “the force of fiddling
could no further go.” One of the numerous critics whom he kindled into
rapture, observed that in the style of Paganini were united the majesty
of Rode, the vigour of Baillot, the sentiment of Spohr, the
_sensibilité_ of Kiesewetter, the suavity of Vaccari, the mastery of
Maurer, the _justesse_ of Lafont, and the elegant expression of De
Beriot!

The excitement produced by the first public display of these powers in
our metropolis was fully sustained on the subsequent occasions. It would
fill a volume of itself, were I to treat, “avec circonstance,” of the
successive concerts at theatres and other places, in which the Genoese
genius electrified attending mortals

  “With heav’nly touch of instrumental sounds.”

With no intention to be thus particular, I must beg permission,
nevertheless, to extract a few more passages of contemporary notice. The
celebrated _Capriccio_, in which he introduced the air from the
_Carnaval de Venise_, merits a separate description:—

“On reaching his position in the centre of the stage, he seemed at once
to lose all consciousness of the presence of mortals, and to live and
breathe for his violin alone. He touched its strings lightly and
trippingly, as if to awaken it, and then, after having given it three or
four of those sweeping, switching strokes, which almost justify the
expression that he thinks to lash it into submission to his spirit, he
threw off a most singular mutilation of the Venetian Air, “Oh! come to
me!” in which, while he appeared to retain only the sad part of the
original, he communicated to it an odd wailing character. On this
subject he _capriccio’d_ some four or five variations, all in a
consistent style, in which he introduced most of his peculiar movements
of hand and bow. At the end, he was rapturously applauded, and he
retired as he had entered. The applause, however, being continued, mixed
with some cries of _encore_, he came forth again, but without his
violin, and, making a most eloquent bow, retired once more. The plaudits
were, however, now redoubled, and the wicked audience, having got the
crotchet into their heads, pretty unanimously vociferated _encore_;
when, after some delay, the good Signor absolutely did make his
appearance with his second self—or his _pickaninney_—his violin; and did
vouchsafe two little variations more, of the wizard strain:—the last was
altogether performed by the hand which held the instrument, and without
the aid of the bow. On the whole, so strange, so whimsical an
outpouring of melancholy we never heard before, and probably never
shall again:—one really did not know whether to laugh or cry at it.
Nothing upon record, that we know of, comes near it, with the exception
of _Corporal Trim’s_ pathos in the kitchen.”

In the region of the harmonic notes, which was before (comparatively
speaking) almost a “terra incognita,” Paganini may claim the undoubted
merit of having made extensive discoveries:—

“The _staccato_ runs, performed with the bow and concluded with a guitar
note, are quite original with Paganini; and this is one of the few
novelties in which he may find successful imitators. But his manner of
producing the harmonic notes, which ascend to a height never before
imagined, will probably remain a perpetual mystery[42]; it is not their
least marvellous characteristic that, exquisitely attenuated as they
are, the distinctness and strength of the sound is not, in the smallest
degree, impaired. In performing on the fourth string only, he introduces
the harmonics as part of the regular scale, thus obviating, in effect,
all deficiency as to compass. The introduction of _pizzicato_ runs, on
this solitary string, is another inexplicable mechanical feat.”

And again, as to these wonder-working harmonics:—

“Signor Paganini having, through vast exertion, procured himself the aid
of two entire additional octaves with their half-notes, making in all
28 notes _on the fourth string_, by means of the harmonics, is able to
execute pieces of a very extensive scale on that string alone. The
labour he must have gone through, before he could so completely obtain
the command of the harmonic notes, none but violin performers of
experience can form a notion of. The most surprising part of the use he
makes of them is in the clearness and strength of their tone, which
render them as audible as the full notes, at any distance.”

At his (so called) farewell Concert at the King’s Theatre, on the 20th
of August, two of the pieces he selected for his display were especially
remarkable in the treatment. One of them, a _fandango_ of very bizarre
character, performed on the fourth string, consisted, in part, of a sort
of whiningly amorous colloquy between two birds. An incidental
_crowing_, like that of a cock, was privately conjectured, by one of the
musical men present, to be the artist’s medium of conveying an oblique
satire upon _the audience_, as the subdued vassals of his will. No
impression of the kind, however, existed with _them_, for they demanded
the repetition of the affair. The other piece was our National Anthem of
God save the King, certainly an ill-selected subject for exhibition on a
single instrument, and, in the treatment of it (if I may venture to
advance my own impressions experienced at the time), too full of
sliding, and, as it were, _puling_, to satisfy the pre-conceptions
derived from the fullness, steadiness and grandeur, characteristic of
the original composition. Indeed, as it appeared to my own humble
judgment, there was intermixed in the general performances of this
wonderful artist, “something too much” of this sliding and tremulous
work, the result, seemingly, of an overstraining at expression—of an
attempt, if I may so speak, to make the note carry more than it could
_bear_. The effect, in such cases, was in some degree analogous to that
of Velluti’s singing; it bespoke intentions outstripping the possibility
of execution. But then, amid so much splendid achievement, must we not
always expect to find some mark or other of the imperfection belonging
to that poor human nature which is the agent?

Whatever may have been, in the _artistic_ sense, the relative
appreciation of Paganini’s talent, in the various European countries
that had witnessed its display—it is certain that he was no where so
highly estimated, according to the _monetary_ scale, as in England,
where it has been supposed (though the exact computation of such matters
is difficult) that his receipts amounted to about twenty-four thousand
pounds. Whilst the golden shower was descending on him, he was not so
absorbed in its fascination, as to forget the silent claims of the
penny-less;—nor would it be fair to measure his impulses in this
direction, by the side of that largeness of soul which we have all so
greatly delighted to honour in the excellent Jenny Lind.

In the summer of 1834, after an absence of six years, spent partly in
Europe and partly in America, Paganini revisited Italy—where, looking
wistfully towards the sweets of retirement, he invested a portion of his
accumulated funds in the purchase of an agreeable country-residence in
the environs of Parma, called the _Villa Gajona_. Among the projects he
at that time entertained, was the thought of preparing his various
compositions for publication—a measure towards which the eager
curiosity, of those especially interested in the violin, had long been
pointedly turned, under the impression that all which was mysterious in
the production of his extraordinary effects would thus be freely
elucidated. Exaggerated notions, however, as to the pecuniary value of
such a work, seem to have possessed the mind of Paganini; for, an
enterprising Parisian publisher, who had made hopeful approaches to him
whilst in London, had been frightened away by the discovery, that if he
were to enter on the speculation by payment of the sum expected, he must
look through a vista of ten years, for the commencement of his profits!

Received every where with honour in his own country, as the result of
his foreign ovations, and decorated, by Maria Louisa, Duchess of Parma,
with the Imperial Order of St. George, the caressed Artist was,
nevertheless, incapable of any continuous enjoyment, for the want of
that health which his restless and transitive spirit had no where been
able to attain. A speculation of no sound character, with which he was
induced to connect himself (in ignorance, as it is believed, of its real
nature), drew him away to Paris, in 1838, and, in the result, damaged
his pocket, and did not wholly spare his reputation. In that project,
designed professedly for concerts, but covertly for gambling, he became
involved, through a legal verdict, to the extent of 50,000 francs.

In the midst of the troubles associated with that affair, his ailments
had deepened into consumption; and he made a painful journey through
France, under medical prescription, to reach Marseilles. There, in
retirement, beneath the roof of a friend, a brief return of energy
enabled him to take up, now and then, his violin or his guitar; and he
one day showed so much animation as to join effectively in a certain
quartett of Beethoven’s, which he passionately admired. The necessity
for change, so peculiarly felt by consumptive patients, impelled him
again to his own Genoa; but the _great_ change was at hand—and another
journey brought him to his last earthly scene, which was at Nice. The
closing process was rapid. His voice became hardly distinguishable from
silence itself—and sharp attacks of cough, that grew daily more
obstinate, completed the exhaustion of his strength.

Of the final moments of this memorable man, an Italian writer has
furnished some account, in terms which, touching as they are, yet leave
in the heart a sense of something to be desired—something which no
reflecting mind will be at any loss to understand. The account is (in
English) as follows:—

“During the evening that was his last, he manifested more tranquillity
than was habitual to him. On awaking, after a short slumber, he had the
curtains of his bed drawn aside, that he might contemplate the full
moon, serenely marching through the immensity of the clear heaven. In
the midst of that contemplation, he again sank into drowsiness; but the
whispering of the contiguous trees excited in his bosom that stir of
gentle emotion, which is the very life of the beautiful. As if he would
have rendered back to Nature the sweet sensations he was receiving from
her in that final hour—he extended his hand toward his charm-haunted
violin—toward the faithful companion of his wanderings—toward the magic
thing that had been as an opiate to his troubles;—and then—he sent up to
heaven, along with its expiring sounds, the last sigh of a life that had
been all melody!”

The date of the event was the 27th May, 1840—and the age of the
deceased, fifty-six. The great Artist left considerable wealth, together
with the title of Baron (conferred on him in Germany) to his only son,
Achilles, the offspring of a union with a certain vocalist, named
Antonia Bianchi—a union which, not having been secured and sanctioned by
the church’s testimony, was soon severed by the lady’s temper.

The life of Paganini had been a “fitful fever”—and the desire to “sleep
well” may indeed be conceived to have been as an abiding thirst within
him. Even his cold remains, however, were not permitted, by jealous and
jaundiced authority, to repose undisturbed. Slander had been furtively
busy with his name—he had died without the _stamp_ conferred by official
religious ministrations—his Catholicity was dubious—his mortal relics
could not (_so_ decided the Bishop of Nice) be committed to consecrated
ground. In vain did his son, his friends, and the chief professors of
art in that city, make solicitation of leave for a solemn service to be
performed in behalf of his eternal repose, under the plea that, like
many another victim of consumption, he had not supposed his death to be
imminent, and had departed this life suddenly;—the leave was refused;
and all that could be obtained, was the offer of an authentic
declaration of demise, with license to transport the corpse
whithersoever it might be wished. This was declined—and the affair was
brought before a public tribunal, which gave verdict in favour of the
Bishop. Appeal was then had to Rome, where the Bishop’s decision was
cancelled, and the Archbishop of Turin was charged, conjointly with two
Canons of the Cathedral at Genoa, to make enquiry into Paganini’s
Catholicity. During all this time, the corpse had remained in a room at
the Hospital at Nice. It was then transferred, by sea, from the
lazaretto of Villa Franca, near that city, to a country-seat in the
neighbourhood of Genoa. There, a report soon got into circulation, of
strange and lamentable sounds being heard by night. To arrest these
popular impressions, the young Baron Paganini undertook the cost of a
solemn service to the memory of his father, which was celebrated in one
of the churches at Parma. After this expenditure, the friends of the
deceased had permission from the Bishop of Parma to bring the corpse
within that Duchy—to transfer it to the _Villa Gajona_—and to inter it
near the village church:—and this funeral homage was at length rendered
to the remains of the man of celebrity, in May 1845, but without any
display, in conformity with orders from the government.

The sum bequeathed by Paganini to his son (for whom a documentary
legitimacy had been procured) amounted to two millions of francs (about
£80,000), charged with legacies of fifty, and sixty thousand francs,
respectively, to his two sisters, and with an annual _pittance_ of 1200
francs to the mother of his loved Achilles. He left also some valuable
instruments, including an incomparable _Straduarius_, a charming
_Guarnerius_, of the small pattern, an excellent _Amati_, a _bass_ of
Straduarius, agreeing with the violin by the same maker, and his large
and favourite _Guarnerius_. This latter, the sole instrument associated
entirely with his travels, he bequeathed to the city of Genoa, being
unwilling that any other artist should possess it after him.

Some further particulars, to illustrate chiefly the habits of the _man_,
may not be deemed superfluous.

Paganini’s existence was a series of alternations betwixt excitement and
exhaustion; and it is not surprising to find that his moods of mind were
variable and uneven, and that he would sometimes sit, for hours
together, in a sealed and sombre taciturnity, whilst, at other times,
he would surrender himself to a wild effervescence of gaiety,—without
any apparent motive in either case. Most commonly silentious, he was
talkative when travelling. The weak state of his health made him averse
from loud conversation; and yet, when the rattle of the wheels over the
pavement became deafening, he would talk loud and fast. To the scenic
charms out-spread before his eyes, he was insensible—his urgent impulse
being to move rapidly, and to reach his journey’s end. In his later
years, a low bodily temperature was habitual to him, insomuch that he
would wrap a furred pelisse around him, in summer-time, and huddle
himself up in a corner of his carriage, with every window closed.
In-doors, on the contrary, he would have all the windows open, and
called it taking an air-bath! He anathematized the climates of Germany
and France, but, above all, that of England; and declared that Italy was
the only country to live in. The intensity of his internal sufferings
transmuted, at times, his ordinary pallor into a livid, or even a
greenish hue; but his recourse was to quackery—to _one_ empirical
remedy, in which he had faith, and not to doctors, in whom he had none.
Before commencing a day’s journey, he took no tea, nor coffee, but
either soup or a cup of chocolate. If it were early in the morning, he
would start without taking anything, and sometimes continue fasting the
greater part of the day. For the encumbrances of baggage, he had almost
the contempt of a _Napier_. A small shabby box, in which he placed his
beloved _Guarnerius_ instrument, his jewels, money, and meagre stock of
linen,—a carpet bag—and a hat-box—these were his accompaniments, and
were all stowed inside the vehicle. Careless of all that goes by the
name of _comfortable_, he was also very little solicitous about his
toilet. His wardrobe might have gone into a napkin. As for his papers,
they were thrust into a small red portfolio, in “most admired disorder,”
such as himself alone could penetrate for any immediate purpose.
Arithmetician he was _not_, in the ordinary sense—but he managed his
business calculations in a way of his own, that answered all his need.
To the style of his accommodations on the road, he was quite
indifferent, provided only that his rooms were _quiet_. At the day’s
end, a light supper, or (sometimes) a cup of camomile tea, sufficed him.

In his own quarters, Paganini maintained usually the strictest solitude,
and seemed always to quit his room with regret. His violin, as silent as
himself, was not touched, save when he tuned it for a concert, or a
rehearsal. He had worked _enough_—his labours had long before carried
him to the summit;—his want, his craving want, was _repose_. There is a
floating story about his having been dodged and watched for six months,
from one halting-place to another, by an enthusiastic English amateur,
who hoped to “pluck out the heart of his mystery,” to grasp the secret
of his studies, by lodging at the same hotels, and occupying (whenever
possible), a contiguous chamber. Vain expectation! a profound silence
always enveloped the great Professor. At length, however, the crisis of
discovery seemed imminent. Paganini was seen (through a key-hole) to
seat himself on a couch—to take the incomparable fiddle from its case—to
raise it to his left shoulder! Still, the silence was unbroken—not the
whisper of a note could be distinguished! Paganini, absorbed doubtless
in the composition of some new piece, only shifted his left hand about,
upon the neck of the instrument, to study his positions, without the
help of the bow—and then restored the un-awakened fiddle to its
resting-place. The Englishman (says the story) renounced his hapless
pursuit, and returned home in despair!

Enchained to music and its toils, from his earliest youth, Paganini had
acquired very little general knowledge. Books were strange things to him
and history and science, almost nullities. Political events had no
interest for him: he looked at the newspapers merely for what personally
concerned him. His mind was much engaged with his own projects for the
future—such as forming a Musical Conservatory in Italy, publishing his
compositions, writing operas, and ceasing to travel. He had a _Byronic_
mistrust of friends, and proneness to regard them as secret plotters
against his peace. As for visitors (by whom he was sometimes besieged),
as many as he was not constrained to see, were passed over to his
Secretary. To those Artists who sought his converse, that they might
enucleate his professional secrets, he listened patiently—but maintained
his reserve. Invitations to dine or sup, which at every large town came
in a shower upon him, were sparingly and reluctantly accepted. On rising
from the table, if he could escape unperceived, he would immediately
retire, to take repose. He was more lively _before_ than _after_
dinner—an ill compliment, perhaps, to his _host_, but no bad way of
signifying the real sacrifice he had made, in accepting his invitation.
In evening society, he was cheerful, in the absence of _music_; but, if
that were started, either in practice, or as a conversational topic, his
good humour instantly vanished;—nor is this at all wonderful, when we
remember that his public life was one enormous compound of music, and
that to _forget_ that art, when in his more private moments, must have
been to him as a want and a refuge. His eyes, weakened by the glare of
stage lamps, had an owl-like propensity to shun the light, as was
manifest in his custom of turning his back to the chandeliers &c. in
evening society, and sitting in total darkness at home. He had a
faculty, like that of George the Third, for unfailing recollection of
the persons and names of those who had been once presented to him; and
yet (strange to say) the names of the towns, wherein he gave his
concerts, would slip from his memory, as soon as he had quitted them.

On the mornings of his concert-days, he allowed himself a liberal time
for quiet—lounging at ease upon a sofa, as if conscious that composure
is the cradle of strength—and then he would start up, full of decision
for business. Amid the ensuing preparations, he took a good deal of
snuff—the sure sign of his being earnestly engaged. At rehearsal, he was
careful to exclude strangers. If they found their way in, however, he
touched his solo passages almost inaudibly, or indicated them by a
slight _pizzicato_. With the orchestra, he was rigorous in the
extreme—exacting the minutest attention to every point. When he came to
some special passage of display, in expectation of which, the members of
the band were on their legs, all eagerness to catch what was coming, he
would sometimes carelessly throw off a few notes only, and then turn
towards them with a smile, and the words, _Et cœtera, Messieurs!_ It
was for the evening—for the public—that he reserved all the wonders of
his talent. He always took away with him the various orchestral _parts_,
which he would entrust to no one else. As for the _principal_ part, it
was never seen, as he played from _memory_, and sought to prevent the
copying of his compositions. He had a way—the caprice of conscious
power—of keeping the public a long time waiting, before he would show
himself, and begin to play. His departure from a concert-room was the
picture of a triumph. The curious and the enthusiastic formed a dense
lane, extending to his carriage, and welcomed him with transports of
admiration. At his hotel, a similar assemblage awaited him with their
acclamations. Elate with such marks of general favour, he would then
join the _table-d’hôte_, not without an appetite for supper, though,
perhaps, depression and indigestion might constitute the experience of
the following day.

Such, then, as artist and as man, was Nicholas Paganini—whom let none
_envy_, nor deem that a world-wide fame was _well_ acquired by the
sacrifices _he_ made for its attainment—sacrifices involving, almost of
necessity, much oblivion of the higher purposes of life, along with the
forfeiture of some of its best comforts. Measuring the toils and
sufferings of his career against its triumphs, surely we may say, “_le
jeu ne valait pas la chandelle!_”—the precious flame of life was _too
dearly_ expended on a perfection that allowed _nothing else_ to be
perfected!” For a fitting wreath to the memory of Paganini, the
_cypress_ should bear equal part with the _laurel_; since pity and
admiration can hardly be dissevered, in our thoughts of him. The
consummation of _the artist_ was the spoiling of _the man_. To render
himself, in so absolute a sense, the _master_ of his instrument, it was
essential to become, what he emphatically was—its _slave_. Bodily
health, and moral vigour, withered alike under a dedication to _one_
object of ambitious study, so early sighed for, and with such prolonged
severity pursued. That the _success_, however, (be its relative worth
what it may) was _complete_—that the bold and wild adventurer reached
the highest attainable summit in those regions of art that he explored
and illustrated—is a point which seems hardly capable of rational
dispute. Allowing some of his eccentricities to weigh against him as
_defects_, there will yet remain sufficient ground for regarding him, on
the whole, as the greatest of _all_ violinists, past or present; nor
would _he_ be the _most_ hardy of prognosticators, who should venture to
assign him the like pre-eminence over all future individuals of his
calling;—for how can we anticipate another such happy union of the
_inventive_ with the _executive_ power—another case in which there shall
be so strange a concurrence in the various requisites of pre-disposing
organization,[43] inflexible will, and co-operating circumstance? The
same causes, however, which have placed him so far above the level of
the crowd of instrumentalists, would seem to deny to him the production
of any permanent or important impression on the general state of his
Art. He could hardly have been followed by others, even if he had
undertaken to be their teacher, and to “ungird his strangeness” to their
toiling apprehensions, disclosing to them the most subtle principles of
what he himself delighted to call _la filosofia del violino_. _His_
means would still have been above _their_ means, and the end would
never be reached. Thus, although the greatest of artists, he must be
reckoned, as a director and propagator of his art, far less considerable
than Viotti of the modern school, Corelli of the old, or even others
less distinguished than these two men of fame. “In considering the
discoveries of Paganini,” said once an able French critic, “as regards
their application to the progress of the art, and of genuine music, I
think that their influence will be very limited, and that what arises
out of them is only good in _his_ hands; for, indifferently executed, it
would be insupportable. The art of Paganini stands alone: it was born
and it will die with him.” It is true that we have had _subsequent_
experience, in various instances, of a certain degree of _approximation_
to the feats of Paganini; but, were this even closer than it is, it
would not invalidate what has been here suggested as to the almost
incommunicable nature of such skill as his.

  Potent to stir the vibratory string,
  And _wonders_ from the realms of sound to bring!
  Skilled, through the _ear_, to reach the awakened _heart_,
  Or bid the _Fancy_ play her picturing part!
  Conqu’ror, whose captives, gladdened with soft strains,
  Clung to thy sway, and revelled in their chains,
  And came in crowds, their homage to renew,
  And heaped the tribute still, as still thy due!
  How _void_ the space that thou were wont to fill!
  Thy throne, how vacant, now—and _mute_ thy skill!
  Hast thou—hast _found_, far, far from earthly din,
  The _rest_ thy glittering triumphs could not win?
  —Farewell!—What chief soe’er may seek to reign,
  _Thy like_ we shall not look upon again!

The _compositions_ of Paganini, replete as they are with the most
surprising difficulties, and the boldest innovations, form prominent
examples of what may be called the _romance_ of instrumental music. The
design entertained by their author, of giving them to the world in his
own life-time, as well as of imparting the _secret_ that should make
their execution seem no longer super-human, was destined to have no
fulfilment; and it is to be regretted that his death rendered impossible
the complete publication of _all_ that he had composed, as not a few of
the manuscript pieces were left by him in an imperfect state. Of
_twenty-four_ several pieces, enumerated as forming the whole of the MS.
original works of Paganini, preserved by his son, _nine_ only were
discovered to be in a completed state. An edition of all that is
presentable, however, has been undertaken in Paris, to gratify at length
a twenty-years expectation but it is very doubtful whether a London
edition will be ventured on, since it is only for the higher class of
professors—for a very select minority—that such a collection can have
any attractiveness, beyond that of mere curiosity.

Monsieur Fétis, in his literary notice, written to accompany the
Collection just referred to, has given some able critical remarks on the
compositions in detail. His pamphlet may be consulted with advantage by
the enquiring reader. Alluding to the compositions in their general
character, M. Fétis observes that great merit is displayed in
them—novelty as to the ideas, elegance as to the forms, richness of
harmony, and variety in the effects of instrumentation. These qualities
(he adds) shine out particularly in the _Concertos_, however much they
may differ from the classic type of those of Viotti, which, with all
their charming sentiment, left something yet to be desired, on the score
of _variety_, in the more rapid passages.

In his own compositions (which he always played with more satisfaction
to himself than those of any other master) the mind of the great artist
was highly developed; but to execute his peculiar intentions, in all
their complexity, he needed the beautiful, exemplary, unfailing accuracy
of intonation, that so distinguished him. How nicely exact, in the
softest passages, his double notes! With what marvellous certainty did
his bow pitch down upon the strings, no matter what the relative
distance of the intervals! His hand (says M. Fétis) was a geometrical
_compass_, that divided, with mathematical exactness, the neck of the
violin—and his fingers always came plump upon the very point at which
the intonations of his double-note intervals were to be obtained.

As some sort of antidote to positive _despair_, I will conclude this
chapter with a passage in which, despite their thorny intricacies, the
above-named writer recommends the practical study of Paganini’s Works:—

“It will perhaps be asked, what can be the advantage of introducing
fresh difficulties into Art! In Music, it will be reasonably contended,
the object is not to _astonish_, by the conquest of difficulties, but to
_charm_, by means of sentiment. Against this principle, I would be the
last to declaim; but I would observe, first, that there is no preventing
those cases of _exception_, in which certain artists _will_ seek the
triumphs of their talent in extreme perils of execution, which, if
successful, the public will as surely applaud;—and, secondly, that the
study of what is most arduous, leads to certainty in what is more
simple. A violinist who should attain the power of playing the Concertos
of Paganini, with truth of tune, and in perfect proportion, would
possess, _à fortiori_, an undeviating accuracy in ordinary music.”




CHAPTER IV.

THE FRENCH SCHOOL.

  ... furnished out with _arts_. DRYDEN.


Next in importance to the Italian School of Violinists, that of France
now offers its claims to our notice. If the palm, indeed, were to be
awarded according to the comparative merits of the _living_ (or recently
living) Masters of each School, it must be given in favour of France;
for, though we might admit the Italian Paganini to have been “facile
princeps,” the greatest of _all_ performers—and though we might overlook
the consideration of his belonging, in fact, to no class or acknowledged
system whatever—he is, still, but _one_ man of might,—a Goliah, without
an army to back him, since his qualified countrymen, in modern days, are
few—whereas the French have a redoubtable band of champions, present or
recent, whose united force is able to defy living competition. It is in
the aggregate of the _past_ with the present, however, that the Italians
are found to predominate. The probable originators of the art of
violin-playing (in so far, at all events, as it was worthy to be called
such), _they_ have been likewise its steady and decisive improvers in
every department, from the days of Corelli to those of Viotti, a space
of about a century;—while the excellence of the French is of more
modern growth, and, it should be remarked, of more limited character.
Brilliancy of style, neatness and finish of execution, are _their_
distinguishing traits. They are a gay and a polished nation—they are gay
and polished fiddlers. They animate you in the _vivace_, they dazzle you
in the _allegro brillante_—but they commonly fail to reach your heart
through the _adagio appassionato_. Their violinists have all the skill
that is independent of deep feeling. In _expression_, they fall short of
what is required: they catch its lesser graces, but they seem rarely to
attain its higher powers. The violin, considered more particularly as
the _fiddle_, is an instrument too congenial to the temperament of the
French, to have escaped their especial notice and close cultivation. To
all that is mercurial in their tendencies, as well as to much that is
artificial in their habits, it lends itself with the utmost readiness:
it is the best instrument to dance to; it is the best instrument to
protect from _ennui_ your sitters at a theatre: it sharpens the pungency
of an _air de vaudeville_; it sets off the ceremonial of a ballet. In
this sense, the French have “marked it for their own,” and achieved
wonders with it. Out of this sphere—this lower empire—their power has
been less considerable. It must be confessed, however, that this
limitation applies with greater force and distinctness to the time
_preceding_ their great Revolution, than to later days. That mighty
event, which stirred up the depths of the national mind, and opened the
channels of thought in every direction, could not but exert some degree
of influence, even on those arts that have least connection with the
ordinary business of men. The French taste in music—formalistic,
ungenial, and anti-catholic as it was—has undergone _some_ change for
the better, through the convulsions that have overthrown Kings, and
scattered Courts. It still retains, albeit, much of its old, hard
idiosyncrasy. French music is still, for the most part, “_caviare_ to
the general.” It lacks cosmopolitan character. To ensure it a full and
hearty welcome, it needs a French education. If these observations be
just, it follows that our lively neighbours, in dealing with stringed
instruments, as well as with others, would not attain first-rate success
in the way of _composition_ for them—and such has been (I submit) the
fact. Their real _forte_ lies in _exposition_—in giving outward
manifestation and effect to the ideas of others.

It is the remark of one of their own countrymen (the able Mons. Choron),
that the principal merit of the French School of Music, taken
altogether, lies in the various branches of _execution_. And, with
reference always to this quality, execution, he adds, “the style in
which the French have real and undisputed merit, and indeed, in many
respects, have a marked superiority, is the instrumental in general, and
especially that of the violin. On this point, the French have always had
great pretensions, and _often_ founded in justice.” After alluding to
the alleged excellence of early French violinists, and, in particular,
of the twenty-four _petits violons_ of Louis XIV, formed by Lully, M.
Choron has the candour to acknowledge that he knows not how to reconcile
this with the following statement, given by Corette (a furious partisan,
by the way, of the French School of Music), in the Preface to his
Méthode d’Accompagnement, published at Paris about 1750.—“At the
commencement of this century,” says that author, “music was very dull
and slow, &c.... When Corelli’s Sonatas were first brought from Rome
(about 1715), nobody in Paris could play them. The Duke of Orleans,
then Regent, being a great amateur of music, and wishing to hear them,
was obliged to have them _sung_ by three voices. The violinists then
began to study them, and, at the expiration of _some years, three_ were
found who could play them. Baptiste, one of these, went to Rome to study
them under Corelli himself.”—Having quoted this embarrassing passage, M.
Choron thus continues:—“Be this as it may; since that period,
instrumental music has been studied with ardour by the French, and they
have made astonishing progress in it. France has now an excellent school
for the violin, _founded upon that of Italy_.”

The excellence of the school, thus defined as to its peculiar character,
and thus denoted as to its origin, none will probably be disposed to
deny, who are conversant with the general state of instrumental
performance at the present time. Adverting again to the question of
_composition_, we may assert, and that also on M. Choron’s authority,
that the French have only been imitators, although they are not without
names of some celebrity there likewise. M. Castil-Blaze,[44] in a
passage wherein he takes a rapid glance at a few of the French
violinists, presents us with a tolerable notion of the characteristics
of the French system, both as to playing and writing:—“Kreutzer excels
in voluble touches, whether continuous or detached into pointed notes.
Rode is distinguished by traits of _coquettish_ character, as well as by
a free vocal effect conveyed by full notes, whose whole charm is in the
quality of the tone. Lafont exhibits an admirable shake, with much grace
and refinement in his style. Baillot dazzles in rapid passages, and
surprises by the boldness of his double-stringed effects, and the magic
of his bow.” Here we find, albeit expressed in the most favorable terms,
far more of the pretty and the glittering, than of the solid or the
elevated.

“Each of these masters,” continues M. Castil-Blaze, “has lavished upon
his compositions those peculiar traits which he most affected, and has
made sparing use of such as were remote from his own style of execution.
It is certain that those favorite traits would not come beneath his
hand, in equal proportion, in a composition of Viotti’s; nay, he would
there meet with some that would not admit of his displaying all the
extent of his resources, &c. It is therefore indispensable that the
virtuoso, who desires to show himself in the most favorable light,
should compose his own music, or, at least, should direct him who is
charged with its composition.”—This, it needs scarcely to be observed,
may be well enough calculated to favor the triumphs of individual
vanity, by giving prominence to mechanical dexterity; but it is
obviously not founded on a regard for the higher principles of art.

Having glanced at the great national Revolution, as to its agency in
modifying French musical taste, let us give a momentary attention,
likewise, to another influential agency—that of the _Conservatoire de
Musique_—an institution which has done much, during the last half
century, to foster and develop merit in the Art under consideration. M.
Castil-Blaze, in his work, “De l’Opéra en France,” thus notifies its
origin and effects:—

“In 1793, a union took place of all which France possessed that was most
illustrious in the line of composers, singers, and instrumentalists. The
_Conservatoire_ of France, that monument of our musical glory, was
raised on the foundation of the old _Ecole de Chant_. All the scattered
documents, the varying and sometimes contradictory theories, the
principles professed by each master, were brought together, examined,
revised;—and then was formed a universal code of music, a system of
instruction clear in its elements, methodical as well as rapid in its
progression, and certain in its results. * * * * * * * * Then, and only
then, were heard in France the sublime productions of Haydn and Mozart,
which came forth with all the charms of novelty, though our predecessors
had been essaying them for twenty years before.”

It may be here incidentally mentioned, that, in 1802, there sprang up so
violent a dissention among the professors at the above valuable
Institution, as to excite some fears about the continuation of its
existence. Subjoined is an epigram that was born of that occasion:—

  “J’admire leurs talents, et même leur génie,
     Mais, au fait, ils ont un grand tort;
  C’est de s’intituler professeurs d’harmonie,
     Et de n’être jamais d’accord.”

Or, as we might phrase it in our own tongue:—

  The force, the skill, for which they’re fam’d,
    I praise;—yet one great fault I see:
  Of _harmony_ Professors nam’d,
    How comes it that they _can’t agree?_

Let us now proceed to consider the principal French violinists in their
order—commencing with Lully, who, though not a Frenchman, but rather (as
Burney styles him) a Frenchified Tuscan, belonged entirely to France,
both by his education, and the results of it. It has been already
observed that Baltazarini, the Italian (who became, _Gallicè_, Monsieur
de Beaujoyeux, and who flourished about eighty years earlier than
Lully), was the first who introduced the violin to Court favour and
fashion in France; where, however, till the time of Lully, it appears to
have had no higher province than that which it enjoyed in association
with the dance and the ballet—a condition which may, perhaps, be termed
“frivolous and vexatious,” but which must be allowed to have coincided
pretty exactly with the national taste, at the time.

JEAN BAPTISTE DE LULLY was born of obscure parents at Florence, in 1633
or 34. The bias towards music which he shewed, while yet a child,
induced a worthy Cordelier, from no other consideration than the hope of
his some time becoming eminent in the art, to undertake his tuition on
the guitar—an instrument which, in the sequel, he was always fond of
singing to. The Chevalier de Guise, a French gentleman, who had been
travelling, brought Lully into France, in 1646, _as a present to his
sister_, according to Dr. Burney’s phrase and statement, or, in the more
qualified language of another account, to serve as a page to
Mademoiselle de Montpensier, a niece of Louis XIV, who had commissioned
the Chevalier to find her out some pretty little Italian boy for this
latter purpose. If such were the lady’s instructions, the _countenance_
of the youth did not answer to them; but his vivacity and ready wit, in
addition to his skill on the guitar, determined the Chevalier, as it
appears, to engage him. On his arrival and presentation to the lady, he
found her so dissatisfied with his looks, as to induce a change in her
intentions—and, instead of her page, he was made to fill the office of
her under-scullion!

Neither the disappointment he experienced, however, nor the employment
to which he was destined, affected the spirits of Lully. In the moments
of his leisure from the kitchen, he used to scrape upon a wretched
fiddle, which he had contrived to procure. That fiddle it was which
caused him to emerge from his obscurity! A person employed about the
Court, happening one day to hear him, informed the Princess that the
youth had an excellent taste for music. She directed that a master
should be employed to teach him the violin; and, in the course of a few
months, he became so great a proficient, that he was elevated to the
rank of Court Musician. In consequence of an unlucky accident, he was
dismissed from this situation; he afterwards, however, found means to
get admitted into the King’s _band of violins_, and applied himself so
closely to the study of music, that, in a little time, he began to
compose. Some of his airs having been noticed by the King, Louis XIV,
the author was sent for, and his performance of them was thought so
excellent, that a new band was formed, called “_Les petits Violons_,”
and he was placed at the head of it. Under his direction, they soon
surpassed the famous band of twenty-four, which had previously enjoyed
an extent of reputation attributable rather to the low state of musical
taste and knowledge among the French, at that period, than to the skill
of the performers; for they were incompetent (according to De la Borde)
to play any thing they had not made a special study of, and gotten by
heart. This was about the year 1660, at which time the favorite
diversion of the French Court was a species of _ballet_, that consisted
of dancing, intermixed with dramatic action, and musical recitative. The
agency of Lully’s musical talent in these entertainments soon procured
him the favor of _le Grand Monarque_, who liked music in so far as it
conduced to dancing, and had a taste which found its satisfaction in
airs _de rigueur_, containing a stated number of bars, accented with
the utmost reference to saltatory convenience.[45]

In the soul of Louis, vanity supplied the place of musical ardour, and
led him to consider the establishment of an Opera necessary to the
splendour of his Court. Lully became, after that event, the great
dramatic musician of France. Of his importance in that relation,
however, and of his fortunate league with the lyrical genius of
Quinault, &c. it is not within my purpose to treat. Possessing, now, the
situation of Composer and joint Director to the French Opera, he
relinquished the connection with his former Band, and instituted one of
his own. On becoming appointed superintendent of the King’s private
music, he neglected almost entirely the practice of the violin; yet,
whenever he could be prevailed on to play, his excellence astonished all
who heard him. The Maréchal de Grammont had a valet named Lalande, who
afterwards attained some distinction as a violin-player. One day, after
dinner, the Maréchal desired Lully to hear Lalande, and to bestow on him
a few directions. Lalande accordingly played; but Lully, whenever he did
not please him, snatched the instrument out of his hand, made use of it
himself preceptively, and, at length, became warmed into such
excitement, through the train of ideas produced by his own playing,
that he did not lay down the violin for three hours.[46]

In the year 1686, the King was seized with an indisposition that
threatened his life; and on his recovering from it, Lully was required
to compose a _Te Deum_, in grateful celebration of the deliverance.
Accordingly he wrote one, which was not more remarkable for its
excellence, than for the unhappy accident with which its performance was
attended. Nothing had been neglected in the preparations for the
execution of it, and, the more to demonstrate his zeal, Lully himself
beat the time. With the cane that he used for this purpose, in the heat
of action (from the difficulty of keeping the band together), he struck
his foot; this caused a blister to arise, which increasing, his
physician advised him immediately to have a toe taken off, and, after a
delay of some days, his foot, and at length the whole limb. At this
dreadful juncture, an empiric offered to perform a cure without
amputation. Two thousand pistoles were promised him, if he should
accomplish it; but all his efforts were in vain. Lully died on the 22nd
of March, 1687, and was interred at Paris, where an elegant monument was
erected to his memory.

A strange story is extant, in relation to the closing scene of Lully’s
life. His confessor prescribed to him, as the condition of his
absolution, that he should commit to the flames his latest opera. Lully,
after many excuses, at length acquiesced, and, pointing to a drawer in
which the rough draught of _Achille et Polixène_ was deposited, it was
taken out and burnt, and the confessor went away satisfied. Lully grew
better, and was thought out of danger, when one of the young Princes
came to visit him. “What, Baptiste,” says he to him, “have you thrown
your _opera_ into the fire? You were a fool for thus giving credit to a
gloomy Jansenist, and burning good music.”—“Hush, hush!” answered Lully,
in a whisper, “I knew well what I was about—I have another copy of it!”
Unhappily, this ill-timed pleasantry was followed by a relapse; and the
prospect of inevitable death threw him into such pangs of remorse, that
he submitted to be laid on a heap of ashes, with a cord round his neck;
and, in this situation, he expressed a deep sense of his late
transgression. On being replaced in his bed, he became more composed,
and (as the relation goes) he expired singing, to one of his own airs,
the emphatic words, “Il faut mourir, pécheur, il faut mourir!”

The high estimation which the once _sous-marmiton_, and afterwards
regenerator of the music of France, had enjoyed, enabled him to amass
considerable money. In natural disposition, he was gay and cheerful;
and, although he was rather thick and short in person, somewhat rude in
speech, and little able to shape his manners to the formal refinements
of the French Court, he was not without a certain dignity, which
intellect succeeds in conferring.

The musical style of Lully was characterized by vivacity and
originality; by virtue of which qualities, his compositions, chiefly
operas, and other dramatic entertainments, kept possession of the French
stage till the middle of the last century, when Rameau came into vogue.
Lully is considered to have invented the _overture_, or at least to have
given to it its most distinctive marks of character. He composed
_symphonies for violins_, in three parts; but these are not to be met
with in print.

If we may judge of the old French violin-players, _en masse_, from the
kind of business assigned to them by Lully, in his operas, we must draw
a very moderate conclusion as to their proficiency; or, to borrow the
words of Dr. Burney, we must regard them as “musicians not likely, by
their abilities, to continue the miraculous powers ascribed to Orpheus
and Amphion.” Even for half a century after Lully’s time, the French
progress on the instrument appears to have been far from considerable.
Their performers had as yet borrowed but little of the true spirit of
their great Italian originals; nor do we come to any very important name
among them until that of

JEAN MARIE LE CLAIR (or LECLER), who was born at Lyons, in 1697. This
artist may, perhaps, be regarded as presenting, in his performance and
his compositions, a distinct commencement of the French Violin-school,
as divaricating from that of Italy. His father was a musician, and, from
his instructions, aided by assistance from other masters (and from
Somis, in particular), he became an excellent performer. He went abroad
for several years, to reap improvement from the professors and
performances in other countries; after which, on an invitation from the
Duke de Grammont, who had been his pupil, he went to Paris, and was
allowed a handsome pension from him. By the recommendation of this
nobleman, Le Clair obtained the situation of symphonist to Louis the
Fifteenth, in which he laboured incessantly to improve the practice of
the violin among his countrymen. With this view, he composed, and
published in the year 1723, a collection of _solos for the violin_; and
soon afterwards another of the same kind, in both of which he has
displayed much knowledge of the instrument, combined with the resources
of a well-regulated fancy. Besides these two Collections of Solos, Le
Clair was the author of _Six Sonatas for two violins and a bass_; two
books of _Duos_, two of _Trios_, two of _Concertos_, and two under the
title of _Recreations_.

The character and conduct of Le Clair were of a nature to attract the
attention and esteem of all who knew him. He lived, for the most part, a
retired and contemplative life; yet, he at last fell a sacrifice, as it
has been supposed, to envy. He was assassinated whilst walking alone in
the streets of Paris, in the evening of the 22nd of October, 1764.

Le Clair was celebrated for the spirit and energy of his performance;
and his compositions afford, in some measure, a proof of his powers. At
least, it may be said, that, for boldness and dignity of style, there
are no instrumental compositions by any of the older French authors, not
excepting those of Lully, which can be compared with them. It is true
that they are difficult of execution, and this, for some time, was an
obstacle to their currency. The modern school, which laughs at any
impediments in the way of execution, would do ample justice of hand to
his hardest passages, were it _now_ the fashion to present them to the
public ear.

JEAN BAPTISTE SENAILLÉ, who may also be considered as having had some
share in the foundation of the French Violin School, was a contemporary
of the artist just recorded; and drew his first breath in Paris. His
early lessons were received from Queversin, one of the four-and-twenty
who formed the King’s band of violinists. His next instructor was
Baptiste Anet; but the completion of his studies took place in Italy,
whither he was attracted by the high celebrity of the artists there. He
returned to Paris in 1719, with a well-earned reputation, and
subsequently formed some good pupils, among whom were Guignon, and
(probably) Guillemain.

JEAN PIERRE GUIGNON was born, in 1702, at Turin, probably of French
parents, and became further Gallicized by going early into France, where
he had a long career of distinction. He brought to the exercise of his
art a liberality conducive to its diffusion and repute, as well as
redounding to his own honor—for he gave gratuitous lessons to many young
violinists whom the “res angusta domi” might else have left to struggle
on without encouragement. His talents gave further aid to the
_fidicinal_ cause by the valuable compositions which they enabled him to
devote to it, consisting of Sonatas, Duetts, Trios and Concertos.
Guignon had the support of courtly patronage, and gave instructions to
the Dauphin, father of Louis XVI. During thirty years, he held an
appointment rather suggestive of mock-heroic associations, than either
flattering or useful—that of _Roi des Violons, et Maître des
Ménestriers_, an office which, as already stated in these recording
pages, had given rise to our English dignity, more ridiculed than
respected, of _King of the Fiddlers_. Guignon died at Versailles in
1774.

GABRIEL GUILLEMAIN, born at Paris, in 1705, produced some sonatas for
the instrument that have been held in considerable estimation, and was
also admired as a performer. In the decline of his life, he lost his
faculties, and, in that melancholy state, became his own destroyer (in
1770), inflicting on his person no less than fourteen wounds.

PIERRE GAVINIÈS, a native of Bordeaux, claims some distinction, both as
composer and as performer. So great was his aptitude for the latter
character, that he made his _début_ at the _Concert Spirituel_ in
Paris, when he had attained but fourteen years of age; nor were his
pretensions those of mere vulgar precocity, that makes a dash at music,
as parrots do at language; for he gained the approbation of the best of
all judges, Viotti. The estimation in which the talents of Gaviniès were
held, procured for him, in 1794, the honour of being appointed Professor
of the Violin at the then newly formed institution, the Paris
_Conservatoire_. His works consist of three collections (or operas) of
Sonatas, several Concertos, and a series of violin music entitled _Les
vingt-quatre Matinées_, the pieces in which are, for the most part, very
difficult. He died in 1799, at the advanced aged of 73.

FRANÇOIS JOSEPH GOSSEC, a composer of some eminence, though not
expressly for the violin, fixed his residence at Paris in 1751, and was
soon afterwards attached to the suite of the Prince de Condé, as leader
of his band. In 1770, he founded the Concert of Amateurs, which enjoyed
a marked success during ten seasons, and had the accomplished but
volatile Chevalier de St. George for its “premier violon.” Gossec
subsequently filled an important post at the _Conservatoire_, and was,
in other respects, actively connected with the progress of music in
France. He died “full of days.” The symphonies of this master, and the
Quartetts of Davaux, which preceded, in France, those of Haydn, are
cited as advantageous specimens of French instrumental music of the
concerted kind; and some of them are still heard with pleasure.

PAGIN, who drew his excellence from that best fountain, the Italian
school, was born in France, in the year 1730. Addicting himself early to
the violin, and prompted by the desire to form his style on the purest
model, he travelled into Italy, expressly to receive instructions from
Tartini. His happy disposition for the art was turned to speedy
advantage by that master, and Pagin had scarcely reached his twentieth
year ere he returned to Paris, where the success that attended him, in
various performances at the _Concert Spirituel_, attested the value of
the means which he had taken for his proficiency. His enthusiasm,
however, in relation to his great preceptor, occasioned a check to his
career. He chose to play, exclusively, the music of Tartini and the
French musicians, resenting his choice, set about to oppose him. Their
jealousy, whether alarmed for national or for individual credit, took an
ingenious method of working out its purpose: it was by the ironical
applauses and sinister compliments which he received, at one of the
above concerts, that the unwelcome innovator was compelled to forego
appearing at any more of them. He was subsequently engaged in the suite
of the Count de Clermont. Dr. Burney, who heard him in 1770, has
recorded his admiration of the expression and lightness that
distinguished his performance.

PIERRE LAHOUSSAYE, another venerator and follower of Tartini, commenced
his date of life at Paris, in 1735. At a still earlier age than Pagin,
he gave public manifestation of his talent. He first found his infant
way upon the instrument, unaided, and then, after some tuition from the
solo-player, Piffet (styled _le grand nez_), made his _début_ at the
_Concert Spirituel_, when only nine years old. Shortly afterwards, the
little Lahoussaye had the fortunate opportunity of hearing, at a musical
party where he was introduced, the greatest violinists of the time,
including especially—Pugnani, Giardini, Pagin, Gaviniès, Vanmalder,
Domenico Ferrari, &c. A solo was played by each of these men of mark:
and the eager astonishment with which the “tender juvenal” listened to
their successive outpourings of expression, or feats of dexterity, could
not but attract the attention of all. On Ferrari’s putting a violin into
the boy’s hand, he not only made some brilliant preludings, but repeated
from memory several passages in a sonata of Tartini’s that Pagin had
just before played. An enthusiast himself, Pagin was so delighted with
the boy, that he at once undertook his further instruction, and
prevailed on the Count de Clermont to assign to him a post as his
chamber-musician. Thus advantageously placed, the young Lahoussaye was,
however, restless till he could accomplish his favorite wish—that of
_seeing Tartini_. Under this impulse, he attached himself to the suite
of the Prince of Monaco, and went with him to Italy. Repairing with all
speed to Padua, he found the wondrous master in the church, in the act
of commencing a concerto. To express the surprise and admiration of the
young Frenchman, at the purity of tone, spirit and accuracy of
execution, truth and delicacy of expression, that triumphed in the
performance of the Italian, would be difficult indeed. He felt at once
so humbled as to the sense of his own powers, as almost to abandon the
hazardous wish for an introduction to him whom he had so eagerly sought
out. Creditable as was this diffidence to the character of the aspirant,
the kind disposition of Tartini rendered it unnecessary. He received him
favourably, was gratified to observe in his performance something of the
manner of his own school, and engaged to advance him in it. Lahoussaye
was reluctantly drawn away to Parma, through his situation with the
Prince of Monaco: but, after delighting the court there by his talent,
he found means to return to Tartini at Padua, and continued for a long
time under his tuition, remaining in Italy, altogether, for the space of
fifteen years. In 1769, he visited London; and, after passing three
years there, returned to his native Paris, to diffuse, according to his
means, and as far as the musical habit of his countrymen might admit it,
the benefits of the Italian style. He arrived at the situation of _Chef
d’Orchestre_ to the _Concert Spirituel_, and to the Italian Opera in
Paris. In 1789, he had the honor to succeed Mestrino as
_Chef-d’Orchestre_ of the Theatre of Monsieur; and he afterwards filled
the same post at the Feydeau Theatre. On the establishment of the Paris
_Conservatoire_, he was appointed Professor of the First Class. The
compositions of Lahoussaye are numerous, and have had some celebrity,
although, for the most part, they have remained in the manuscript state.

PAISIBLE (pupil of Gaviniès) whose gentle name contrasts painfully with
his violent end, was born in 1745, at Paris, and was one of those able
artists who contributed to give éclat to the _Concert Spirituel_. Full
of youthful hope derived from the impression he had there created, he
made a musical “progress” through a part of France, the Netherlands,
Germany, and as far as St. Petersburg. Here, however, the tide of his
success was suddenly turned. His desire to exhibit his talents before
the Russian Empress was baffled, owing, as it has been supposed, to the
intrigues of Antonio Lolli, who was then in the service of the Imperial
Court. Failing also in his endeavour to obtain notice by means of public
concerts, Paisible engaged in the service of a Russian Count, with whom
he went to Moscow. This resource did not last long; and the concerts he
attempted at Moscow were even more discouraged than those at St.
Petersburgh. Distracted by misfortune and debt, he closed his career in
1781, by the act of his own hand—having written a touching letter of
farewell to his friends, in which he desired them to sell his violin (a
valuable one), with the object of defraying the claims against him.

SIMON LEDUC, another distinguished pupil of Gaviniès, and one of the
directors of the _Concert Spirituel_, was born in 1748. Two books of
Solos, and several Concertos and Symphonies, are his works as a
composer. There is extant, in connection with his name, a little
anecdote of some interest. About a month after his decease, in 1777,
there was a rehearsal of one of his symphonies for the _Concert des
Amateurs_. In the middle of the adagio, the Chevalier de St. George, who
had been his friend, and was then leading the orchestra, was so affected
by the expression of the movement, combined with his recollection of the
composer, that he let fall his bow, and burst into tears!

F. HIPPOLITE BARTHÉLÉMON, a fine performer of the old school, was born
at Bordeaux, in 1741. In the early part of his life, he served awhile as
a midshipman in the navy of the King of Spain; but Apollo soon asserted
his claims above those of Mars, and Barthélémon resigned himself to that
softer sway. After pursuing his new career for a time in Paris, where he
composed an opera for the Italian Theatre, he came over to England in
1765. Here also he produced an opera for the Italian stage, through the
success of which he became acquainted with Garrick, and received from
him a musical commission, which was settled for in a way that evinced
the accustomed parsimony of that great actor and little manager. As
leader of the Opera band for several seasons, and solo performer on
various public occasions, Barthélémon gave ample proofs of his mastery
over the violin. His adagios in particular were much admired, and his
extempore cadences were so scientific and appropriate as, to seem like
the natural continuation of the composer’s own ideas. Among his
engagements while in London, was that of leading the band at Vauxhall
Gardens; in which situation he once figured as a principal in a
whimsical occurrence. It chanced, one night, when the gardens were full
of fashionable company, and the stream of music was at high tide, that a
bewildered _bat_, which had winged its eccentric course for some time
about the walks, to the discomposure of the visitors, found its way into
the illuminated orchestra, and, after having made two or three circuits
there, flew into Barthélémon’s face, with so forcible a familiarity as
to unseat him from his eminence, and precipitate him, wholly frighted
from his propriety, to the floor. He fell on his ceremonial sword,
which, in breaking his fall, was itself broken; and he was picked up in
a condition which fortunately did not forbid his joining in the general
chorus of laughers; nor did he fail to congratulate himself, that, in
falling on his own sword, he had _not_ done so after the old Roman
fashion[47].

One of Barthélémon’s points of excellence consisted in his _solo_
performances of Corelli’s music, in which his sweetness and polished
taste were charmingly manifested. He and Salomon are supposed to have
been the last, who made it a regular habit to study, and to perform in
public, the compositions of Corelli. Barthélémon died in London, in the
year 1808.

Dismissing, with the tribute of a simple mention, the names of
Mondonville, Bertheaume, Jadin, and Grasset, we come now to the more
recent time when the genius of _Viotti_, diffusing its influence over
the whole modern system of violin performance, lent an especial lustre
to a number of musical _satellites_ who are marked in the _French_
nomenclature. The Italian Viotti infused new life into the French
School, which, seeking its resources more from fancy than from feeling,
and (with few exceptions) relying rather upon the small excellencies of
nice execution, than upon the sympathies which _expression_ can command,
had become somewhat exhausted. Viotti communicated to the French
Violinists a share of the vigour and the intellectual character that
animated his own style, and taught them

  “To fill the languid pause with finer joy.”

LOUIS JULIEN CASTELS DE LABARRE, one of the pupils who were modelled by
the above great master, was born at Paris, 1771, of a noble family of
Picardy. When finished as an instrumentalist, from the hands of Viotti,
he went, at the age of twenty, to Naples, where he studied composition
under Sala, at the Conservatory of La Pietà, as he did afterwards in
France, under Méhul. After two years of success as “premier violon” at
the Théâtre Français, he entered the orchestra of the Grand Opera. The
published works of Labarre for his instrument are of the lighter kind.

Of a year later in date of birth than the preceding artist, is PIERRE
JEAN VACHER, also of Paris. At eight years of age he commenced his
labours on the violin, under Monin, of whom fame is nearly silent; and
a few years later, his _second_ master (albeit “nulli secundus”) was
Viotti. From the age of fourteen to nineteen, Vacher was engaged as
violinist at the great Theatre at Bordeaux. In the early part of the
French Revolution, he went to Paris, where he remained several years in
the orchestra of the Vaudeville Theatre, and became known as a composer
by means of some popular airs, suited to the demands of that
establishment. He was afterwards employed in the orchestras of the
Théâtre Feydeau, and of the Académie de Musique, &c. He published
several operas (or works) of violin music.

PIERRE RODE, another of the eminent players formed by Viotti, was born
at Bordeaux, in 1774. His musical tendencies were manifested from his
infancy; and, after some instructions bestowed on him in compliance with
his early bias, he was sent, while yet but thirteen years old, to Paris,
which city has always been considered, in modern times, as the centre of
the musical art in France, and enjoys indeed something approaching to a
monopoly of it[48]. Here he was introduced to Viotti, who made kindly
estimate of his capacity, and interested himself much in directing and
improving its exercise. His first public appearance was in 1790, before
a Parisian audience—one of his master’s concertos being the subject of
the display. Shortly after this, he was appointed principal second
violin at the Théâtre Feydeau, and obtained further notice by means of
his performance of other concertos of Viotti’s, on selected occasions.

In 1796, Rode commenced professional travelling, and went through
Holland and Hamburgh to Berlin. Returning homewards, he was shipwrecked
on the English coast. This accident gave him an opportunity of visiting
his great preceptor Viotti (who was as yet receiving English shelter and
hospitality),—but it did not enable him to make the impression of his
talents felt here; for, after one attempt, in which (probably through
the disadvantage of being hardly known to us islanders) he met with
slender encouragement, the solemn terrors then prevalent at the Alien
Office intervened to arrest his ambitious bow-arm. In those really
perilous days, our green-eyed government certainly saw _more_ perils
than had either existence or probability. It would seem as if the plague
of democracy had been by them considered to infest the very garments of
a Frenchman, and the air that surrounded his person. It mattered not in
what shape, or with what business, he presented himself; suspicion
whispered an _aliàs_ against them all. If he professed to amuse, he was
but the more likely to be intent on deceiving. Viewed by the help of
this principle, a fiddler became obviously a highly dangerous character.
If discord was confessedly mingled with his strains, surely revolution
might lurk in his fiddle-case. “Let no such man be trusted;” and,
accordingly, Rode was invited to discontinue his sojourn, “_parmi nous
autres Anglais_.” His countryman, Mons. Fétis, in recording the
particulars of Rode’s career, has fallen into the error of attributing
to the English _public_, instead of their political _directors_, his
unhonored departure.

Re-embarking for Hamburgh, the disappointed artist travelled through
Germany, and again reached Paris, the scene of his first triumphs. Here
he was appointed Professor of the Violin at the Conservatory, and
played with renewed success at the Feydean Concerts;—but, with a
continued disposition for travelling, he went soon after to Madrid.
Boccherini, then established in that city, entered into friendship with
him, and scored several of his concertos for him.

In 1800, Rode returned to Paris, and was at once nominated Solo Violin
to the private band of Bonaparte, Chief Consul. His fame and his
excellence were by this time alike matured. He was invited to St.
Petersburg in 1803, receiving the appointment of First Violin to the
Emperor’s band, with the sole duty of playing at the Court Concerts, and
at those given in the Imperial Theatre. After five years thus passed
with high credit, he returned to Paris, and gave what was professedly
his last public concert. Great was the disappointment, however, among
the discerning Parisian Amateurs, at finding that a great change had
come over the _spirit_ of his performance—that he had no longer at
command the brilliancy and fire which had marked him for one of Viotti’s
_own_, but that a premature decay seemed to be upon him, although the
purity of tone, the taste, the elegant style of bowing, were yet
remaining. This exhibition appears to have had a chilling effect upon
the artist himself, who, for a long time afterwards, was heard by his
friends alone. In this latter way, his quartett-playing, accompanied by
Baillot and Lamarre, created real gratification.

His love of fame, meanwhile, did not decline with the powers which had
formerly attended and balanced it. He undertook a further course of
travel in 1811, and went through Austria, Hungary, Styria, Bohemia,
Bavaria, and Switzerland. In 1814, he was resident at Berlin, whence he
returned to his native Bordeaux. He could not yet reconcile his mind,
however, to the relinquishment of a career which his abated energies
forbade him to continue. It was reserved for another (and a most
mortifying) visit to Paris, to convince him that the hope of shining was
now but a morbid feeling within him. He quitted that scene in a state of
grievous and irrecoverable depression. The wanderer came back to his
home, only to languish onwards to his grave. Towards the close of 1829,
a paralytic stroke affected both his body and his intellect. In this
state he lingered nearly twelve months, and died in November, 1830.

Monsieur Fétis has recently referred[49], with a just exultation, to the
days wherein the triple force of Rode, Kreutzer, and Baillot, threw its
lustre over the French School of Violin-players. He characterizes the
talent of Rode as subtle, delicate, brilliant, and frequently
suggestive, in its effects, of the great master who had called it forth.
“There are few living,” he observes, “who have heard that admirable
talent in all its beauty, as it was displayed at the concerts of the Rue
Feydeau, and at those of the Opera; but the artists who _have_ enjoyed
that pleasure, will never forget the model of perfection which then
astonished them.”

As a writer for his instrument (it has been remarked), Rode merits a
distinguished place. His musical education, as regards the principles of
composition, had been neglected, so that he was at first obliged to
derive from his friends the accompaniments to his Concertos; but his
melodies are remarkable for sweetness; the plans of his compositions are
well conceived; and he is not without originality. His Concertos are
well known and admired, wherever the violin is played. Paganini has
performed them at his concerts. His quartetts—which, are, in fact,
brilliant solos for the first violin, accompanied by a second violin,
tenor and bass—have also had great success, especially when his own
skilful hand lent its aid to their execution.

Ten Concertos,—four Quartetts for two violins, tenor and bass,—three
Airs with variations, for a full orchestra, and the same arranged as
quartetts—three sets of violin Duetts—and a share in the compilation of
the celebrated “_Méthode d’Instruction_,” adopted for the
violin-students at the French Conservatory—are the principal labours of
this master. He also wrote some detached pieces, as Andantes, Rondos,
&c.

RODOLPHE KREUTZER, the son of a German musician in the service of the
King of France, was born at Versailles, in 1767, and, in consequence of
his French birth-place and career, is claimed with superior right by
the French School, although something of German inter-mixture, besides
that of the blood, must be distinguished in the early lessons he
received on his instrument, both from his father, and from a far more
important preceptor, Anthony Stamitz.—Under the latter, his advancement
was so rapid as to induce his _début_, at the age of thirteen, at the
_Concert Spirituel_, where he performed a concerto, either of his own,
or his master’s composition, as has been variously represented. From
that time to the age of twenty, his compositions for the violin became
frequent, though rather directed by innate genius than by the
prescriptive rules of composition, of which he had acquired very little.
His desires extended meanwhile towards the condition of a theatrical
Composer, in which object he was assisted by the patronage of the Queen,
Marie Antoinette, as well as by the appointment he received, in 1790, of
First Violin at the _Opéra Comique_. Of his _Lodoiska_, and other
achievements in operatic music, it is needless here to treat: but it
may be noted as a curious fact, that his neglect of the study of harmony
continued till after he had been the composer of at least three
successful operas. He seemed to write by instinct; and his custom, while
composing, was to walk about his room, singing his melodies, and playing
on his violin, till he found an accompaniment which pleased him. When
afterwards appointed a Professor at the newly-established
_Conservatoire_, he fancied that to be a learned contrapuntist was
necessary to the performance of his duties, and so entered, somewhat too
late in life, on a course of study which had little other effect than to
cripple his imagination. As a Professor, however, he is distinguished by
the number of excellent pupils whom he has produced. His mode of
instruction was signalized by the enthusiasm and confidence he instilled
into his scholars. An energy that shrank from no difficulties, lived in
the master, and was reflected in his disciples, who became
distinguished, in general, for a brilliant execution.

Kreutzer made a tour, in 1798, through the north of Italy and Germany,
and returned to Paris by the way of Hamburg and Holland, giving concerts
in all the principal cities. After this, he wielded his instrument in
the immediate service of Napoleon; and, on Rode’s departure for Russia,
he succeeded him as Solo Violin at the Opera; which situation he
exchanged, in 1810, for that of _Chef d’Orchestre_. Fourteen years
afterwards, decorated with the insignia of the Legion of Honour, he
changed his post to that of general Director of the Music at the Opera;
and, after this accumulation of credit, he retired in 1826. Declining
health led him to Geneva, where he died, in January, 1831.

Kreutzer’s compositions, independently of those for the stage (which
exceed thirty in number), consist of two “sinfonie concertanti” for two
violins—one sinfonia for violin and violoncello concertante—upwards of
fifty concertos, duetts, trios and quartetts—five sets of sonatas for
violin and bass—eight sets of studios and capriccios—and several airs
with variations. The compilation of the _Violin-system_ for the
Conservatory was also in part effected by him.

CHARLES PHILIPPE LAFONT, one of the most excellent of recently living
violinists, was born at Paris, where the beauties of his execution long
continued to draw numerous audiences to the concerts he was in the habit
of giving. His first lessons in the art were received from his uncle,
Bertheaume. After having, successively, Berton, and Navoigille the
elder, as masters in composition, and acquiring, by unaided study, a
knowledge of singing, he travelled with his uncle, who procured him
occasions for exhibiting his various powers in the principal cities of
Europe. Returning to France in 1794, he first appeared at Paris as a
vocalist; but was _most_ admired as a _violin performer_, in which
character he shone at the Opera concerts, and the _Salle Olympique_. He
completed his studies under Kreutzer and Rode—to the latter of whom, in
the sweet qualities of his style, he mainly inclined. His next journey
was to Petersburg, where he resided several years, as the Emperor’s
First Violin. In 1805 or 1806, he returned to his native city; and was
appointed leader at the King’s Chapel.

A suavity and elegance, especially in _cantabile_ movements—a tasteful
selection of ornament—and an exemplary purity of tone—have been remarked
as denoting this artist. The scene in his career which exhibits him in
an indiscreet rivalry with Paganini, will be found under the memoir
given of that extraordinary person.

PIERRE BAILLOT, of high name in the French School, which he was partly
enabled to acquire through Italian instruction, was born about the year
1770, near Paris, to which city the curious in coincidences will be
delighted to find that they can trace the local origin of so many of
those eminent violinists who have made it, also, the scene of their
brilliant exertions. Baillot repaired early to Rome, where he remained
some years under the tuition of Polani, an excellent Professor of the
school of Tartini. His own feeling and intellect appear to have done
more for his advancement, however, than the lessons of preceptors. An
artist of a very high order, well versed in the mechanical resources of
his instrument, he was also thoroughly embued with musical sentiment,
and was a discriminating judge in matters of composition.

After his return from Italy, the sound and excellent qualifications he
evinced were the cause of his succeeding Rode, about the year 1795, as
Professor of the violin at the Paris Conservatory. He was the editor,
and (with Rode and Kreutzer) a joint compiler, of the noted System of
Instruction which has contributed so important an aid towards the
successful formation of, perhaps, all the living French violinists. The
System for the Violoncello, in use at the same institution, was likewise
produced under his editorship.

Fine taste, variety of manner, admirable bowing, and forcible tone,
marked the performance of Baillot. In playing solos, to accompany the
dancers at the Opera, Baillot was, consciously, out of his element; but
at the annual quartett-meetings, where the business was that of giving
manifestation to the genius of Boccherini, Haydn, Mozart, and
Beethoven, his soul was kindled, and his powers came forth.—His pupils
have been many—including Habeneck and Mazas.

ALEXANDRE JEAN BOUCHER, born, “comme tant d’autres” of his class, in
fiddler-fostering Paris, came into the world in 1770, and arrived at
early excellence on “the leading instrument.” When seventeen years old,
he went to Spain, where he was appointed Violinist of the Chamber and
Chapel of Charles IV. During the time that monarch resided in France,
Boucher was also in his suite. His mode of obtaining introduction to the
“Majesty of Spain” was as remote from all the prescriptions of courtly
etiquette as can well be imagined. It forms the subject of a good
anecdote, thus translated from the “Souvenirs” of Blangini, the
well-known musical composer:—

“Boucher, when a very young man, at Madrid, was without friends, nor had
anything to depend on, save his bow and his strings. He knew that the
King of Spain was passionately fond of music, and he was anxious that
his Majesty should hear him play; but, having no friend who could help
him to obtain an introduction at Court, he fell upon the following
scheme for the attainment of his object. One day, he stationed himself
in the doorway of the palace gate-keeper’s lodge. The man at first
scrupled to allow him to remain there; but he at length consented, and
Boucher began to play in his most exquisite style. After a little time,
the rolling of the King’s carriage was heard at a distance; his Majesty
was going out to take a drive, and, as he approached, Boucher played
with increased energy and delicacy. The King, surprised at what he
heard, stopped and enquired who was playing. On being informed, he
ordered that Boucher should be presented to him. He directed him to go
to the palace on the following day. Boucher of course obeyed the
mandate. The King was enchanted with his talent, and, shortly after, he
was appointed first violin of his Majesty’s Chamber Band.”

Shortly after the second restoration of the Bourbons to the throne of
France, Boucher proceeded to St. Petersburgh, where he was engaged to
give some concerts. Here again we derive from Signor Blangini an
anecdote, which he states himself to have received from an individual of
undoubted veracity, who had it from the violinist himself.

“Every one who has seen Boucher, must have been struck by his singular
resemblance to the Emperor Napoleon: this resemblance was remarkable,
not only in his countenance, but in his figure. During his stay at St.
Petersburgh, he was one evening engaged to perform at a concert given by
the Grand Chamberlain, Prince Narishkin. The Emperor Alexander was
present, and in the course of the evening his Majesty stepped up to
Boucher, and said, with the affability for which he was distinguished,

“Monsieur Boucher, I have a favour to ask of you.”

Boucher bowed.

“It is an affair,” continued the Emperor, “quite unconnected with the
exercise of your profession.”

“I am wholly at your Majesty’s service.”

“Well, come to the palace to-morrow morning, at twelve precisely. You
shall be immediately shown into my cabinet, and I will tell you what I
have to request. It is a favour which will greatly oblige me.”

“Boucher puzzled himself the whole night, but without being able to form
any probable conjecture of what the Emperor wanted. Next day, he
repaired to the palace at the appointed hour. When he was ushered into
the Emperor’s cabinet, the persons there, among whom was the Grand Duke
Constantine, immediately withdrew. Alexander desired Boucher to follow
him into an adjoining apartment. There he saw, on a sofa, a small
three-cornered hat, a sword, a Colonel’s uniform of the chasseurs of the
French Imperial Guard, and a cross of an officer of the Legion of
Honour.

“Now,” said the Emperor Alexander, “I will explain to you the favour I
have to request. All those objects which you see there, belonged to the
Emperor Napoleon; they were taken during the campaign of Moscow. I have
frequently heard of your _resemblance_ to Napoleon; but I did not expect
to find the likeness so strong as it is. My mother often regrets that
she never saw Napoleon; and what I wish you to do—is to put on that
dress—and I will present you to her.”

“The Emperor withdrew, and left Boucher to array himself in the imperial
costume. When he had completed his toilette, he was conducted to the
apartment of the Empress. The Emperor assured his mother that the
illusion was complete, and that she might now say she had seen _the
great man_. These were Alexander’s words.”

—LIBON, born in 1775, was one of the pupils of Viotti. He became first
violinist at the _Chapel_ of the King of Portugal—and subsequently held
a similar appointment at Madrid, under Charles IV. In this our
Protestant country, where the violin holds no place in the musical
service of the church, the mention of such engagements as these,
represents hardly any definite idea to the mind. “What can the _fiddle_
possibly have to do with _religion_?” is a question very likely, here,
to precipitate itself from the lips of some honest mystified Englishman.
It is a question which _I_ do not undertake to answer, having no such
_experience_ on the subject as would give any value to my reply; but I
recommend those who are anxious for a solution of the point, to travel
abroad—to witness personally this kind of conjunction, as it exists
there—and to _test_ it by its effects upon heart and mind.—In 1803,
Libon returned to Paris, and was successively first violinist to the
Empresses Josephine and Maria Louisa, and to Charles X. He was the
composer of several much-admired Studies, and of various pieces played
at the _Conservatoire_. He died in 1838.

—BELLON, who presents oddly the example of a fine artist made out of a
man of commerce, is one of the French violinists who have displayed
their talents in our metropolis. The following notice of him was given
in the Harmonicon, on the occasion of his performing, in 1826, a
Concerto of Kreutzer’s, at the Philharmonic Concert:—

“The composition denotes a rich invention, united to great practical
knowledge, and was played with a feeling, a firmness, a length of bow,
and a breadth of tone, which, in these squeaking days, were as
unexpected as delightful. M. Bellon is already a highly distinguished
disciple of that fine school of the violin which boasts of Viotti as its
head, and enumerates among its members, Rode, Baillot and Kreutzer; the
latter of whom—the well-known composer of many admired operas—is his
master, and has so well seconded his natural inclinations, that he has
enabled him, in the short space of four years, to stand forward and be
acknowledged as one of the greatest violinists of the day. His history
is rather curious: he was a respectable tradesman in Paris, and was
offered a violin in barter for one of his commodities, an umbrella. He
agreed to the exchange, acquired some little knowledge of the
instrument, became a pupil of Kreutzer, was accepted (though beyond the
prescribed age) at the _Conservatoire_, and is now what we have
described him.”

FRANÇOIS-ANTOINE HABENECK (the eldest of three brothers of this name)
was born at Mezières, June 1st, 1781. Being the son of a performer in a
regimental band who was a native of Manheim, but had taken service in
France, he learned from his father to play the violin, and at the age of
ten he played Concertos in public. After residing in several towns where
his father’s regiment was in garrison, he went to Brest, and passed many
years there, solely occupied with the care of developing his faculties,
as far as he could do so, without model, and without master. While
there, he wrote several Concertos and even Operas, without any other
guide than his instinct, and without possessing any notions of the art
of writing. He was more than twenty years of age when he arrived in
Paris. Being admitted to the _Conservatoire_, as a pupil of M. Baillot,
he was not long in placing himself in the first rank amongst the
violinists who proceeded from that school; and, after a brilliant
competition, he obtained the first prize in 1804, and was appointed
_répétiteur_ of his Master’s class. The Empress Josephine, after having
heard him in a solo, testified her satisfaction by a pension of 1200
francs. About the same epoch, he obtained, as the result of a
competition, a place among the first violins at the opera. Less
fortunate in a second competition, which was shortly after opened, for
the post of leader of the second violins at the same theatre, Habeneck
saw preferred to himself a violinist of moderate ability, of the name of
Chol, a very respectable man, but by no means equal to the young artist
in talent. In a short time, however, this injustice was repaired, for
he was trusted with the post of first violin _adjoint_ for the solos;
and when Kreutzer took the direction of the orchestra, after the
retirement of Persuis, Habeneck succeeded him as first violin.

In 1806, he had become distinguished for that happy organization which
specially qualified him for the direction of a concert-orchestra. At
this period, it was the practice, for the violinists who had obtained a
first prize at the concerts of the _Conservatoire_, alternately to
direct the concerts of that school for a year. But the superior
capabilities of Habeneck for this undertaking soon became so evident,
that he remained in possession of the appointment till the temporary
close of the Conservatory in 1815, after the entry of the allied armies
into Paris. It was in these concerts that he caused to be played, for
the first time, Beethoven’s First Symphony (_in C_). At a later period,
when he was charged with the direction of the sacred concerts at the
Opera, he continued to make the works of this great artist known to the
few enlightened amateurs who came to hear them. But it was, especially,
when a new Concert Society was organized at the Conservatory, in 1828,
that these grand compositions excited the liveliest enthusiasm by the
warmth and energy which M. Habeneck was able to impress upon the
execution of them.

Appointed director of the Opera in 1821, Habeneck discharged the
functions of that office until 1824. At this period, the Viscount of
Rochefoucault changed the administration of that theatre; but, in order
to indemnify M. Habeneck, he created for him the place of
Inspector-General of the _Conservatoire_, which he never filled, and a
third violin class; and caused Kreutzer to retire, in order to give to
M. Habeneck his post of chef-d’orchestre to the Opera. After the
revolution of 1830, M. Habeneck added to these appointments that of
first violin in the King’s band. His best pupils at the Conservatory
were M. Cavillon and M. Allard.

M. TOLBECQUE is one of the artists who have acquired reputation in
France. In the season of 1831, he visited England, and performed at the
Philharmonic Concert; since which time, he has become familiarized among
us, with a reputation that stands higher for solidity than for
brilliancy. M. Tolbecque has a younger brother, who is also a violinist
of some skill, and is known in England.

PROSPER SAINTON, whose talents have been advantageously known to British
audiences for several seasons past, was born at Boulogne, in 1814, being
the son of a merchant in that town. His parents, who were no votaries of
music, gave him an education that looked towards the law. His maternal
grandfather, however, discerning something of the youth’s real bias,
gave him some initiatory musical notions, and then succeeded, though
with difficulty, in obtaining the paternal consent that his grandson
should be provided, at college, with an instructor for the violin.
Opposing fears represented that such an indulgence would wholly turn
aside the pupil from his severer studies. Notwithstanding these
prognostications, he gained an eminent position in his class, and was
afterwards admitted Bachelor of Letters, with the fullest credit.

In 1830, the period at which young Sainton passed his examination for
the University, the Revolution of July burst forth, and proved nearly
the ruin of his father (then President of the Tribunal of Commerce at
Toulouse), who became deeply involved in the commercial crisis that
ensued. In spite of this disaster, he was anxious that his son should
still maintain the jurisprudential complexion of his studies; but filial
respect could not _always_ hold in suppression the tendencies of
struggling nature—and the son’s vocation for music became more and more
manifest. The notion of entering, _one_ day, the Paris Conservatory, had
taken root in his mind. A permission to repair to the capital for
_legal_ purposes, led to the fulfilment of the cherished vision. In the
trustful idea of being able, by his progress in a new direction, to
furnish ground for a reversal of the paternal decree, he entered, with a
beating heart, within the resonant walls of the _Conservatoire_. There,
received, in 1832, into Monsieur Habeneck’s class, he commenced the only
career that could satisfy his long-baffled inclination. For the first
year, indeed, he managed to pursue his law-course, along with the very
dissimilar course prescribed at the Conservatory;—but, after that vain
trial of a somewhat _Mezentian_ process, he surrendered himself entirely
to his passion for the violin, and declined all further concern with
Justinian and the _Pandects_. The _dry_ was thus exchanged for the
_delectable_—hard fact, for tender feeling. _Law_, by this arrangement,
had one reluctant follower the _less_—and _Music_, one loving disciple
the _more_.

Fortified with a potent plea—that of the second _prize_, which he
obtained in 1833—the young aspirant succeeded in reconciling his father
to his engagement in the artistic arena; and then, with powers fully
emancipated, his progress was rapid, and the following year brought him
to the attainment of the _first_ prize.

The _début_ of Sainton in Paris was of a most encouraging success; but,
without waiting to construct a fixed reputation there, he quitted the
capital, to enter on a course of professional travel, to which mode of
life, a youthful imagination, unshaded by experience, was lending the
usual irresistible attractions. The result, however, shewed no
disheartening contrast with hopes thus sanguine; for he met with favour
everywhere. After visiting Italy, Germany, Russia, Sweden, Denmark and
Spain, he returned to the place of his nativity, to share with parents,
of whom he was then become the sole support, the fruits of his
persevering labours.

In 1844, after the decease of his mother, Sainton made his first
appearance in London, where his reception at the concerts of the
Philharmonic Society was such as to induce his return in the year
following;—since which time, he has only quitted our shores to add _one_
more country to his travelling list—namely, Holland,—where new
successes, crowned with presents from Royalty, gladdened his career. His
residence in England has been followed by various appointments—those of
Violin-Professor at the Royal Academy of Music, Leader at the Italian
Opera and at the Philharmonic, and (in 1848) Conductor and Violin
Solo-player in Her Majesty’s State Band.

Monsieur Sainton’s works for the violin, to the present time,
comprise:—1. A Fantasia in A.—2. An Air with Variations, in D.—3. A
Capriccio, with Piano Accompaniment.—4. A Concert Waltz.—5. A Concerto
in A, Op. 9.—6. An Italian _Thema_, with Variations, Op. 10.—7. A
Fantasia on Lindpaintner’s “Standard-Bearer.”—8. Fantasia on Lucrezia
Borgia.—9. Souvenirs from the “Figlia del Reggimento.”—10. Air with
Variations, in G.—11. Concerto in D minor.—12. Concerted Solo in E
major.

       *       *       *       *       *

Under the French School, as most nearly assimilating with it in
character, may be included the able artists who, in recent days, have
contributed to the honour of Belgium. At the head of these, stand De
Beriot and Vieuxtemps;—of whom, as well as of their compatriot, Artot,
some account shall here be introduced.

CHARLES AUGUSTE DE BÉRIOT, conspicuous for the perfection of the
qualities by which his playing has been distinguished—for remarkably
just intonation—grace—refined taste—rich and charming tone—and for
elegant bowing and wonderful execution, was born at Louvain, of noble
parentage, in 1802. Left an orphan at the age of nine, he found, in M.
Tiby, professor of music in that town, a tutor, a second father, and a
master who laboured with zeal to develop his happy dispositions for
music. Already had he arrived at a certain degree of skill on the
violin; and his progress had been so rapid, that he was able to play
Viotti’s Concerto in A flat (letter H) in such mode as to excite the
admiration of his compatriots. Endued, besides, with a contemplative
mind (says M. Fétis), and having no model immediately at hand that he
could imitate, he sought within himself for that principle of the
beautiful, whereof he could have no notion, except through the
spontaneous strivings of his own individuality. As to the report that he
was the pupil of Jacotot, it appears that the general attention of the
Belgians had been directed for years to the prodigious results which
were said to be derived from “Jacotot’s Method;” and that De Beriot,
wishing to know what advantage _he_ might obtain from its processes, had
some conversations with its inventor, and then learned from it little
more than two things, of _gravity_ rather than of _novelty_; viz. that
perseverance triumphs over all obstacles—and that, in general, we are
not _willing_ to do all that we are _able_ to do. The young artist
comprehended the truth contained in these oracular propositions, and
turned it to his own profit. To this extent only can De Beriot be called
the pupil of Jacotot.

A happy organization, moral as well as physical, an education well
commenced—and labour regulated with the greatest judgment—could not fail
to ensure for De Beriot the acquisition of a very remarkable talent.
Nothing was still necessary but contact with fine talents of other
kinds, in order to finish, to adjust, and to give determined character.
De Beriot was nineteen years old, when (in 1821) he quitted his native
town, and repaired to Paris; where his first object of care was to play
before Viotti, at that time Director of the Opera. After hearing him
with attention, “You have,” said the renowned artist, “a fine style;
give yourself up to the business of perfecting it; hear all the men of
talent; profit by everything, and imitate nothing.” This advice seemed
to imply the recommendation to have no master. De Beriot, however,
thought it necessary to take lessons of Baillot, and entered the
Conservatory with this view; but he was not long in discovering that his
talent had already a character of its own, which it would be difficult
to modify, without injuring its originality. He continued therefore but
a few months in the classes of the Conservatory, resumed the control of
his own labours, and soon appeared at concerts with brilliant success.
His first Airs with Variations, compositions full of grace and novelty,
augmented his rising reputation.

From a brilliant career in Paris, De Beriot passed, in 1826, into
England, where he met with a corresponding reception. In London, as well
as in some of our provincial cities, he gave concerts, that were
attended with transports of applause. Besides engagements at the
Philharmonic Society, he was heard at some of the Musical Festivals,
which take place annually in the principal towns of England. Of the
impression he produced among ourselves, a marked _individual_ instance
is on record, in the fact (stated in the Harmonicon) of a certain
gentleman travelling from Glasgow expressly to hear him play a Concerto
at the Birmingham Musical Festival, and declaring himself amply
recompensed by the result, for his trouble, time, expense and fatigue!
To his performance during one of his later visits to England, the
_Harmonicon_ thus alluded:—

“We knew not which most to admire—his tone, his vigor, the determined
manner in which he sprang to his extreme shifts, his staccato passages,
the bow bounding from the string with an elasticity almost magical, or
the boldness and certainty of his double stops.”

Returning to his native land, with a now brilliant renown, De Beriot was
presented to King William, who, although he had little love for music,
understood the necessity of assuring the independence of a young artist
who gave such promise of becoming an honour to his country. He granted
him a pension of 2000 florins, with the title of “first violin solo” in
his private band. The Revolution of 1830 deprived De Beriot of these
advantages.

It was at one time objected to this artist, that, bounding the scope of
his talent to the composing and playing of Airs with Variations, he shut
himself up within too confined a sphere. Of this reproach he cleared
himself, by the composition of _Concertos_, which he played on various
occasions, and wherein he discovered grander proportions, both as to
conception and execution. The last of these Concertos is full of
originality.

A marked incident in the life of this artist, was his hymeneal
engagement with the celebrated Malibran; and the close opportunities
thus possessed of hearing that accomplished woman, appear to have
exercised the happiest influence on his own talent. At Naples, where he
appeared at a concert given at the Theatre _San Carlos_, he obtained an
enthusiastic success, very uncommon among the Italians; for that nation,
passionate in its admiration of _song_, pays usually a lower degree of
homage to _instrumentalists_.—An anecdote or two may serve to close our
notice of this eminent artist. One of our own violinists, more noted for
his execution than his feeling, was once complaining to him that he
found he could produce very little effect with his (De Beriot’s) _airs
variés_.—“_C’est qu’il y faut de l’âme!_” (“What they require, is
_soul_”) was the laconic reply of the Belgian.

An auditor at one of the concerts here, in which De Beriot was to
exhibit his powers being previously unacquainted with the person of the
great artist, inquired of a neighbouring sitter (apparently French)
whether _that_ were De Beriot—indicating, at the same time, the
individual on whom his supposition rested. The foreign gentleman made
answer in the affirmative; adding, with enthusiasm, and in English of
his own modification, “Sare, you may be sure dat dere is _bot won_ De
Ber-r-r-riot!”

HENRI VIEUXTEMPS was born at Verviers, in 1820. His father, a soldier
retired from the service, practised as a maker and tuner of musical
instruments; and little Henry evinced, at an early date, his natural
taste for music, by the pleasure he found in listening to the
performances of his father on the violin. At two years of age, he amused
himself for hours together by rubbing the hair of a violin-bow on the
strings of a little instrument. At the age of four and a half, he began
to read music. A zealous amateur, charmed with the child’s happy
indications, offered to defray the expenses of his musical education,
and placed him under the tuition of M. Ledoux, an able professor of the
violin, who, by his lessons, developed the talents of the young
violinist, destined soon to become one of the most distinguished
artists of his day. So rapid was his progress, that he was enabled, at
the age of eight years, to undertake, with his master, a tour for the
purpose of giving concerts in the principal towns of Belgium. While at
Brussels, he met with De Beriot, who, struck with his precocious skill,
gratuitously gave him lessons for several months, In the spring of 1830,
he went with his new master to Paris, and performed at a concert given
in the _Salle_ of the _Rue de Cléry_. The future eminence of the
artist-child was then confidently predicted. Returning to Verviers, a
short time after, Vieuxtemps resumed his studies. In 1833, he engaged
with his father in a tour through Germany, during which he acquired, by
the custom of playing in public, the assurance necessary to the
unembarrassed display of talent. It was at Vienna that he obtained his
first really important success. While there, he took some lessons of
Simon Sechter, Organist to the Court, and then returned to Brussels,
where he only stayed a few months. At the end of 1834, he went to Paris,
and, finding no opportunity of exhibiting his talents in that city, he
proceeded to London, where, however, his reception fell somewhat short
of his expectations. Returning to Paris in the summer of 1835, he
resolved to perfect his knowledge of music, and entered on a course of
studies in composition, under Reicha. The superficial but rapid method
of this professor was exactly that which best suited an instrumentalist,
little anxious to acquire a profound knowledge of the forms of
counterpoint, for which he considered he had no use. After this, he
began writing his first compositions, and played them in the course of a
tour in Holland, which he made in 1836;—he then went again to Vienna,
and published his first works.

In 1838, Vieuxtemps played with success at the theatre at Brussels, and
also in a concert given in the Church of the Augustins by the
Philanthropic Society. His performances were “fantaisies” and fragments
of Concertos, in which some happy ideas were noticeable, but mixed with
incoherences. Immediately after this, he set out for Russia, giving
concerts, by the way, at Prague, Leipsig, Dresden, and Berlin. On
quitting this last city for Petersburgh, he was seized with a serious
illness, in a little Russian village, and was detained there more than
two months. On his arrival at Petersburgh, he met with splendid success,
as he did also at Moscow. It was in Russia that he wrote a new Violin
Concerto, and a Grand “Fantaisie” (orchestral), the superiority of
which, when compared with his foregoing productions, is so marked, that
his detractors, both at Paris and Brussels, availed themselves of this
fact to dispute the authorship. It is no unreasonable supposition, that
his future works will give an emphatic denial to these jealous
insinuations. After a stay of more than a year in Russia, Vieuxtemps
returned to Brussels in 1840, and, the 7th of July following, he played
his new Concerto and his “Fantaisie” in a grand concert given for the
benefit of the musicians of the orchestra at the theatre. These pieces,
in the execution of which the artist displayed the finest talent,
excited transports of enthusiasm. Vieuxtemps played them again, with
similar result, at the concerts given at Antwerp, on the inauguration of
the statue of Rubens.

A Parisian success formed now the object of Vieuxtemps’ advancing
ambition. This he obtained in the winter following, exciting no less
interest by the merit of his later productions, than by his skill upon
his instrument. He afterwards made a second tour in Holland, and then
revisited Germany, and appeared, for the third time, at Vienna. Having
travelled through Poland, he returned to Brussels in June 1843, and, in
the fall of that year, was heard in America. His subsequent career has
confirmed all the anticipations formed by the judicious as to the
distinction he would attain.

JOSEPH ARTOT, born at Brussels in 1815, had for his first music-master
his father, a player of the first horn at the theatre of that city. At
the age of five, he _solfa-ed_ with facility; and, with less than
eighteen-months’ study on the violin, he was able to play at the
theatre, in a Concerto of Viotti’s. Charmed with the felicitous aptitude
of the child, M. Snel, at that time first violin-solo, undertook the
task of developing it by his instructions, and not long afterwards sent
him to Paris. There, Artot was admitted as a page at the Chapel-Royal;
and when he had attained his ninth year, he passed under the direction
of the elder Kreutzer, for the study of the violin. This distinguished
artist conceived a regard for him, and often gave him lessons, out of
class, at the Conservatory. On the retirement of Kreutzer, in 1826, his
brother Augustus Kreutzer, who replaced him, evinced for Artot no less
kindness than his predecessor. Artot had just completed his twelfth
year, when the second violin-prize was awarded him, in the competition
at the Conservatory. In the year following, he obtained the first prize.
He then quitted Paris, to visit his own country—playing with success at
Brussels, and making, some months after, a journey to London, where he
was not less fortunate. Returning subsequently to Paris, Artot became
attached to the orchestras of various theatres; but the desire of making
himself known caused him to renounce these appointments, and travel in
the south of France. The result was successful everywhere. He has
written _quatuors_ for the violin, and a _quintett_ for piano, two
violins, alto and bass, two airs with variations for the violin,—and
other works.

Shifting the ground, and giving a fresh stir to our attention, let us
now pass “from _gay_ to _grave_, from lively to severe”—or, in other
words, from _France_ to _Germany_; in which latter country, will be
found ample matter for observation and comment, as relates to the theme
we are pursuing.




CHAPTER V.

THE GERMAN SCHOOL.

  “Plain, without pomp—and rich, without a show.” DRYDEN.

Germany and Italy may _each_ be regarded as an abiding realm of sweet
sounds, a special nursery and _home_ of music. They are the two
countries from which, since the days of modern civilization, the great
supplies of musical thought and feeling have been diffused abroad, for
the delight of nations;—the _feeling_, for the most part, proceeding
from Italy, and the _thought_ from Germany, comformably to the
characteristics of the two people respectively. Impulse and passion
predominate on the Italian side—intellect and fancy on the German, and
the division into two great schools, or systems, marked severally by
these opposite qualities, takes its date from about the commencement of
the 18th century. The two musical _natures_, thus distinguished from
each other, have found each a different channel for its
_expression_—that of Italy becoming essentially _vocal_, that of
Germany, _instrumental_. Italian music is fresh from the heart,
spontaneous, and _glowing_ with melody: German music, true to the spirit
of its birth-place, is either grave and solid, or wild and fantastic.
Less simple than the Italian in its elements, the German musical genius
has sought its chief glory amid the intricate combinations of
orchestral science, where its laborious and meditative turn can have
fullest exposition.

Passing from these general remarks to a consideration of the German
School of the _Violin_, in particular, we may observe, that, although
derived originally, like all the others, from that of Italy, and
contracting no inconsiderable obligations to it in its progress, it has
been, on the whole, much less indebted to the Italians for resources and
support, than the School either of France or England. The cause of this
arises out of the admitted fact, that the Germans are essentially a more
musical people[50]—are more deeply imbued with a musical character of
their own—than the natives of the two latter countries. They have been
less willing, as well as less needing, than these, to incur the debt to
Italy—and certainly less willing to add to its amount. The love of the
instrument diffused itself very speedily among them (the Germans), and
their own powerful musical organization enabled them not only to modify
more promptly, after their own character, the hints which they received
from its original Italian cultivators, but to be satisfied with a
smaller quantity of confirmation from the same source. Their comparative
independence, however, or disinclination to borrow, has been somewhat
unfavourable to the completeness of their success as _performers_ on the
violin. They have, as it were, impressed their own stamp and character
upon it —that is to say, they have attained an honest solidity of
execution, of high value in orchestral playing; but, with a few
prominent exceptions, such as Kiesewetter and Mayseder, they seem to
have neglected, as uncongenial to them, the lighter graces and
refinements which have been so readily caught up by the more imitative
Frenchman. As violinists of _display_, therefore, they must be content
to rank below the French. They are below them in that which their
dignity has not thought proper to make the subject of competition—the
“manual exercise” of the instrument. They are inferior in _execution_,
and therefore less effective as solo-players; for though the German
violinists have, in recent times, enjoyed some repute for their skill in
fingering difficult passages with the left hand, they have frequently
been deficient with the right; that is to say, indifferently versed in
the dexterities of the bow.

The ingenious author of “A Ramble among the Musicians of Germany” has
considered the Violin School of that country, at present, to be
inferior, not only to the French—which there is no contesting—but also
to that of England. In this latter notion I cannot help thinking him
mistaken—and I would appeal to his own declaration, that although in
Germany “one may find no band equal to that of the Philharmonic Society,
fifty may be found, _only_ inferior to it.” This fact supposes of
necessity a very large body of good sound violin-players, whose united
merits render it scarcely possible to regard the state of the art in
their country as _inferior_ to what it is in ours.

The Germans have, after all admitted drawbacks, a high renown in
connection with that leading instrument which it is the business of
these pages to celebrate. They have the renown that justly attaches to
the production of the greatest _writers_ of all for the _Violin
Family_. Their compositions for the instrument, in its _single_ state,
are perhaps over-laboured, over-full of chromatic passages, and wanting
in the broad, simple, vocal character of the Italian music of the same
class;—they have been content, individually, to _talk_ with the violin,
whilst the Italians have _sung_ with it;—but—they have tasked their own
genius to find scope for its powers in the aggregate—to develop its
resources _in combination_ with those instruments that are its immediate
relatives; and, in this collective character, they have given new
triumphs to it. The names of Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven, at once
suggest themselves, and assert for their country, under this view, a
superiority which the world does not seek to dispute. In the
_quartetts_, and other instrumental pieces, up to _symphonies_
inclusive, which have been produced by these great men, all the higher
capabilities of bowed instruments are consulted and brought forward,
with a nicety of discernment, and a richness, variety, and grandeur of
effect, which excite equally our surprise and gratification.—Let us now
consider, in their order, the principal German masters whose eminence
relates particularly to the violin.

It is hardly necessary to enumerate all the early performers mentioned
with commendation by Walther in his Dictionary, since their fame and
influence do not appear to have travelled beyond their own country. We
will therefore commence with DAVID FUNK, originally a singer at
Reichenbach, where he was born in the early part of the seventeenth
century. He was an excellent musician, and a capital performer on the
violin and the viol-da-gamba, besides displaying talent on the
harpsichord and the guitar. He was, moreover, a general scholar, and one
of the most elegant versifiers in Germany. Independently of his
excellence as a practical musician, he obtained credit as a composer, in
a variety of styles; and his compositions for the church and the chamber
were much admired. His talents, brilliant and diversified as they were,
suffered some tarnish from his immoral conduct. It was in 1670 that he
began to shine as a composer, by the publication of a collection of
pieces for the viol-da-gamba. He was under the patronage of the Princess
of Ostfrise, during seven years. That Princess, however, dying in 1689,
Funk, then more than sixty years old, returning to the place of his
nativity, succeeded in obtaining several appointments; but these he had
scarcely retained for a year, when the extreme irregularity of his life
deprived him of them, and reduced him to the necessity of quitting the
town as hastily as possible. It was in the depth of winter; and in his
flight, through frost and snow, he arrived at the gate of the castle of
Schleitz. The sordid state of his habiliments made so repulsive an
impression on the porter, that he refused him admittance; but his good
fortune, prevailing, brought to the spot the chapel-master, Liebich,
who, acquainted with his merit, though previously a stranger to his
person, expressed his desire for the honor of his friendship, and, in
the name of the lord of the castle, whose favour and protection he
himself enjoyed, invited the fugitive to his patron’s table. The Count
was so delighted with his musical talents and various knowledge, that he
retained him as his friend and companion, till letters arrived from
Wohnsiedel, claiming him as a moral delinquent, to answer for some part
of his past conduct. The Count, disposed to favour him as much as the
nature of the case would admit, advised him to depart secretly, and
afforded him every assistance for his journey. Funk, once more a
wanderer, without knowing whither to go, was, a few days afterwards,
found dead, behind a hedge, in a field near Arnstadt!

It is doubtful whether any of the violin compositions of this master are
extant; but, among his sacred instrumental pieces, there is one which
has received the encomium of all real judges of music: it is a _drama
passionale_, the words of which, as well as the music, were his own.

THOMAS BALTZAR, born at Lubeck about 1630, was esteemed the finest
performer on the violin of his time. He came to England in 1658, at
which time the instrument had not yet been enabled to manifest its real
powers among us, nor to emerge (as it shortly afterwards did) from the
low estimation in which it was held. Baltzar may be considered as having
helped in no small degree to prepare the way for its rescue from
humility in this country. He lived, for about two years after his
arrival here, in the house of Sir Anthony Cope, of Hanwell, in
Oxfordshire. He is said to have first taught the English the practice of
shifting (that is to say, of what is termed the _whole-shift_), and the
use of the upper part of the finger-board—in like manner as Geminiani is
believed to have been our first instructor in the _half-shift_.[51] It
is certain that the power of execution and command of the instrument,
exhibited by Baltzar, were matter of novelty among us, although we had a
native performer, of no mean abilities at that period, in the person of
Davis Mell, who, in delicacy of tone and manner, seems even to have
exceeded the more potent and renowned German. Baltzar was of a
Bacchanalian turn in his habits, and was believed to have brought his
end somewhat the nearer thereby. His remains obtained the honor of a
place in Westminster Abbey, in the year 1663. Dr. Burney has
characterized his compositions as discovering “genius and a strong
hand.”

HENRY JOHN FRANCIS BIBER, vice-chapel-master to the Bishop of Salzburg,
seems to have been one of the best violin-players of his time; and his
_solos_, which he published in 1681 (with a bass), are stated by Dr.
Burney to comprise more of fancy, as well as of difficulty, than any
music of the same period. One of the pieces is written on three staves,
as a score for two violins and bass, but is designed to be played (as
regards the violin) in _double stops_. Others are played in different
tunings of fourths and fifths, as for a treble viol.

GODFREY FINGER, a Silesian, was a voluminous composer for the violin; in
a style of less power than that of Baltzar, but of more polish, and
approaching somewhat to the Italians, Bassani and Torelli. He was some
years resident in England, having received, in 1685, the appointment of
chapel-master to King James II. On returning to Germany, he became
chamber-musician to the Queen of Prussia in 1702, and, in 1717,
chapel-master to the Court of Gotha.

JOHN GOTTLIEB GRAUN, brother of the celebrated chapel-master of that
name, and born about the year 1700, was an excellent performer on the
violin, and a respectable composer, of the old school. He was
concert-master to the King of Prussia, and there are extant of his
writings, several overtures, symphonies, concertos, a “Salve Regina,”
and some masses. He transmitted, through several good pupils, the
serviceable solidity of his talent.

FRANCIS BENDA, usually commemorated as the originator of a distinct
style of violin-performance in Germany, was a native of Bohemia, and
born in the year 1709. At the age of seven, he commenced vocal studies,
and, two years afterwards, became a sopranist in the choir of St.
Nicholas, at Prague. He soon afterwards went to Dresden, where he was
immediately received among the _élèves_ of the _Chapelle Royale_, in
which situation he continued eighteen months. About this period he began
to practise the violin, and had no other resource than that of engaging
himself with a company of itinerant musicians, who attended fêtes and
fairs. While thus situated, he formed an acquaintance with a blind Jew,
of the name of Loebel, a virtuoso of no mean order, who became his
master and his model. At length, tired of this wandering life, he
returned to Prague, and took lessons of Kouyezek, an excellent violinist
of that town. He was now eighteen; and, eager in the pursuit of
professional excellence, resolved to visit Vienna, where he soon found
an opportunity of profiting by the example of the then celebrated
Franciscello. After a residence of two years in that city, he went to
Warsaw, where he was nominated Chapel-Master. In 1732, at the
recommendation of Quantz, the Prince Royal of Prussia (afterwards
Frederic II) received him into his band. Anxious for further improvement
in his art, he became the pupil of Graun, for the violin; then studied
harmony under his brother; and afterwards learned composition of Quantz
himself. In 1732, he replaced Graun as the King’s Concert-Master, which
situation he held till his death, at Potsdam, 1786.

Of the peculiar qualities of Benda, as a violinist, Dr. Burney, in his
Travels, thus speaks:—“His manner was neither that of Tartini, nor of
Veracini, nor that of any other leader; it was purely his own, though
founded on the several models of the greatest masters:”—and Hillar, in
his Biography, tells us “that his tones were of the finest description,
the clearest and most euphonious that can be imagined. The rapidity of
his execution, and the mellow sweetness of his altissimo notes, were
unequalled. With him, the violin had no difficulties. He was master of
all its powers, and knew when to use them.”

JOHN STAMITZ, Concert-Master and Chamber-Musician at Mannheim, and
regarded, like the preceding artist, as the founder of a distinct class
of German violinists, was born in 1719, at a small town in Bohemia,
where his father was a school-master. Besides the high repute he enjoyed
as regards the formation of pupils, Stamitz has attained a just
celebrity by his written works. These (which include a curiosity in
art—a _duett_ for _one violin_) consist principally of symphonies or
overtures, concertos, quartetts and trios. Though exhibiting a masterly
character, they convey the impression, at this period, of belonging too
peculiarly to the old school, and have been considered, by some critics,
to savour too much of the Church style.

The successors of Benda and Stamitz, still adding some improvements to
the precepts or the practice inculcated by those eminent directors, may
be said to have created a school of their own, at the head of which we
should place Leopold Mozart (author of “_Der Violinschule_”), Fraenzl,
and Cramer, who made some approach to Tartini, his contemporary, and
flourished long in England, as a concerto-performer and leader. Of the
first and the last of these three professors, some account shall here be
subjoined.

LEOPOLD MOZART, father of him who, in the fullest sense permitted to
sublunary credit, may be called, “The Undying One,” was born at Augsburg
in 1719. After having completed his studies, and particularly a course
of jurisprudence, at Salzburg, young Leopold entered the family of the
Count of Thurn, in the somewhat odd quality of _Valet-de-Chambre
Musicien_. The situation of a violinist having become vacant in the
chapel of the Prince Bishop of Salzburg, he obtained it in 1743. His
compositions made him favourably known in Germany but his reputation was
extended principally by the _Method_ for the Violin, which he published
in 1756, and which, for half a century, was considered as the best work
of the kind.

In 1762, Leopold Mozart obtained the post of Second Chapel-Master at the
Court of Salzburg. Of seven children whom he had by his marriage, there
remained to him only the son, afterwards so famous, and a daughter,
whose success in childhood promised a talent which was never realized.
The musical education of the children occupied all the time which his
duties and his works left to the father. A little while after his
nomination as Second Chapel-master, he commenced long tours with his son
and daughter, visiting the principal courts of Germany, Holland, England
and France, and passed many years in Italy. Returning to Salzburg, rich
in the hopes that centered on his son,—but with an exchequer nearly
exhausted by the charges attendant on so much itinerancy—he did not
again quit the residence of his Prince till 1775. Anxiously careful
about ameliorating the condition of his family, he failed to secure that
object, and became more and more impoverished. The forms and practices
of a scrupulous devotion furnished him, however, with some consolation
in his griefs, and alleviated his sense of suffering from the gout. He
died at Salzburg, in 1787.

Of the Symphonies composed by Leopold Mozart, it suffices for their
commendation to say, that some of them have been attributed to his son.
His _Method_ for the violin is entitled “Versuch einer Gründlichen
Violinschule,” Augsburg, 1756, 4to., with a portrait of the author, and
four plates representing the different positions for holding the bow and
the violin. This work, composed according to the doctrine of Tartini,
contains (says M. Fétis) some excellent things, and will always be read
with profit by such violinists as are disposed to reflection on the
subject of their art. The second edition, completed, appeared, under the
title “Gründliche Violinschule,” in 1770. A third edition was published
in 1785. It has since been frequently reprinted, and translated into
several languages.

WILLIAM CRAMER was a native of Mannheim, and born in the year 1730.
Influenced by an early passion for music, and aided by the bounty of
Prince Maximilian, he soon acquired excellence on his favourite
instrument, and, at the age of twenty, obtained a situation in the
chapel of the Elector Palatine. Not, however, receiving on the Continent
encouragement commensurate with his continual and rapid improvement, he,
in 1770, came to England, where he soon obtained the situations of
Leader of the Opera-House band, and of the King’s Concerts. In 1787,
under John Bates, the Conductor, he led the performances given at
Westminster Abbey in commemoration of Handel, and led them in a style
that proved his thorough comprehension of the music of that great
master. Though Cramer failed to obtain in Germany sufficient patronage
to induce his remaining in that country, his claims were admitted there
by all real judges of executive talent; and in England he was esteemed
the first violinist of his time. It used to be asserted of him that he
joined the emphatical expression of Benda with the brilliancy of Lolli.
The decision and spirit which characterized his playing, gave him great
advantage as a leader.—The latter days of Cramer were somewhat clouded.
The emoluments arising to him from the Opera House, and from his
employment as a private teacher of the violin, had been considerable
during many years; but talent is too frequently a bad economist, and his
was one of the cases in which it proved so. The embarrassment he
sustained in his affairs, and the transfer of the post of leader of the
Opera-band to the greater Viotti, combined to exercise an injurious
effect on his health and spirits. His death occurred in October 1799.
Cramer was twice married, and had two sons by his first
wife—John-Baptist the great _Pianiste_, and François, of whom
presently.[52]

JOHN PETER SALOMON was born at Bonn, in 1745. Director, purveyor,
composer and performer, he was one of those whom the musical historian
must delight to honour. He was educated for the law; but the voice of
music was too powerful within him to be restrained. While very young, he
became a performer in the Electoral Chapel at Bonn. In 1781 he went to
Paris, with a result of more fame than profit. His enterprising spirit,
regulated by discretion, found a happier field in London, where his
cheerful disposition, polished manners, good sense, and general
attainments, soon obtained for him the friendship of all who at first
patronized him for his professional talents. His concerts in 1791 form
an epoch in musical history—for, to them we are indebted for the
production of Haydn’s twelve Grand Symphonies, known everywhere as
“composed for Salomon’s Concerts.” Salomon had formed his project, and
digested its details, in the previous year. In order to give every
possible effect, as well as _éclat_, to his concerts, he determined to
engage that “par nobile,” Haydn and Mozart, not only to write
exclusively for them, but to conduct their compositions in person. For
this purpose he went to Vienna, where, after several interviews with
both these great musicians, it was mutually agreed that Haydn should go
to London the first season, and Mozart the next. They all dined together
on the day fixed for the departure of the two travellers. Mozart
attended them to the door of their carriage, wishing them every success,
and repeating, as they drove off, his promise to complete his part of
the agreement the following year. This, however, was an abortive hope.
_L’homme propose, Dieu dispose_:—Mozart, who had filled a short life
with durable deeds, was carried, within that stipulated interval, to the
grave!—The terms on which Haydn undertook so long a journey and so
responsible a duty, were, £300 for composing six grand Symphonies, £200
for the copyright of them, and a benefit, the profits guaranteed at
£200. Salomon re-engaged Haydn for the season 1792, on the same terms,
except that, for the copyright of the last six Symphonies, the increased
sum of £300 was paid. In the first concert of this year, Yaniewicz
played a Violin Concerto. At the first of the series in 1793, Viotti
made his début in London, in _his_ favourite Violin Concerto. In 1794
and 95, Haydn, having visited London a second time, was again at the
same post of pianoforte president. In 1796, Salomon’s discriminating
judgment brought out of obscurity, and placed in their proper sphere,
the extraordinary vocal powers of Braham. Of Salomon’s subsequent
subscription concerts, engagements at private music parties, attendances
at the Prince of Wales’s Carlton-House Concerts, compositions of
canzonets, songs, glees, &c. it is not requisite here to treat. His
public career extended to the period of the formation of the
Philharmonic Society, in 1813, of which he was one of the original and
most zealous promoters and assistants. He died Nov. 28th, 1815. His
remains, followed to the grave by a long train of professional and other
friends, were interred in the great Cloister of Westminster Abbey.

Salomon was one of the few whose right to contend for the honour of
being considered the greatest performer in Europe on the violin, was
manifest. His taste, refinement, and enthusiasm, as Dr Burney has
observed, were universally admitted. His profound knowledge of the
musical art served to add solidity to his fame. His judgment and vigour,
as a leader, are traditionally well known. Among his pupils, Pinto
proved the extent of his master’s skill, and his ability in
communicating it. Unfortunately, this extraordinary young man, whose
musical progress reflected so much honour on his teacher, possessed
qualities that are but too frequently the regretted concomitants of
genius, and he perished just as he was ripening into finished
excellence. Salomon, besides other works, published two Violin
Concertos, arranged for the pianoforte, with full accompaniments; and
six Solos for the violin, printed first in Paris, afterwards in London.
Among his unpublished compositions, are some Violin Quartetts, Trios,
and Concertos.

CHARLES STAMITZ, eldest son of Stamitz the famous, was born at Mannheim,
in 1746. He was made a violinist by his father, and his father’s pupil,
Cannabich; and was afterwards engaged in the chapel of a German Prince,
till the year 1770, when he went to Paris, and made a durable impression
there, both as a concerto-player on the violoncello and tenor, and as an
instrumental composer. His writings had all the fire and spirit of those
of his father, as well as an admixture of later improvements, without
servility of imitation, as relating to _any_ style. Many of them were
published at Paris, Berlin, and Amsterdam. This artist died at Jena, on
his journey to Russia, in 1801.

JOHN FREDERICK ECK, born at Mannheim, in 1766, became Concert Director
to the Court of Munich. Noted as an artist in his day, he is further
noted as having assisted to develop the great faculty of Louis Spohr.

ANDREAS and BERNARD ROMBERG, cousins to each other, and scions of a
family of some note in the annals of music, were for several years joint
participants in labours connected, immediately or incidentally, with the
violin. About the year 1790, the two cousins held situations in the
court-chapel of the Elector of Cologne, at Bonn, where Andreas was
already distinguished by his excellent performance on the violin, and
his compositions, both vocal and instrumental; and Bernard no less for
his violoncello-playing, and the pieces he had written, either for his
own instrument, or the full orchestra[53].

When the French armies entered Bonn, at the commencement of the
revolutionary war, the Elector’s musical establishment was broken up,
and the two cousins proceeded to Hamburgh, where they readily obtained
engagements in the orchestra of the German Theatre. In 1795, they left
Hamburgh, and, continuing their mutually beneficial compact, made
journeyings together through several cities of Germany and Italy,
establishing everywhere the reputation of being among the best violin
and violoncello players of the day. Their duetts and concertante
performances, in particular, had that perfect harmony of finish which
the constant habit of studying and playing _together_ could perhaps
alone bestow. The familiar interchange of ideas was likewise of
advantage to them in the compositions which they produced, whether
conjointly or separately. They may be styled, by no very forced
parallel, the “Beaumont and Fletcher” of the musical world.

In 1797, they returned to Hamburgh, where Andreas remained; while
Bernard, two years afterwards, made a separate excursion through England
and Spain, to Lisbon, and, returning to Hamburgh about 1803, obtained
subsequently a situation in the Royal Chapel at Berlin. Andreas had, in
the mean time, turned his attention more extensively towards
composition, and produced works involving larger combinations, and full
orchestral agency, such as it is not requisite here to specify. Both the
cousins, moreover, are _best_ known as voluminous, and at one time
highly popular, composers for their _own_ particular instruments. Their
chief instrumental works, as an English critic has remarked, will always
be heard with pleasure, although without the excitement which attends
Beethoven, or the deep admiration which waits upon Mozart. Of these
works it may suffice here to enumerate:—

  Four Concertos for the violin—two Quintetts—twenty-four Quartetts
  (comprised in eight sets)—a Quartett for the pianoforte and
  stringed instruments—nine Duetts—and a set of three Studios, or
  Sonatas for the violin—by _Andreas Romberg_.

  A set of three Quartetts—four single Quartetts—a Trio for violin,
  tenor, and violoncello obligato, in F—six Concertos, and several
  Concertantes and Airs with Variations, for the violoncello—two
  Quartetts for pianoforte and stringed instruments—by _Bernard
  Romberg_.

FRANÇOIS CRAMER, second son of William Cramer, was born near Mannheim,
in 1772. He commenced his labours on the violin under regular tuition,
at a very tender age, and was no novice in the art of handling it, when,
in his eighth year, he left his native country, to join his father and
his brother John, who were settled in England. A long suspension of his
practice, however, was rendered necessary by feeble health; and the
extent of delay prescribed by Horace with regard to a poem—“nonum
prematur in annum”—was nearly enforced as to young Cramer’s violin,
which he had to keep in reserve during a lapse of seven years. On
recommencing, he found himself under the disadvantage of having to toil
over all the elementary ground anew. He did this, however, with good
heart, and then worked his way into close acquaintance with the Solos
of Geminiani and Tartini, and the _Capriccios_ of Benda and old Stamitz.
At the age of seventeen, he was placed, as a gratuitous member, in the
Opera band, by his father, who was its leader. In the course of a few
years, he rose in the ranks of the orchestra, and was appointed
principal second violin under his father, not only at the Opera, but at
all the principal concerts, as the King’s Concerts of Ancient Music, the
Ladies’ Concerts, and the great provincial musical festivals. On the
death of his father, he was appointed leader of the Ancient Concerts,
and came into very general employment as an orchestral leader, during
many years—a position for which his steadiness of direction, and his
solid style of playing, well qualified him. It was on his capacity as a
leader, especially for the lofty music of Handel, that his fame rested.
As a solo-player, he never had much importance—his powers of execution
not being of the kind that ensures the uniform triumph over difficult
passages.

FRIEDRICH ERNST FESCA, born at Magdeburg, in 1789, was brought up in the
midst of music, and took to the study of the violin in his ninth year,
under M. Lohse, first violinist of the Magdeburg Theatre. Fesca made
rapid progress, and was speedly delighted at being enabled to join in
quartetts of Haydn, Boccherini and Mozart. In his eleventh year, he
exhibited in a concerto on the violin, publicly, at Magdeburg. His first
essay in composition was a concerto for the violin, performed by himself
at Leipsig. Introduced by Marshal Victor to Jerome Buonaparte, he became
first violinist at Cassel. His forte in instrumentalizing lay
principally in the _adagio_, that true touchstone of a performer’s
abilities and it was in giving effect to this that his inmost soul shone
forth. His _compositions_, also, showed superior delicacy in the
adagio. Fesca afterwards became first violin of the Court Theatre at
Carlsruhe, and at a later period was concert-master to the Grand Duke of
Baden. He died in 1825, leaving a character highly esteemed and
respected, especially for its exemption from the alloy of professional
envy. He was distinguished in other compositions besides the
instrumental. His quartetts possess great merit, but are by no means to
be ranked with those of Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven. They are marked by
grace and feeling, more than by invention.

CHRISTOPH GOTTFRIED KIESEWETTER was born in 1777, at Anspach, where his
father was first violinist at the Royal Chapel. His own devotion to the
instrument was repaid by the high reputation he acquired, rather than by
pecuniary success;—for music in Germany, like virtue everywhere, is, in
a certain qualified sense, its own reward. In that country, where the
practice of the musical art is so extensively diffused, the individual
professor has not the opportunity of rendering it so lucrative to
himself, as it is where talent is concentrated among a very few of the
community. Holding the appointment of leader of the band to the
Hanoverian Court, Kiesewetter found himself too poor for the maintenance
of a wife and eight children. In 1821, he came to London, and at once
established a reputation here by his spirited playing at the
Philharmonic Concerts. His execution was considered to be sometimes
quite amazing, but not always perfect. It was particularly remarked that
in quick playing he had a sort of jerking squeak in his high notes, that
was somewhat anti-musical, and was one of the consequences of his too
frequent use of the extra shifts. These squeaking notes, and marked
slidings of the finger up the strings, as it has justly been observed,
may shew a certain kind of mechanical skill that partakes of the nature
of practical wit, but they also betray the weaker part in the
instrument, and are apt to be (except when _insured_ by the skill of a
Paganini) more provoking than pleasing. There existed a similar cause of
deduction from the praise due to _another_ German violinist, M. Hauman,
who played at the Philharmonic in 1829. Kiesewetter, when in Germany,
was fond of introducing Russian airs into his performances, which he did
with happy effect. His action in playing was not graceful: this was
probably to be attributed, in some degree, to the effect of a pulmonary
complaint under which he suffered.

Mr. Gardiner has described the painful circumstances attendant on the
last two performances of this accomplished artist, which took place at
Leicester. On both occasions he was supported into the orchestra, and
placed in a chair, by his brother professors,—his debility being so
distressingly apparent that many persons apprehended he would expire in
the room. The audience, with one voice, entreated that he would abandon
the idea of playing; but he persisted; and though the withering hand of
death had so visibly touched him, he had yet enough of energy remaining,
to exhibit a few scintillations of his taste and style; but his fire and
vigor were gone. He died in London, in September 1827, receiving
unremitting attentions at the close of his career from his pupil, Oury.
His death may be in some sort regarded as a loss to our English
violinists—for the animation of his performance, beyond what is common
either in his own country or here, afforded a useful example, which
might have been prolonged with advantage.

LOUIS SPOHR, the most highly gifted and accomplished of living German
musicians, is the son of a physician at Seesen, in the Brunswick
territory, where he was born in 1784. In his juvenile days, he was less
forward in the exhibition of the musical faculty than has been the case
with many whose powers, at maturity, have been far below his. The late
Duke of Brunswick, however, who was himself a performer on the violin,
interested himself in the success of young Spohr, and received him as a
musician in the Chapel Royal. The Duke afterwards enabled him to
accompany a distinguished player, Francis Eck, on a tour to Russia, by
which means he acquired much important musical knowledge. On his return,
he applied himself very closely to violin-practice, and then travelled
through various parts of Germany, exciting enthusiasm by the fine
qualities of his playing; for by that time he had already impressed on
the instructions derived from his master the seal of his own
organization and fine meditative powers. In 1805, he became
concert-master, violinist, and composer, to the Duke of Saxe Gotha. In
1814, Spohr was in Vienna during the Congress, on which conspicuous
occasion Rode and Mayseder had likewise resorted thither; and a story
was current which represented each of these eminent performers as having
played in succession, in a quartett of his own composition, at a private
party, with the result of a unanimous preference for Mayseder, both as
to the composition and the performance. This tale is not accredited by
the judgment formed of the respective competitors by the public: and any
belief of it must be greatly at the expense of the musical discernment
among the “private party.”—A tour through the principal Italian
cities, where he gained general applause, occupied Spohr in 1817;
and he was subsequently director of the music at the Theatre of
Frankfort-on-the-Main. In 1820, he was in England, exhibiting his
admirable powers at the Philharmonic Concerts, where he introduced two
fine symphonies and an overture, of his composition; but, neither here
nor in France, which country he also visited, was he appreciated to the
full extent of his merits: The cause of this has been well suggested by
an able English critic, whose remarks, somewhat abridged, I here
subjoin:—

“We had the traces, in Spohr’s execution, of a mind continually turning
towards refinement, and deserting strength for polish. His tone was pure
and delicate, rather than remarkable for volume or richness; his taste
was cultivated to the highest excess; and his execution was so finished,
that it appeared to encroach, in a measure, upon the vigour of his
performance. But he was very far from being deficient in the energy
necessary to make a great player. The fact seems to be, that this
quality, which for its inherent pre-eminence is most distinguishable in
other violinists, was, in Spohr, cast into secondary importance, and
rendered less discernible, by the predominating influence of his
superior refinement. His delicacy was so beautiful, and so frequent an
object of admiration, that his force was lowered in the comparison. And
as it is frequently the consequence of a too subtle habit of refining to
obliterate the stronger traces of sensibility, so his expression was
more remarkable for polished elegance, than for those powerful and
striking modifications of tone that are the offspring of intense
feeling. It is probably owing to this softening-down of the bright and
brilliant effects, that he failed (if such a man could be ever said to
fail) in eliciting the stronger bursts of the public approbation which
attend those exhibitions of art that are directed against, and that
reach, the affections of a mixed audience. Thus, though in the very
first rank of his profession and of talent, Spohr perhaps excited a
lower degree of interest than has frequently attended the performance of
men whose excellences were far below standard. Such is the common fate
of all extreme cultivation and polish. It transcends the judgment of the
million. The Roman critics remarked the pre-eminent beauty with which
Spohr enriched his playing, by a strict imitation of vocal effects. They
said he was the finest _singer_ upon the violin that ever appeared.
This, perhaps, is the highest praise that can be bestowed. The nearer an
instrument approaches the voice, the nearer is art to the attainment of
its object.”

In the autumn of 1839, Spohr was at the Norwich Musical Festival, where
his appearance, after a lapse of sixteen years, excited much interest.
He was then described as “a tall and stout man, with a noble head, a
pleasing aspect, and a presence in which much simple dignity was
engagingly blended with gentleness and modesty.” His Violin Concerto,
played on that occasion was a newly-written work, exhibiting no mean
share of his genius as a composer. It was remarked that in his playing
he made no use of the more artificial resources of the modern school—not
introducing into any of his highest flights a single “harmonic note,” a
single touch of the instrumental _falsetto_—but producing every note in
those flights by fairly stopping the string, in perfect tune, and with
the utmost parity of tone. Great command of the bow, and lively rapidity
of fingering, were also obvious.

Broad and large in dimensions as in design, and marked by high creative
genius, are some of the works that illustrate the name of this potent
artist—works that summon to their exposition vocal and instrumental
_multitude_:—but these it is hardly requisite here to particularize. It
more concerns me to state that, of his active and intelligent career,
one of the best results has been the formation of many a well-trained
pupil, now holding honorable position in this or that great city of
Europe. The principles and details of his mode of instruction—so far as
the breathing soul could convey them through the medium of inanimate
paper—are found in his great didactic work, “_Der Violin-Schule_”
published at Vienna by Haslinger, and subsequently translated into
French. For the benefit of English students, a version, prepared by Mr.
John Bishop, of Cheltenham, and bearing the author’s own attestation of
its fidelity, has been issued by Messrs. Robert Cocks and Co.

With reference to the violin-compositions of this great master, the
following warm (and perhaps but little exaggerated) tribute has been
rendered by a critic in the “Spectator:”—

“The writers of violin concertos are, for the most part, only known as
such; but _Spohr’s_ compositions for his instrument display not only the
brilliancy of their author’s execution, but the elevated character of
his mind: we listen not only to the principal performer with wonder, but
to the whole composition with delight. They have a character of their
own—unlike and _beyond_ that of any similar productions of any age or
country.”

CHARLES WILLIAM FERDINAND GUHR, “_Chef-d’Orchestre_” of the Theatre of
Frankfort-on-the-Main, was born at Militsch, in Silesia, in 1787. His
father, a singer at the principal church of that city, undertook the
musical education of his son. At fourteen years of age, Guhr entered,
as a violinist, the chapel in which his father was employed. His youth,
and want of experience in the art of writing, did not deter his ambition
from composing many concertos, quatuors and other pieces for the violin.
When he had attained the age of fifteen, his father sent him to Breslau,
to continue his studies there, under the direction of the chapel-master,
Schnabel, and the violinist, Janitschek. His progress was rapid, and he
soon returned to Militsch. When Reuter took the direction of the theatre
of Nuremberg, he placed Guhr in the post of _Chef-d’Orchestre_. His
talents in the art of directing introduced in a short time considerable
ameliorations into the state of music in that town. He performed several
concertos of his own composition, and had some of his operas performed
with success at the theatre. Having passed several years at Nuremberg,
and having, while there, married Mademoiselle Epp, a singer at the
theatre, Guhr accepted the direction of the music at the theatre of
Wisbaden; but the war of 1815 having ruined this as a place of
residence, Guhr went to Cassel, where the Prince named him director of
the music of his chapel, as well as of the theatre. Vacating this post
in the year following, he remained without employ up to the year 1821.
At that period, an engagement for 22 years was offered him as director
of the orchestra of the theatre at Frankfort-on-the-Main with a salary
of 5,000 florins, which he accepted.

In Germany, M. Guhr was very advantageously known as a violinist; and he
is said also to have possessed considerable skill on the piano. In the
earlier steps of his progress on the violin, following the example of
Rode, he aimed principally at precision and purity in his playing; but,
after having heard Paganini, he entirely changed his model, and made a
special study of the peculiarities of that extraordinary man’s
execution. We are specially indebted to him for a work (already alluded
to) on this subject, which was received with much interest; it is
entitled “Ueber Paganini’s Kunst, die Violine zu spielen.”

JOSEPH MAYSEDER, a violinist of a high order, and, in a certain limited
line, an original composer of acknowledged merit, acquired a
considerable share of popularity in a comparatively short time. Residing
principally at showy and dazzling Vienna, where the present musical
taste does not conform, in point of solidity, to the accustomed German
standard, he exercised the peculiarities of his style with unchecked
freedom. As a composer, his ambition was generally to sparkle, and his
habit was nearly all gaiety, or, as one of our musical critics has
termed it, a tricksy _mixture_ of gaiety and melancholy. His writings,
full as they are of ingenuity, and containing much that cannot fail to
please, are chargeable with a somewhat too flimsy character, and with
too evident a tinge of what may be called the _coquetry_ of composition.
His playing, which was touched with the jerking manner observed in
Kiesewetter, was also distinguished by much brilliancy and great powers
of rapidity.

BERNHARD MOLIQUE, Concert-master to the Court, and second leader of the
orchestra to the Opera, at Stuttgard, was born at Nuremberg, Oct. 7,
1803. His father, a town musician, was his first master, and taught him
to play, not one, but many instruments; the violin was, however, that
which the young artist preferred, and on which his progress was most
rapid. At the age of fourteen, he was sent to Munich, and placed under
the direction of Rovelli, first Violin of the Chapel Royal. Two years
afterwards, he went to Vienna, where he obtained a place in the
orchestra of the theatre “An der Wien.” In 1820, he returned to Munich,
where, although but seventeen years of age, he succeeded his master,
Rovelli, as First Violin to the Court. During the two subsequent years,
Molique laboured to impart to his talent a graceful and energetic
character. In 1822, he found himself sufficiently advanced in his art to
be in a condition to travel, in the quality of artist, and give
performances in great cities. He obtained leave of absence, and visited
with good success, Leipzig, Dresden, Berlin, Hanover and Cassel.

In 1826, Molique was engaged at the Court of Stuttgard, as
Concert-Master. There he obtained renown for the development of a new
talent, the direction of an orchestra, in which post he was equally
remarkable for precision, sentiment, and accurate appreciation of the
slightest effects of instrumental colouring.

In 1836, M. Molique made a journey to Paris, and executed one of his
concertos for the violin, at the Concerts of the _Conservatoire_. The
journals which spoke of the effect of this composition, did justice to
its beauty: but, according to their account, the execution does not
appear to have produced upon the audience such an effect as ought to
have resulted from the talent of the artist. It has been a subject of
remark, that something of the same sort has happened in the case of most
of the violinists of the German School who have performed before
audiences at Paris; and that Spohr and Lipinski, who have had a great
reputation elsewhere, produced but little sensation in that city. Must
not the cause of this be sought in the diversity of national taste?—The
published works of M. Molique have for many years contributed to the
extension of his renown.

  Vainly, oh, Pen! expectant here thou turn’st
  To trace the doings of Teutonic ERNST—
  To shew what praise he won, what hearts he moved,
  What realms he traversed, and what trials proved.
  Wanting the _records_ that should speak his fame,
  Prose fails—and Verse, alas! but gives _his name_.
  So, in life’s common round, when just aware
  That one whom we have longed to _know_, is near—
  To see him, hear him, _chat_ with him, prepared,
  We find he’s gone, and has but _left his card_!

Under the German branch of our subject, as more analogous to that than
to any one of the others, may perhaps be most fitly presented some
particulars concerning the remarkable Norwegian artist, OLE (or OLAUS)
BULL, who, in 1836, came hither to dazzle and animate us, like a
coruscation from those “northern lights” that are often so conspicuous
in his own land. His advent to our shores was immediately preceded by a
visit to our lively neighbours on the southern side of the Channel. The
following sketch—of which the earlier and more picturesque portion is
chiefly derived from a French account, written by a medical professor
and musical amateur at Lyons—will furnish some idea of the powers and
peculiarities of this individual.

It chanced, on a certain day, during the time when the cholera was
ravaging the French capital, that one of the numerous diligences which
were then wont to make their return-journey in an almost empty state,
deposited, in the yard of a coach-office, a young northern traveller,
who came, after the example of so many others, to seek his fortune at
Paris. Scarcely arrived at his twentieth year, he had quitted his
family, his studies, and Norway, the land of his home, to give himself
wholly up to a passion which had held sway within him from his infancy.
The object of this pervading passion was music, and the violin. Deeply
seated, active, and irresistible, the bias had seized him when he
quitted his cradle, and had never ceased from its hold upon him. At six
years old, he would repeat, on a little common fiddle bought at a fair,
all the airs which he had heard sung around him, or played in the
streets: and, two years afterwards, he had astonished a society of
professional men, by playing at sight the first violin-part in a
quartett of Pleyel’s—though he had never taken a lesson in music, but
had found out his way entirely alone! Destined afterwards by his family
to the ecclesiastic life, and constrained to the studies which it
imposes, he had still kept his thoughts fixed on his beloved violin,
which was his friend, his companion, the central object of his
attachment. At the instance of his father, the study of the law became
subsequently his unwilling pursuit: and, at length, these struggles
ended in his yielding to the impulse of his love for the violin; and
banishing himself from Norway, in order to devote all his days to the
cultivation of music.

In the midst of a mourning city—a mere atom in the region of a
world—what is to become of the young artist? His imagination is rich,
but his purse is meagre: his whole resource lies in his violin—and yet
he has faith in it, even to the extent of looking for fortune and renown
through its means. Friendless and patronless, he comes forward to be
heard. At any other moment, his talent must have forced public attention
in his behalf; but, in those days of desolation, when death was
threatening every soul around, who could lend his ears to the charmer?
The young artist is left alone in his misery—yet not quite alone, for
his cherished violin remains like a friend to console him. The cup of
bitterness was soon, however, to be completely filled. One day, in
returning to his miserable apartment in an obscure lodging-house, he
found that the trunk, in which his last slender means were contained,
had disappeared. He turned his eyes to the spot where he had placed his
violin ... it was gone! This climax of disaster was too much for the
poor enthusiast, who wandered about for three days in the streets of
Paris, a prey to want and despair, and then—threw himself into the
Seine!

But the art which the young Norwegian was called to extend and to
embellish, was not fated to sustain so deplorable a loss. The hand of
some humane person rescued him from this situation. His next encounter
seemed like _another_ special interposition of Providence; for he became
the object of benevolent attention to a mother who had just lost her son
through the cholera, and who found in the young stranger so remarkable a
resemblance to him, that she received him into her house, and, though
possessed but of moderate means herself, furnished relief to his
necessities. The cholera, in the mean time, ceased its ravages, and
Paris resumed its habitual aspect. Supplied with bread and an asylum,
and soon afterwards with the loan of a violin, Ole Bull was again
enabled to gratify his devotion for music. By degrees his name began to
be heard, and he arrived at some small reputation. Thus encouraged, he
ventured the experiment of a Concert; and fortune smiled on him for the
first time, for he gained 1200 francs—a large sum, considering the
position in which he then was.

Possessed of this unexpected, and almost unhoped-for, little fortune, he
set out for Switzerland, and went thence into Italy.

At Bologna, where his first _great_ manifestation appears to have been
made, he had tried vainly to obtain an introduction to the public, until
accident accomplished what he had begun to despair of. Full of painful
emotion at the chilling repression which his simple, inartificial,
unfriended endeavours had been fated to meet with, he one day sat down
with the resolution to compose something; and it was partly amidst a
flow of obtrusive tears that his purpose was fulfilled. Taking up his
instrument, he proceeded to try the effect of the ideas he had just
called into life. At that moment, it chanced that Madame Rossini was
passing by the house in which his humble apartment was situated. The
impression made on her was such, that she spoke in emphatic terms upon
it to the director of a Philharmonic Society, who was in a critical
predicament, owing to some failure in a promise which had been made him
by De Beriot, and the syren, Malibran. Madame Rossini’s piece of
intelligence was a burst of light for the “Manager in distress:” he had
found his man. The artist was induced to play before the dilettanti of
Bologna, and his success was complete.

At Lucca, Florence, Milan, Rome, and Venice, the impression he made was
yet greater and more decisive. On each occasion, he was recalled several
times before the audience, and always hailed with the utmost enthusiasm.
At the Neapolitan theatre of _San Carlo_, he was summoned back by the
public no less than nine times—thrice after the performance of his first
piece, and six times at the end of the second. It was a perfect
_furore_.

Our Norwegian artist now revisited Paris, under happier auspices.
Welcomed and introduced with eager kindness by the composer of “Robert
le Diable,” he was several times listened to with delight on the stage
of the Opera, and obtained the greatest success that has been known
since the displays made by Paganini.

Opinions were not agreed as to the extent to which Ole Bull was to be
considered an imitator of Paganini. It appears certain that the example
of the latter first led him to attempt the more strange and remote
difficulties of the instrument. It was during the time of his distressed
condition, that he found means to hear the great Italian artist, by
actually selling his last shirt, with the produce of which he joined the
crowd in the saloon of the French Opera. Every one around him, after the
electrifying strains of the magical performer, was exclaiming that he
had reached the farthest limits of what was possible on the violin. Ole
Bull (says the writer of the French account), after applauding like the
rest, retired in thoughtful mood, having just caught the notion that
something beyond this was yet possible; nor did the idea cease to occupy
his mind, but gathered fresh strength during his rambles in Switzerland
and Italy, until it impelled him, at Trieste, to abandon the old track,
and resign himself to the dictates of his own genius.

In justice to Paganini, it must never be forgotten that _he_ was the
first who, in modern days, conceived the principle of its being possible
to extract a variety of new _effects_ from the versatile instrument that
had been supposed to have surrendered all its secrets to the great
antecedent Masters; and that his practice lent marvellous illustration
to what he proceeded, under that impulse, to explain;—nor does the
supremacy of Paganini in the _nouveau genre_, for the reasons previously
touched upon in these pages, seem likely to be seriously shaken by _any_
who may seek the encounter of a comparison. It may certainly be averred,
however, that, of all who have attempted to follow in the direction
taken by the great Genoese genius, Ole Bull has been, owing to the fire
and enthusiasm of his own temperament, decidedly the farthest removed
from servility of imitation. It speaks much for the originality of the
Norwegian artist, that, in the early practice of his instrument, instead
of a fostering excitement, he had to encounter the decided opposition of
adverse views; and, instead of the open aid of a master, had only for
his guide the secret impulses of his own mind. On the whole, he must be
acknowledged a man of fine genius, who forced his way through no common
difficulties to a distinguished rank in the musical art, and who
presents, to the contemplation of the persevering student, one of the
most cheering of those examples which the history of human struggles in
pursuit of some absorbing object is so useful to enforce. It must add
not a little to our admiration of him, to find that, in the mysteries of
composition, he has discovered and shaped his own course. The ingenuity
of construction evident in the orchestral accompaniments to his pieces,
would suggest a methodical study of the harmonic art: yet it was said,
on the contrary, that he was quite unacquainted with even the elementary
rules of that art; and that it would have puzzled him to tell the
conventional name of any one chord. How then did he arrive at the power
of writing music in parts? He opened a score, studied it, thought over
it, made a relative examination of its parts after his own way, and
then, setting to work, as the result of this progress, became a composer
himself. In the character of his compositions, we may trace the effect
of this unusual and (it must be confessed) somewhat too self-dependent
“moyen de parvenir.” They are impulsive and striking—enriched with
occasional passages of fine instrumentation, and touched with sweet
visitations of melody—but they are deficient in coherence of structure,
and in the comprehensiveness of a well-ordered design. They may serve as
fresh examples to illustrate the old maxim—that genius itself cannot
with safety neglect that ordinary discipline which gives familiarity
with the rules and methods of art.

The most surprising thing (amounting indeed to an enigma), in connection
with Ole Bull’s powers of execution, was the very small amount of manual
practice which he stated himself to have been in the habit of bestowing
on the instrument—a thing quite at variance with all the received
notions, as well as usage, on the subject. His labour was, it appears,
in by far the greater part, that of the head; and a very limited
application of the hands sufficed to “carry out” what he ex-cogitated—to
work out his purposes and “foregone conclusions.” It sounds nobly, as a
proposition, that it is “the mind’s eye,” and not the blind gropings of
practice, that should shew the violinist the way to greatness, and give
him the knowledge which is power: but, alas! common natures—nay, all
that are not marvellously _un_common—find it necessary to draw to the
utmost on both these resources, and cannot spare their hands from the
neck of the instrument. This comparatively trifling amount of manual
cultivation, however, while it remains on the whole “a marvel and a
mystery,” may be accepted as a proof in itself of how little trick
(setting aside his extravagant “quartett on _one_ string”) there was in
Ole Bull’s performance: for the successful display of tricks is
essentially dependent on the most assiduous manipulation;—the
_charlatanerie_ of the instrument being the triumph of the hand, as
distinguished from that of the mind. To particularize the various merits
which belong to his execution, would lead beyond the limit here
proposed—else might his sweet and pure tone—his delicate harmonics—his
frequent and winning _duplicity_ of notes and shakes—his rapid and exact
_staccato_, &c. be severally dwelt upon in terms of delight.—I cannot
forbear referring, however, to the “ravishing division” of his
consummate _arpeggios_, forming a finely regulated shower of notes,
rich, round, and most distinct, although wrought out by such slight
undulations of the bow, as to leave in something like a puzzle our
notions of cause and consequence. To suit the wide range of effects
which his fancy sometimes dictated, it appears (another marvel!) that he
subjected his violin to some kind of _alterative_ process; for which
purpose he would open it (to use his own expression) like an oyster!

The manners and conversation of this young artist, at the time when he
was exciting attention in England, bore an impress of genius which it
was impossible to mistake; and his occasional sallies of enthusiasm
served to impart an increased interest to the abiding modesty which
tempered and dignified his character. In describing the state of his own
mind, under the immediate domination of musical ideas, he pictured it
under the forcible figure of an alternate heaven and hell; while he
would speak of the object and intention of his playing as being to
_raise a curtain_, for the admission of those around him, as
participants in the mysteries open to himself. In his habits, he was
very temperate—wisely avoiding to wear out, by artificial excitements,
the spontaneous ardour of his eminently vital temperament.

All the ordinary arts and intrigues by which it is so common, and is
sometimes thought so necessary, for men to seek professional
advancement, seemed completely alien to the nature of this child of the
north. In person, he was tall, with a spare but muscular figure, light
hair, a pale countenance, and a quick, restless eye, which became
extremely animated whilst he was in the act of playing. When I add that
he entertained an invincible antipathy to _cats_—exhibiting unequivocal
signs of distress whenever one of those sleek and sly animals was
discovered in the social circle—I shall have furnished all the
information I am able to give (his latter career being unknown to me)
concerning a man well entitled to commemoration.

       *       *       *       *       *

Before concluding this chapter, a few words of record are due to the two
sons of one of the most gifted musicians of the present day. I allude to
the associate brothers LABITSKY, who, after a training in the Musical
Conservatory at Prague, and subsequent studies prosecuted at Leipsig,
have become candidates for public favour in England, where (for the
present, at least) they appear to be settled. Their first appeal to
notice in this country took place at Her Majesty’s Theatre, during the
progress of the late Grand National Concerts. Their style is said to be
characterized by firmness and evenness in the bowing, with a
correspondent fulness and purity of intonation.




CHAPTER VI.

THE ENGLISH SCHOOL.

  ... a _crescent_; and my auguring hope
  Says it will come to the full.—SHAKSPEARE.


Climate, and the national habits of life, have in England presented no
light obstacles to the progress and well-being of the musical art, as
collectively regarded. The fogs and lazy vapours that so oft obscure, in
our dear country, the genial face of the sun, must needs check and chill
our animal spirits, and beat back into the heart the feelings that else
would seek fellowship with the ear, by uttering the language of sweet
sounds. The eager pursuit of business, on the other hand—the continuity
of _action_, rigorously self-imposed, in order to satisfy both our
material wants and our ambition—leaves us little opportunity—even when
our sky and our land are _not_ mutually frowning and exchanging sullen
looks—for the liberation and development of our half-stifled musical
impulses. The consequence of this two-fold opposition is—in
multitudinous instances—that the music which is _in_ us, comes not
_out_; and hence it happens that we are too often suspected, by
foreigners, of organic deficiency in this matter, and too often induced
to doubt of ourselves. With the luxurious climate, however, and the
leisurely life, that combine to make the people of _Italy_ as vocal as
grasshoppers, _we_, too, should burst forth into the raptures of song,
and overflow with melodial honey;—_so_ at least I venture to believe,
when I think of our stock, actually _hived_, in the way of _glees_ and
_ballads_—a not contemptible little store.

In addition to the two sources of impediment just noticed, may we
venture to glance at a third? There is another gloom, besides that of
our skies, that has had its obstructive influence, and still, in _some_
degree, retains it. England, happily for her own comfort, has now left
far behind her those puritanic days wherein all persons who ministered
to the _amusement_ of their fellow-beings were stigmatized as the
“_caterpillars_ of a common-wealth,” and found law and opinion alike
arrayed against them;—but the spirit of Puritanism, once so tyrannically
exclusive, has never since departed wholly from among us—and we have, to
this day, many sincere and well-meaning compatriots, whose peculiar
notions of what constitutes piety, lead them to look with distrust
and suspicion upon all that is beautiful in Nature or in Art, and
so, to consider musical talent rather as a snare to be shunned,
than as a resource to be cherished. These movers-in-a-mist, and
extra-burden-bearers, confounding into _one_ the two ideas of
cultivation and corruption, as if the terms were synonymous, refuse all
countenance to music, as an _art_. Its secular forms, in particular, are
their aversion; for they have a strong impression that music is then,
_only_, in its right place, when directly employed in the service of the
sanctuary. They discover, even in an _Oratorio_, copious matter for
reprobation. They have no sympathy with the practice of the sweetly
majestic Psalmist of Israel, who brought together, to aid in the
solemnities of public worship, all that was _best_ in vocal and
instrumental skill. Vociferated dissonance, exempt from rule, and from
accompaniment, has _their_ approval, far above any tempered and balanced
harmony; because (as _they_ persuade themselves) the one comes from the
heart, and the other does _not_. To such persons, I can only (in the
words of the Archbishop of Granada to Gil Blas) wish all happiness, and
a little more _taste_—regretting that the influence of what I conceive
to be their _mistake_ should have helped, with the other cited causes,
to lessen the diffusion among us of the most delightfully recreative of
all the arts, which, thus discouraged, has been driven to become the
spoiled favourite of the great and rich, instead of being the constant
friend and solace of the whole community.

Adverting now specifically to the English School of the violin, I would
remind the reader of what has been previously observed respecting the
very low estimation in which that instrument was for some time held,
after its first advent to this country. To raise it into favorable
regard, and to stimulate the efforts of our native professors,
successive importations of foreign talent (chiefly from Italy) were
required, and supplied. Our debt of this kind to the Italians has been
larger than that of our continental neighbours, either of France or of
Germany. Indeed the very fact of our possessing a School of our own, in
this branch of art, has, I believe, been commonly overlooked by the
musical writers of the continent: nor is this very surprising, when it
is considered how the great masters from Italy, taking the lead in
concerts and public performances, became “the observed of all
observers,” and the sole marks, or at least the principal ones, for the
pen of the writer. It may be demonstrated, nevertheless, that we, too,
as violinists, have our separate credit to assert for the past, and yet
more for the present, though we may not aspire to an equal amount of
merit, in this sense, with Germany or France. We have certainly not
caught, so effectually as the French, the various dexterities and
felicities of execution; but it is perhaps not too much to say that we
possess more “capability” for the development of the graver and better
sort of _expression_. Your Englishman, with all his lumpish partiality
for beef and pudding, is generally allowed to be a being of profounder
sensibilities than your Frenchman. He is a better recipient of the more
intense emotions that lie within the province of the “king of
instruments,” although its more brilliant characteristics are less
within his reach. The violin is a _shifting Proteus_, which accommodates
itself to almost every kind and shade of emotion that may actuate the
human mind: but then, the lighter emotions more frequently dispose us to
seek the aid of music for their audible sign, than the graver ones:
therefore your Frenchman, “toujours gai,” is oftener impelled to
practise the violin than your Briton; and therefore he becomes, after
his own fashion, a better player. But, after all, those who would
appreciate _all_ the capabilities of the violin as an individual
instrument, should watch its “quick denotements, working from the
heart,” under all manner of hands—Italian, German, French, English,
Dutch, and the rest.

With regard to _compositions_ for the instrument, generally, it must be
admitted that those to which merit, as well as custom, has given the
greatest currency in this country, have been of foreign
production—chiefly Italian or German. Truth requires the acknowledgment,
that in _this_ matter we stand far from high in the scale of national
comparison. It is the remark of Burney, that, for more than half a
century preceding the arrival of Giardini, the compositions of Corelli,
Geminiani, Albinoni, Vivaldi, Tessarini, Veracini, and Tartini, supplied
all our wants on the violin. Though somewhat poor in this point of view,
we are, however, not destitute. Let us advert here to two instances
only, that is to say, Boyce and Purcell. Dr. Boyce’s “Twelve Sonatas, or
Trios, for two Violins and a Bass,” were longer and more generally
purchased, performed, and admired (says Dr. Burney) than any productions
of the kind in this kingdom, except those of Corelli. They were not only
in constant use as chamber-music, in private concerts—for which they
were originally designed—but in our theatres as act-tunes, and at the
public gardens as favourite pieces, for many years.

“Purcell’s Sonatas and Trios (observes Mr. Hogarth, in his ‘Memoirs of
the Musical Drama’) belong to the same school as those of Corelli. The
Trios of the great Italian composer were published in the same year, and
could not have served as a model to Purcell, who, in acknowledging his
obligation to ‘the most famed Italian masters’ in this species of
composition, must have alluded to Torelli and Bassani, the latter of
whom was Corelli’s master. Purcell’s Sonatas, in some respects, are even
superior to those of the great Italian composer; for they contain
movements which, in depth of learning and ingenuity of harmonical
combination, without the least appearance of labour or restraint,
surpass anything to be found in the works of Corelli: but Corelli had
the advantage of being a great Violinist, while Purcell, who was not
only no performer himself, but probably had never heard a great
performer, had no means, except the perusal of Italian scores, of
forming an idea of the genius and powers of the instrument. This
disadvantage prevented Purcell from striking out new and effective
violin passages, and produced mechanical awkwardness, which a master of
the instrument would have avoided: but it did not disable him from
exhibiting taste and fancy; and every admirer of the works of Corelli
will take pleasure in these Sonatas of Purcell.”

The first Englishman who seems to have attained distinction as a
professional Violinist, was JOHN BANISTER, successor of Baltzar, the
Lubecker, in the conduct of Charles the Second’s new band of twenty-four
violins. DAVIS MELL, the clock-maker, should, however, if we are to
“keep time,” be first introduced, since, although but an Amateur, he was
an eminent hand at the violin, and was an agent of some little
importance in the diffusion of a taste for the instrument, ere it had
yet struggled into general notice. The merits of Davis Mell may be best
described in the language of an already familiar friend, honest Anthony
Wood:—

“In the latter end of this yeare (1657), Davis Mell, the most eminent
Violinist of London, being in Oxon, Peter Pett, Will. Bull, Ken. Digby,
and others of Allsowles, as also A. W. (Anthony à Wood) did give him a
very handsome entertainment in the Tavern cal’d The Salutation, in St.
Marie’s Parish, Oxon, own’d by Tho. Wood, son of ———— Wood of Oxon,
sometimes servant to the father of A. W. The company did look upon Mr.
Mell to have a prodigious hand on the Violin, and they thought that no
person (as all in London did) could goe beyond him. But when Tho.
Baltzar, an outlander, came to Oxon in the next yeare, they had other
thoughts of Mr. Mell, who tho’ he play’d farr sweeter than Baltzar, yet
Baltzar’s hand was more quick, and could run it insensibly to the end
of the finger-board.”[54] And in another place, the same writer says,
“After Baltzar came into England, and shew’d his most wonderful parts on
that instrument, Mell was not so admired; yet he play’d sweeter, was a
well-bred gentleman, and not given to excessive drinking, as Baltzar
was.”

It is worthy of notice that in the year of that event (the Restoration)
which proved so favourable to the march of fiddling in this country,
there was published by John Jenkins (who had been a voluminous composer
of _fancies_ for viols) a set of twelve sonatas for two violins and a
bass, professedly in imitation of the Italian style, and the first of
the kind which had ever been produced by an Englishman. “It was at this
time” (observes Burney) “an instance of great condescension for a
musician of _character_ to write expressly for so ribald and vulgar an
instrument as the _violin_ was accounted by the lovers of lutes,
guitars, and all the _fretful_ tribe.” This John Jenkins is designated
by Wood as a little man with a great soul. He died in 1678.

JOHN BANISTER was the son of one of the _waits_ of the parish of St.
Giles; yet, under this humble condition, he was enabled, by obtaining
the rude commencement of a musical education from his father, to work
his entrance into a successful career. He manifested, in a short time,
such ability on the violin, as to gain the marked encouragement of being
sent into France by our vivacious Charles II, for improvement, and of
being appointed, on his return, leader of the royal band. From this
service he was dismissed, for an offence of the tongue, such as the
French partialities of the English King could not brook. He had ventured
to tell Charles that the English performers on the violin were superior
to those of France. Pity that a potentate so expert at a _jest_ could
not (or would not) find one wherewith to excuse the frankness of his
man-in-office! Banister was one of the first who established lucrative
concerts in London. In the announcement of one of these (in 1677), it is
stated that the musical performance will begin “with the parley of
instruments, composed by Mr. Banister, and performed by eminent
masters.” Banister died in 1679, and was interred in the cloister of
Westminster Abbey. A contemporary, of some celebrity for his musical
zeal, the Hon. Mr. North, has made a flattering allusion to this
individual:—“It would be endless to mention all the elegant graces,
vocal and instrumental, which are taught by the Italian Masters, and
perhaps outdone by the English Banister.”

JOHN BANISTER, Jun. son of the preceding artist, and trained, by his
father to his own profession, obtained a post as one of King William’s
band, and also played the first violin at Drury Lane, when operas were
first performed there. In this latter post he continued for a number of
years, and was succeeded in it by Carbonelli. He was the composer of
several _grounds with divisions_, inserted in the publication called the
“Division Violin;” and a collection of music for the instrument, jointly
written by himself and the German, Godfrey Finger, was published by him,
and sold at his house in Brownlow-street, Drury Lane. This Banister died
about the year 1729.

OBADIAH SHUTTLEWORTH, organist of St. Michael’s, Cornhill, and
afterwards of the Temple Church, manifested such powers on the violin as
to be ranked among the first performers of his day. He was the son of a
person who lived in Spitalfields, and who had acquired a small fortune,
partly by teaching the harpsichord, and partly by copying Corelli’s
music for sale, before it was _printed_ in England. Shuttleworth was the
leader at the Swan Concert in Cornhill, from the time of its institution
till his death, about the year 1735. He was likewise a respectable
composer, and produced twelve concertos and several sonatas, for
violins. Of his compositions, however, if any are now extant in print,
they are only two of the concertos, which were formed from the first and
eleventh solos of Corelli.

HENRY ECCLES, an English Violinist of considerable eminence, dedicated
himself to foreign service, owing either to the want of due
encouragement in his native country, or to the disappointment of
expectations too loftily pitched. He went to Paris, and succeeded in
attaching himself to the band of the King of France. His father,
Solomon, had been also a professor of the instrument, and had some hand
in the second part of the “Division Violin,” published in London, 1693.
Henry Eccles was the composer of twelve esteemed Violin Solos, published
at Paris in 1720.

In treating of the progress of the violin in England, let us here again
refer to the great name of PURCELL. The colouring and effects of an
orchestra, as Dr. Burney has remarked, were but little known in
Purcell’s time, yet he employed them more than his predecessors; and, in
his sonatas, he surpassed whatever our country had produced or imported
before. The chief part of his instrumental music for the theatre is
included in a publication which appeared in 1697, two years after his
death, under the title of “A Collection of Ayres composed for the
Theatre, &c.” These airs were in four parts, for two violins, tenor and
bass, and were in continual requisition as overture and act-tunes, till
they were superseded by Handel’s hautbois Concertos, as were those also
by his overtures, while Boyce’s Sonatas and Arne’s compositions served
as act-tunes[55]. Purcell lived, however, somewhat too early, or died
too young, for the attainment, even by _his_ genius, of any very high
success is instrumental composition. Bassani and Torelli, others
inferior to them, formed his models of imitation for violin-music—the
works of Corelli being hardly then known in this country; and indeed he
was so imperfectly acquainted with the extensive powers of the violin,
as to have given occasion to Dr. Burney to remark that he had scarcely
ever seen a becoming passage for that instrument in any of his
(Purcell’s) works. His Sonatas, which contain many ingenious, and, at
the time when they were composed, _new_ traits of melody and modulation,
must yet be admitted to discover no great knowledge of the bow, or of
the peculiar genius of the instrument and, if they are compared with the
productions of his contemporary, Corelli, they will hardly escape being
characterized as barbarous. This, the substance of Burney’s remarks on
this matter, though according somewhat fainter praise to Purcell than is
assigned to him by Mr. Hogarth, does not seem to differ much from the
latter, in the essential points.

The arrival of Geminiani and Veracini, which took place in 1714, formed
the commencement of an important epoch in the progress of the violin in
England. The abilities of those eminent foreign masters established them
as models for the study of our own artists, and confirmed the
sovereignty of the instrument over all others, in our theatres and
concerts. The next English performer to be noticed is—

WILLIAM CORBETT, a member of the King’s band, and a violinist of
celebrity, who was the leader of the first Opera orchestra in the
Haymarket, at the time when “Arsinoe” was performed there. In the year
1710, when the Italian Opera, properly so called, was established (with
“Rinaldo” for its initiatory piece), a set of instrumental performers
were expressly introduced, and Corbett, though in the service of the
King, was permitted to go abroad. Visiting Rome, where he resided many
years, he made a valuable collection of music and musical instruments.
Some persons, professing to be acquainted with his circumstances, and
fidgetting themselves to account for his being able to lay out such sums
as he was observed to do, in the purchase of books and instruments,
asserted pretty roundly that he had an allowance from Government,
besides his salary, with the commission to watch the motions of the
Pretender! This anxiety to construe fiddling into politics, and to find
the heart of a state-mystery in the head of a violinist, is of a piece
with what has been already related as to Rode and Viotti.—Returning from
Italy about the year 1740, Corbett brought over with him a great
quantity of music which he had composed abroad. Full of ambition to
print, and desire to profit, he issued proposals for publishing by
subscription a work entitled “Concertos, or universal _Bizarreries_,
composed on all the new _gustos_, during many years’ residence in
Italy.” This strange medley he dragged into publication; but buyers were
few and shy. It was in three books, containing thirty-five Concertos of
seven parts, in which he professed to have imitated the style of the
various kingdoms in Europe, and of several cities and provinces in
Italy. In his earlier days, before he left England, he published, in a
soberer vein, two or three sets of _Sonatas for Violins and
Flutes_,—twelve _Concertos for all Instruments_, and several sets of
what were called _Tunes for the Plays_. Corbett died, at an advanced
age, in the year 1748, bequeathing by his will the best of his
instruments to Gresham College, with a salary of ten pounds a-year to a
female servant, who was to act in the demonstrative character. Her
expositions of the merits of this collection, are not to be confounded
with the “Gresham Lectures.”

MICHAEL CHRISTIAN FESTING, performer and composer, but coming short of
the summit in either capacity, was, I believe, of German birth, but
nurtured to his art in England, under the direction of Geminiani. He
filled the place of first violin at a musical meeting called the
_Philharmonic Society_, and chiefly composed of noblemen and gentlemen
performers, who met on Wednesday nights, during the winter season, at
the Crown and Anchor Tavern, in the Strand. On the building of the
Rotunda in Ranelagh Gardens, he was appointed sole conductor of the
musical performances there. By his zeal and indefatigable exertion, he
also contributed very essentially to the establishment of the _fund_
instituted for the support of decayed musicians and their families; and
for several years discharged, without any remuneration, the office of
secretary to that excellent institution. Its rise occurred in the year
1738, from the following circumstance. Festing, happening to be seated
one day at the window of the Orange Coffee-House, at the corner of the
Haymarket, observed, in the act of driving an ass, and selling
brick-dust, a boy whose intelligent countenance, contrasting with the
humility of his rags, strongly excited his interest. On enquiry, the lad
was found to be the son of a _musician_, who had fallen under the blight
of adversity. Struck with sorrow and mortification that the object
before him should be the child of a brother-professor, Festing
determined to attempt some plan for his support. In this worthy purpose
he was assisted by Dr. Maurice Greene—and from this germ of benevolence,
sprang eventually the enlarged and estimable charity which has since
flourished from season to season.

Inferior, as a performer on the violin, to several others of his time,
Festing had nevertheless sufficient talent, in association with
gentlemanly manners and conduct, to obtain considerable influence in the
musical profession, and to derive an ample and constant support from the
patrons of the art among the nobility. Though not eminent as a composer,
he has shewn some merit in his _solos_, and a very fair understanding of
the nature and resources of the instrument. These solos are but little
known, having been originally sold only by private subscription. Festing
died in 1752. He was succeeded at Ranelagh, and at some of the Concerts,
by Abraham Brown, a performer who had a clear, sprightly, and loud tone,
but had no sense of expression.

THOMAS PINTO, who attained the honor of dividing with Giardini the
leadership of the band at the King’s Theatre, was born in England, of
Italian parents. His early genius for the Violin was so well directed as
to render his playing, as a boy, a theme of astonishment; and, long
before he was of age, he was employed as the leader of large bands at
Concerts. At this time, however, he fell into a train of idle habits,
and began to affect the fine gentleman rather than the musical
student—keeping a horse, and sporting a special pair of boots, as his
custom of a morning, while a switch in his hand displaced the forgotten
fiddle-stick. From this devious course he was reclaimed by the accident
of the arrival of Giardini, whose superiority to all the performers he
had ever heard, inclined him to think it necessary that he should
himself recur to practice; and this he did, for some time, with great
diligence. A very powerful hand, and a wonderfully quick eye, were the
masterly possessions of Pinto, and enabled him to perform the most
difficult music at sight. He played thus, indeed, with more advantage
than after studying his subject; for then, in his carelessness, he would
trust to his memory, and frequently commit mistakes—missing the
expression of passages, which, if he had thought them worth looking at,
he would have executed with certainty. After leading at the Italian
Opera whenever Giardini’s more extensive avocations caused him to lay
down the truncheon, Pinto was engaged as First Violin at Drury-Lane
Theatre, where he led for, many years. On the death of his first wife,
Sybilla, a German singer, he married another singer, Miss Brent (the
celebrated pupil of Dr. Arne), and settled in Ireland, where he died in
the year 1773.

MATTHEW DUBOURG, recorded to have been one of the most eminent of the
race of English Violinists, was born in the year 1703, and gave very
early evidence of his musical propensities. It does not appear from
whom he derived his first instructions on the instrument; but, when
quite a child, he played his first solo (a sonata of Corelli’s) at one
of the concerts of the eccentric Britton, the musical small-coal man. To
make his infantine person sufficiently visible on that occasion, he was
made to borrow elevation from a joint-stool; and so much was the “tender
juvenal” alarmed at the sight of the splendid audience assembled for
music and coffee in Britton’s dingy apartment, that at first he was near
falling to the ground, from dismay. When about eleven years of age, he
was placed under the tuition of Geminiani, who was then recently arrived
in this country; and, thus tutored, he was enabled fully to confirm the
promise which his first attempts had exhibited. At the age of twelve, he
was again before the public—having a benefit concert at what was called
the Great Room in James Street. Before he had completed his seventeenth
year, he had acquired sufficient power and steadiness to lead at several
of the public concerts; the fulness of his tone, and the spirit of his
execution, being generally noticed. A few years more sufficed to
establish thoroughly his reputation; and, in 1728, he was honoured with
the appointment of Master and Composer of the State-Music in Ireland.
This situation had been previously offered to his late preceptor,
Geminiani, and by him declined on account of its not being tenable, in
those jealously restrictive days, by a member of the Romish Communion.
As the duties of this employment did not require Dubourg’s constant
residence in Ireland, he passed much of his time in England, where he
was chosen instructor in music to the Prince of Wales, the Duke of
Cumberland, and other amateurs, whose names might belong to a
“Dictionary of Etiquette.” On the death of Festing, in 1732, he was
appointed Leader of the King’s Band, which situation, together with his
Irish post, he was so far a musical _pluralist_ as to retain until his
death, which occurred in London in the year 1767. As a member of
society, according to the testimony about him which remains, few men of
his profession have rendered themselves more generally respected than
_he_ did.

A considerable share of originality appears to have marked the style of
this artist, who, if he derived essential aid from the great man that
called him pupil, was any thing but his slavish imitator. “Dubourg’s
performance on the violin,” says Sir John Hawkins, “was very bold and
rapid—greatly different from that of Geminiani, which was tender and
pathetic;-and these qualities, it seems, he was able to communicate; for
Clegg, his disciple, possessed them in as great perfection as himself.”
According to the same authority, the talent of Dubourg won for him many
admirers, and among them a Mrs. Martin, who had become, from a Dutch
widow, an English wife, and, being possessed of a large fortune, came to
reside in London, where, during the winter season, she had frequent
Concerts, resorted to by citizens of the first rank, and at times by
some of the nobility. A picture of Dubourg, painted when he was a boy,
was, it seems, a conspicuous object in Mrs. Martin’s Concert-Room.[56]

As a composer, Dubourg is, or rather was, known by the _odes_ he
officially set to music in Ireland, and by a great number of _solos_ and
_concertos_ for the violin, which he wrote for his own public
performances. Though alleged to have possessed much intrinsic merit,
none of these appear hitherto to have been printed; nor is it likely
that they will ever now meet with that honour, as the change of fashion
in music would hardly admit of their being rescued from “the dreary
_fuimus_ of all things human.” For a long time, however, his works (in
their aforesaid manuscript state) continued in the possession of one of
his pupils; and perhaps they are not yet scattered, but may be at this
moment reposing in some dark old chest, undisturbed, save by the
nibblings of the worms. In the faint hope of yet bringing some of them
to the light, although with no view towards their multiplication, I have
had recourse (but without success) to the friendly aid of that oft-times
efficacious doubt-cleaver and knot-cracker, known by the name of “Notes
and Queries.” As to the _odes_ above referred to, they were _ex-officio_
celebrations of royal virtue, from the now-forgotten hand of Benjamin
Victor, the poet-laureate, who has achieved for himself _no_ realization
of the classic wish, “victorque virûm volitare per ora.” Of several of
these stately effusions, I have the words now before me. They might
serve to provoke the smiles of another and a very different laureate,
the living Tennyson; but, as a stimulus to _music_, I can say nothing
for them—and can only _hope_ that my progenitor’s attempts, in
association with them, may have been worthy of better company.

While in Ireland, Dubourg was honoured with the intimacy of Pope’s
_Giant_, the Briarean Handel; and an anecdote, in which they are both
concerned, serves to shew, amusingly enough, that tendency to
_expatiate_ discursively on their own peculiar instrument, by which most
performers of eminence are distinguished. Handel, in a spirit of
charity that harmonized fortunately with his interest, but is not to be
suspected of being on that account the less sincere, commenced his
career in Ireland by presiding at the performance of the _Messiah_, for
the benefit of the Dublin City-Prison. On a subsequent evening, Dubourg,
as leader of the band, having a _close_ to make _ad libitum_, wandered
about so long, in a fit of abstract modulation, as to seem a little
uncertain about that indispensable postulate, the original key. At
length, however, he accomplished a safe arrival at the _shake_ which was
to terminate this long close, when Handel, to the great delight of the
audience, cried out, loud enough to be heard in the remotest parts of
the theatre—“Welcome home, welcome home, Mr. Dubourg!” One of the
evidences of Handel’s friendship for him, is to be found among his
testamentary arrangements, which included a bequest of £100 in his
favour.

During his location in Ireland, Dubourg was also visited (in 1761) by
his master Geminiani, towards whom he always evinced the utmost regard,
and who died in his house, at the great age of 96.

Garrett, Earl of Mornington, noted for his fine musical taste, no less
than for his lineal antecedence to the Duke of Wellington, took the
interest of a patron in this modest man of art, of whose ability he
shewed a precocious discernment, in his very infancy—as the following
little tale will explain.

The father of the Earl played well, as an amateur, on the violin, so as
to give frequent delight to his child, whilst in the nurse’s arms, and
long before he could speak. Dubourg, happening on some occasion to be at
the family seat, was not permitted by the child to take the violin from
his father nor was the opposition overcome till his little hands were
held. After having heard Dubourg, however, the case was altered, and
there was then much _more_ difficulty in persuading him to let Dubourg
give the instrument back to his father; nor would the infant ever
afterwards permit the father to play, whilst Dubourg was in the house.

It appears that the name of this artist is the first on record in
connection with the performance of a _violin concerto_ on the stage of
an English theatre. At the oratorios given by Handel at Covent Garden in
1741 and 42, Dubourg occupied the ears and eyes of the public, in that
way, for many successive nights. Several other performers took the hint,
and started upon the same footing soon after[57]. This sort of
exhibition, after some years, seems to have grown too common, to satisfy
the public appetency; wherefore a Signor Rossignol, in 1776, undertook
to perform after a mode which we should now style _à la Paganini_:
indeed he seemed to go beyond the modern “miracle of man,” for he
advertised “a concerto on the violin, _without strings_.” Whether the
joke turned on the plural number, in particular, or (as the lawyers say)
how otherwise, it is now impossible to ascertain.

Dubourg—peace to his gentle memory!—was interred in the church-yard of
Paddington, where his calling in life, and his summons to death, were
denoted in the following gracefully reflective epitaph:—

  “Though, sweet as Orpheus, thou couldst bring
   Soft pleadings from the trembling string,
   Uncharmed the King of Terror stands,
   Nor owns the magic of thy hands.”

JOHN CLEGG, a name as closely linked to misery as to talent, was, as
already observed, a pupil of the last-named professor. He also
travelled with Lord Ferrers into Italy, and much advanced his taste
during his stay in that special home of the violin.

Castrucci, leader of the Opera-band in London during the early part of
the last century, growing old, and losing much of his former vigour of
execution, Handel, then at the head of the management, was desirous of
placing Clegg in his station: but, knowing Castrucci to be in no exalted
circumstances, and not wishing to wound his feelings, by making the
intended change, without convincing him of his insufficiency, he adopted
the following method for effecting his object:—He composed a violin
concerto, in which the concertino (or second) part was purposely made as
difficult of execution as the first. This piece he gave to Clegg, to be
performed by him, accompanied by Castrucci; when the former executed his
part with grace and facility, while the latter laboured through _his_
portion of the performance, in a lame and imperfect manner. Castrucci,
backward as he had been to admit the rival pretensions of Clegg, was
constrained to yield to him the palm of victory; and Handel obtained his
wish—but nevertheless retained Castrucci in the band, and was otherwise
his friend, in subsequent days.

The beauty of Clegg’s tone, and the graces of his execution, won for him
many admirers as a performer; but, alas! he purchased at far too dear a
sacrifice the fame for which he strove. About the year 1742, he had so
deranged his faculties by intense study and practice, that it became
necessary to confine him in Bedlam. There, during lucid intervals, he
was allowed the use of his instrument; and it was long an _amusement_,
as fashionable as it was inhuman, to visit him, among other lunatics, in
the hope of encountering him at some moment of security from his
“battle of the brain,” in order to be entertained, either by his fiddle,
or his folly! Barbarity like this has now happily ceased to disgrace the
movements of fashion, and only leaves a feeling of _wonder_, to qualify
the indignation which its remembrance excites.

THOMAS COLLET, of eccentric memory, enjoyed the reputation of being one
of our principal native performers about the year 1745, when he led the
orchestra of Vauxhall Gardens; an appointment then more highly
considered than in these days. Possessing very little, however, either
of taste or of musical knowledge, he was always an inelegant player, and
owed his success to his powers of execution alone; yet _these_ must have
been exerted within a very confined compass, for Parke, in his “Musical
Memoirs,” asserts Collet to have had such an aversion to _playing high_,
that he dismissed one of his violin-performers for flourishing on the
_half-shift_! Parke has added an anecdote about him, which must be
confessed to savour not a little of the marvellous. “Although this
gentleman, who was a great pigeon-fancier (continues Parke), did not go
aloft on the _fiddle_, he went every day up to the top of his _house_,
to see his pigeons fly; and on one occasion he was so lost in admiration
of them, that, while clapping his hands and walking backwards, he walked
over the leads of the house, and in the fall must have been dashed to
pieces, had not his clothes been caught by a lamp-iron, to which he
remained suspended (more frightened than hurt) until taken down by the
passers-by.”

FRANCIS HACKWOOD, whose convivial and entertaining qualities assisted
his professional talent, in procuring for him the notice and support of
the most influential among the patrons of music, was born in 1734. He
attained some distinction among violin-performers; but the play of his
wit and humour seems to have outlasted that of his instrument, in the
impression produced—and no wonder, considering how much farther _wit_
can be transmitted, than _sound_. It is one of the anecdotes related of
this artist, that, at the conclusion of an Evening Concert given by Lord
Hampden to a large assemblage of rank and fashion, when the performers
had been taxed to exert themselves till a most unreasonable hour in the
morning, his Lordship addressed to him the question, “Hackwood, will you
stay and _sup_ with us?”—and that the answer was, “No, my Lord, I can’t;
for I think (taking out his watch) my wife must be waiting _breakfast_
for me.”—In another anecdote, Hackwood figures as the _cause_ of a jest,
which is the next good thing to being its utterer. He was intimate with
the late Sir C——r W——e, a Lincolnshire Baronet of large fortune, who,
when not laid up by the gout, was a man of three-bottle capacity. At a
gentlemen’s party given by this free votary of the grape, Hackwood, who
had some pressing business to transact early in the ensuing day, and had
heard the clock strike one, arose to depart. “Where are you going so
soon?” inquired Sir C——r. “Home, Sir,” replied Hackwood; “it has struck
one.”—“_One!_” exclaimed the Baronet; “pooh, pooh! Sit down, sit down!
What’s _one_, among _so many_?”—Parke, the oboist, who gives this story,
spoils the close of it by a bottle of Hollands gin, which he makes the
two interlocutors to have drunk out between them, on the stairs, _pour
prendre congé_. The gin lends no genuine spirit to the anecdote, and had
better have been omitted by the narrator, who, besides, was probably in
error as to its existence at all in the case. The man who, flushed with
generous wine, has succeeded in saying a tolerably good thing, may
fairly be considered as too _happy_, to be in any need of such extra
stimulus as half a bottle of gin. Potation of _that_ character is the
resource of the _dull_. Parke has alluded generally, in no liberal
temper, to the eccentricities of this professor, whose disposition he
has mistaken, when attributing _meanness_ to it. This charge he founds
particularly on the fact of Hackwood’s having once shouldered his own
violoncello (for he played that instrument also) on his way home from
Apsley-House, to save expense of coach or porter, though he was himself
attired “in an elegant suit of blue silk and silver.” Those who knew him
better, could have furnished his detractor with a fairer reason for the
proceeding in question, by suggesting that it arose from that anxious
care for the safety of his instrument, which many a performer is well
known to entertain, and which, in the instance of the individual now
under notice, prevailed to such an extent as even to form one of his
eccentricities. So far, indeed, from being of an illiberal spirit, he
was a considerable loser by the too ready advance of money to the
necessitous.

Hackwood lived till 1821, and was for some years _father_ (as the term
goes) of the Royal Society of Musicians.

It may be incidentally mentioned that a great benefit to our English
performers on bow-stirred instruments in general, was produced by ABEL’S
residence here for about a quarter of a century. That fine musician and
performer, the pupil and friend of Sebastian Bach, though he handled an
instrument (the _viol-da-gamba_) of a species which was not in common
use, and was even about to be completely laid aside, became nevertheless
the model, in adagio-playing, of all our young professors on bowed
instruments, who, taught by his discretion, taste, and pathetic manner
of _expressing a few notes_, became more sparing of notes in a
_cantabile_, and less inclined to attempt such flourishes as have no
higher purpose than to display mechanical readiness. The wonders
achieved by Abel in the extraction of tone from an instrument which,
albeit possessed of some sweetness, was radically so crude and nasal, as
the viol-da-gamba (that remnant of the old “chest of viols”), are
something truly memorable among the triumphs of art. The Robert Lindley
of our own day and country, transcendant in the quality of tone which he
could elicit, stands a minor marvel, as compared in this sense with
Abel,—_his_ instrument being one that is naturally so much more grateful
and practicable.

RICHARD CUDMORE, a native of Chichester, was born in 1787. His success
began with his juvenile days, for he performed a solo in public when
only nine years old; and at eleven, with still higher ambition, he
played a concerto at Chichester, composed by himself! Such a thing is of
course only marvellous with reference to the means which it is possible
for a child to possess: accordingly, on these occasions, there is always
“a liberal discount allowed”—the indulgent auditor forming his estimate
on the Horatian plan of “contentus parvo.” At twelve years of age, young
Cudmore attained the provincial triumph of leading the band at the
Chichester Theatre—played a concerto for the comic actor, Suett, at his
benefit—and performed a _violino primo_ part amongst the “older
strengths” of the Italian Opera-band in London. In the mean time he was
introduced to Salomon, and had the advantage of some training from that
noted Master. After the subsequent enjoyment of some years of country
fame, Cudmore changed the scene of his operations to London, and, giving
scope to the versatility of his talent, became a pupil of Woelfl’s on
the pianoforte, and, in the sequel, a public performer on that
instrument also.—A striking proof of his musical ability is shewn in an
anecdote recorded of him. On one occasion a performance took place at
Rowland Hill’s Chapel, in Blackfriars Road, for which Salomon had
rehearsed, in conjunction with Dr. Crotch and Jacobs. Salomon, however,
being unexpectedly subpœnaed on a trial, requested Cudmore to become
his substitute at the chapel, when he performed the music at sight,
before from two to three thousand persons.—Another extraordinary
instance of his skill in sight-playing, or what the French call
_l’exécution à livre ouvert_, was given in a private concert at Mr. C.
Nicholson’s, where he executed at sight a new and difficult manuscript
concerto, which was accidentally brought thither.

At Liverpool, where he occasionally conducted the public concerts, he
once performed a concerto on the violin by Rode; one on the piano by
Kalkbrenner; and a third, by Cervetto, on the violoncello! At a later
period, he became leader of the band at the establishment called the
Manchester Amateur Concert.

G. F. PINTO, grandson of the performer of that name already noticed
(whose ardent temperament he seems to have inherited, with no
countervailing discretion), affords a remarkable instance of premature
musical genius. He studied the violin under Salomon and Viotti, and, at
fifteen years of age, had attained such accomplishment on that
instrument, that he could lead an orchestra, in the performance of the
symphonies of Haydn, with no very discernible inferiority to Salomon. He
became also a proficient on the pianoforte, and evinced good knowledge
of counterpoint, in several vocal publications of merit and originality,
which he sent forth when about the age of seventeen. The syren voice of
Pleasure, however, lured this promising genius to his destruction.
Possessed of a fine person, and a mischievous store of vanity, he became
a martyr to dissipation about the year 1808, before he had completed his
twenty-first year.

THOMAS LINLEY (Junior), eldest son of the vocal composer of that name,
was born at Bath, in 1756, and displayed, at a very early age,
extraordinary powers on the violin—performing a concerto in public when
but eight years old. To qualify him more effectually for a musical
career, through a due acquaintance with theory, his father placed him
under the able tuition of Dr. Boyce; after which he was sent to
Florence, chiefly to prosecute the study of his favourite instrument,
under the eye of Nardini. Through the kind agency of the Italian
violinist, Linley acquired the advantageous friendship of Mozart, then a
youth of about his own age. On his return from his studies on the
continent, young Linley repaired to Bath, to lead his father’s concerts
and oratorios, which he did with such precision and animation as to gain
high credit. His manner of performing the concertos of Handel and
Geminiani was also much admired; nor did he fail to exhibit marks of
opening excellence as a composer, in his own solos and concertos,
occasionally introduced, as well as in several vocal dramatic
productions, which evinced considerable imagination and spirit. The
brilliant professional hopes founded on these achievements were
destined, however, to be suddenly darkened: for the object of them met
with an untimely death in the year 1778, by the upsetting of a
pleasure-boat.

THOMAS COOKE—who is there, having open ears, that does not know
something of the versatile and ingenious Tom Cooke?—was born in Dublin,
and was ready with his violin, at the age of seven, to play a concerto
in public. Expert with hand, tongue, and pen, he has performed _three
times three_ successive solos, on as many different instruments, in one
night, for his benefit—and, in moments of composure, has _written_ for
all of them. At a very early age, he became director and leader of the
music at the Theatre Royal, Dublin; from which condition he suddenly
transformed himself into that of a singer, and enjoyed a success of
several seasons at the English Opera-House, in London, as vocalist and
composer. His next course of exertion was at Drury Lane, as singer, and
afterwards as musical director, leader, and composer, in which latter
triple capacity he pursued a long and steady career. The violin was
eminently useful in his hands, if it cannot be said to have been, in the
highest degree, brilliant.

“Tom Cooke,” observed a chronicler, some time since, in one of the
magazines, “is certainly the most facetious of fiddlers, and is the only
person at present connected with theatres, who smacks of the olden days
of quips and cranks. Some of his conundrums are most amusing
absurdities.” After assigning to him, by a somewhat venturesome
decision, the authorship of the receipt for getting a _vial-in_ at a
chemist’s[58], the same writer gave two other specimens of Cooke’s
powers of jest, as thus:—

Once, whilst rehearsing a song, Braham said to Cooke, who was leading,
“I drop my voice there, at night”—intimating that he wished the
accompaniment to be more _piano_. “_You_ drop your voice, do you?” said
Cooke; “I should like to be by, and pick it up.”

During the run of the Tragedy of Manfred, he remarked, “How Denvil keeps
_sober_ through the play, I can’t think; for he is _calling for
spirits_, from the first scene to the last!”

Some few years have now elapsed, since this well-remembered professor
was borne to that spot where—instead of the achievements of talent, or
the humours of character—a few meagre words, and a date or two, comprise
usually _all_ that is told to the stray pedestrian, or the passing wind!

NICHOLAS MORI, who, in certain respects, is entitled to rank high among
English Violinists, was born in London, in 1796. The instrument that
became the medium of his success in maturer years, was the object of his
regard even in infancy—for, at three years of age, he was clutching a
contracted specimen of it in his little grasp, and receiving some
initiatory hints from Barthélémon. At eight, prepared and advertised as
a prodigy, he was publicly playing that Professor’s difficult concerto,
styled “The Emperor.” A few years later, his aspiring hand was
conspicuous at the Concerts given by Mr. Heaviside, the Surgeon. To add
the solid to the showy, the aid of Viotti (then almost a seceder from
the profession) was wisely invoked; and nearly six years of his valuable
guidance were obtained. Meanwhile, the active youth, still boyishly
habited in jacket and frill, was careering through an engagement in the
Opera orchestra. There, at the age of twenty, he became leader of the
Ballet, on the retirement of Venus, which post he held until, in 1834,
he succeeded to that of the silvery Spagnoletti.

The _Philharmonic Concerts_, which commenced in 1813, had opened a new
field for the display of high talent in almost every department of the
musical art. The interest and advancement of Mori, in that quarter, were
zealously undertaken by Viotti; and he became one of the Directors of
the Society, for several seasons. In 1819, he married the widow of Mr.
Lavenu—an alliance which made him the successor to a lucrative business.

Another native Establishment, instituted in his time, afforded further
opportunity for the indefatigable exertions of Mori. The _Royal Academy
of Music_ received him within its walls, as one of its principal
teachers of the violin. Among his pupils there, were Oury, Patey,
Richards, Musgrove, and his own younger son, Nicholas. The success of
his Concert-speculations, meanwhile, was attested by the overflowing
audiences they constantly drew together; but such a result was not
accomplished without great attendant labour and anxiety. His Classical
Chamber-Concerts, commenced in 1836, in sequence to those of Blagrove’s
party, kept his name still prominent before the public until his death,
which took place on the 14th June, 1839.

Few professional men have possessed equal influence in our musical
circles, with that which was attained by this distinguished artist; and
few have succeeded in acquiring so large a share of public patronage.
Yet, favourite of the public as he was, from first to last, it must be
regretfully added that he failed to secure the cordial sympathy of his
professional brethren, to whom his irritability of temper, and
_brusquerie_ of manner, rendered his official government no halcyon
reign. For all that was thus unpleasant, however, a cause was
discovered, that left his real character untouched. Physical
disturbance, existing and accumulating for some length of time, before
his sudden decease, had impaired the functions of the brain, and
unsettled the moral impulses. With such ground for acquittal of the
agent, offence was at once forgotten, and sympathy alone entertained.

As to the too eager pursuit of pecuniary advantage, which has been
sometimes charged upon this artist, it may not be quite so easy to award
entire absolution. It is very possible, however, that what seemed the
love of money, was really the love of family, urging to provident
collection. Should this plea be deemed inconclusive, there would still
remain much excuse for the individual, in a certain bias, or tendency,
that is notoriously far too prevalent among us. I mean that inveterate
habit of referring all things to the _commercial principle_, which,
causing the musical art, in this country, to be regarded mainly as an
object of _gain_—is bitterly unfavourable to the growth of a kindly
feeling among its members (each of whom too often learns to consider his
neighbour as a rival to be repressed, rather than a friend to be
assisted)—and wears down the enthusiasm for high art, by a vexatiously
incessant attrition with common arithmetic.

   “Non bene conveniunt, nec in unâ sede morantur,
      _Plutus et Euterpe_!”

In Germany, on the contrary, where art is loved chiefly for itself, and
where moderate desires attend its exercise, the social feeling among
musical men—a thing delightful to witness—is as beneficial in its
influence on the character of the individual professor, as in its
effect on the general interests of the art. The same remark applies, in
a lesser degree, to the credit of the musical profession in France. It
is not too much to hope that the now obviously increasing diffusion of
musical taste and intelligence among ourselves, will bring, as its
ultimate consequences, a diminished care for emolument, and a closer
fraternal feeling among our artists.

To advert more minutely to Mori’s powers as a Violinist—since he was not
great in _all_ the requisites, it follows that he can scarcely be
regarded as an artist of the very highest order. That mechanical command
over the executive difficulties of the instrument, for which he was so
remarkable, and which enabled him, when yet a boy, to delight the lovers
of the surprising—was his chief merit—“the pith and marrow of his
attribute.” The tuition he received from Viotti, that most vigorous of
Violinists, was of great importance in directing and maturing his great
manual capacity; but, though he derived from him, and from his own
assiduous study, a full, free tone, a dashing execution, and the most
accurate neatness,—his temperament, somewhat hard and ungenial, seems to
have been too little in accordance with Viotti’s, to admit of his fully
acquiring _all_ the advantages which that great preceptor was fitted to
impart. He caught most felicitously the art of triumphing over difficult
passages—the perfection of mere fiddling—but he had not the soul

   “To snatch a grace _beyond_ the reach of _art_—”

to awaken, through the magic of expression, those deeper sensibilities
in which music finds the truest source of its empire. Mori’s playing,
with its powers and its deficiencies, was admirably suited to the
apprehension and desires of a fashionable audience. It was showy, but
not profound; striking, but not moving; full of artificial neatness,
with little of natural grace. His hand wrought to more purpose than his
mind. He was (before the malady that finally subdued him) a man of rigid
nerve, and had all the advantages that confidence could bestow,—and
these, especially in solo playing, are far from inconsiderable—but then,
for want of the sensitiveness pertaining to a more delicate
organization, he lost the finest part of what _might_ have been
accomplished. He has occupied a very marked place amongst English
instrumentalists; but, for the reasons here alleged, the impression he
produced seems not likely to prove of a very durable character, so as to
secure to him any considerable future importance in musical annals. As a
composer for his instrument, he possessed very slender pretensions. His
performance itself, admirable as it was in some points, sufficiently
shewed why he could not hope to distinguish himself in composition. The
few manifestations he made in that way have given no cause for
regretting his general habit of trusting to the works of others, for the
musical ideas which he had to convey[59].

Mr. LODER, of Bath, long prominent among provincials, and not unknown in
the metropolis, was justly esteemed for his knowledge of the orchestra,
and his utility as an able leader.

Mr. HENRY GATTIE, welcomed in his youthful days as a charming
solo-player, in which capacity he ran for a time a pretty close race
with Mori, has since contented himself, for the most part, with the less
ambitious employment of orchestral playing; but his finished taste, and
true musical feeling, ensured him a very favourable attention, when, on
the memorable occasion of the experiment at Quartett performances (to be
presently referred to), he took the Second Violin part among the
confraternity at the Hanover Square Rooms.

ANTONIO JAMES OURY was born in London, in the year 1800. His father, a
native of Nice, of noble descent, left home to follow the early
campaigns of the then General Buonaparte—was taken prisoner by the
English, and lodged near Southampton, at which place he married, in
1799, the daughter of a Mr. Hughes, not unknown in literary circles—and
then followed the joint profession of musician and dancing-master,
possessing, at the same time, great natural capacity for several
branches of the fine arts.

The subject of our present sketch, at the age of three years, commenced
his infantine attentions to the violin, under the tuition of his own
father, and of the father of our talented composer, George Macfarren. In
1812, young Oury became the pupil of three eminent professors—Mori,
Spagnoletti, and Kiesewetter. In 1820, he heard Spohr for the first
time: as a result of the impression then received, his perseverance
became so great, that, for the space of seven months, he practised no
less than fourteen hours a-day! In the same year, he went to Paris, to
study under those magnates of the modern French School of the
Violin—Baillot, Kreutzer, and Lafont. From each of these masters (and
without the knowledge of the others) our young artist managed to take
two lessons a week, for several successive winters, at the same time
studying composition under Monsieur Fétis. He then made his _début_ at
the London Philharmonic Society, at the Concert given for the widow and
family of his late master, Kiesewetter. He also became a member of the
“Ancient Concerts,” Philharmonic, and Opera orchestras, and joint leader
with François Cramer, at the Birmingham, York, Leicester, and Derby
Musical Festivals—and also made several operatic tours in Ireland and
elsewhere.

In 1826, Oury was engaged as Leader of the Ballet, Sub-Leader of the
Opera, and Solo-Violin, at the King’s Theatre; and, as successor of Mori
and Lacy, he held this tripartite post for five years—displaying,
whensoever the occasion permitted, the graces of a light and free
execution.

In 1831, Mr. Oury married the distinguished pianiste, Madˡˡᵉ· Belleville,
whose father had also been an officer of Napoleon’s, and was afterwards
French Tutor to the Princesses of Bavaria. His first trip with Madame
Oury was to Liverpool, as Leader of De Begnis’ Italian Opera, where they
gave, conjointly with Paganini, a grand Concert at the Theatre Royal, in
behalf of the local poor. In 1832, they left England for Hamburgh,
Berlin, St. Petersburgh, and Moscow, giving (in all) twenty-three
Concerts, during a residence of two years, in Russia, and returning
(after playing at the Imperial Court) to Berlin. They next visited
Leipzig, Dresden, Prague, and Vienna—making a brilliant sojourn of two
years in the Austrian capital. Mr. Oury visited Pesth and Buda, alone
and gave seven Concerts, with great success and profit; played in
presence of the Imperial Court, at the Bourge Theatre, Vienna, and
returned to Munich. Again (accompanied by Madame Oury) he gave Concerts
in all the principal towns of the Rhine, till they arrived in Holland,
where Madame Oury was attacked by a serious illness, which interrupted a
number of professional engagements. After a successful tour, however, to
all the chief towns of Holland, they returned to Dusseldorf, on the
occasion of the first performance of Mendelssohn’s Oratorio of “Paulus.”
At Aix-la-Chapelle, they gave Concerts in conjunction with their friends
Malibran and De Beriot—visited Belgium—played at the Court—and then
resided two years in Paris, with Paganini, at the _Neotherme_. During
this period, Mr. Oury entered the orchestra of “Les Italiens” (then
performing at the _Odéon_), and made himself conversant with the operas
of Donizetti, under the author’s own conducting. Subsequently, he
returned to England, after an absence of nine years.

In 1846 and 47, again visiting Italy, Mr. Oury and his accomplished
partner gave Concerts at Rome, Naples, Venice and Milan, and returned to
England in 1848. Mr. Oury next accepted the post of Leader of the
Seconds, on the notable occasion of Mr. Balfe’s forming a new orchestra
(to meet the opposition of the Royal Italian Opera), at Covent Garden.

Before taking leave of the subject of this notice, a few particulars
remain to be added. Mr. Oury, with his accomplished wife, has composed a
number of brilliant Drawing-Room Duetts Concertante, for piano and
violin, which have procured their _entrée_ to most of the musical
saloons and Courts of Europe. Mr. Oury has had no scanty share of
honours bestowed on him—such as the being appointed one of the
Professors at the Royal Academy of Music in London, at the time of its
foundation—a member of several Continental Philharmonic Societies—and an
honorary member of the Academy and Congregation of St. Cecilia, at Rome.
By these distinctions, it is sufficiently denoted that he has secured to
himself a reputation through a large part of musical Europe.

It has been said, that a sense of injustice during the encounter with
professional jealousies in the home field of exertion, first drove this
clever artist to take a wider range, and visit continental cities. If
so, he has no reason to regret the event, having abundantly “seen the
world,” and gathered of its laurels to any reasonable heart’s content.

Among the professional pupils whom Mr. Oury has had the honour of aiding
in their early practice, may be mentioned the well-known composers,
George Macfarren and Sterndale Bennett, and (of amateurs) that
distinguished dilettante and classical violinist, the present Earl
Falmouth.

JOSEPH HAYDON BOURNE DANDO, well-entitled to honourable mention among
English violin-players, was born at Somers Town, in the year 1806. At an
early age he had developed a taste for music, and, under the guidance of
his uncle, Signor Brandi, attained to considerable facility of execution
on his instrument.

In 1819, he was placed under the tuition of Mori with whom he continued
his studies (off and on) for about seven years, although no great
cordiality appears to have been established between them. They were, in
fact, of essentially different temperaments. After some years of
practical training, during which he had mastered most of the
difficulties written as _concertos_ and _studies_ for the
violin—finding the influence, as well as the disposition, of his master,
opposed to the display of his acquirements in what may be termed musical
gymnastics, our young artist wisely (and, for the advancement of musical
taste in this country, fortunately) turned his genius and talents to
useful account, in studying and illustrating the higher order of
beauties contained in those charming works which had been written, by
some of the great masters in composition, for “chamber-performance;”
more especially the _quartetts_ of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Spohr, &c.

Although opportunities for exhibiting his proficiency, as a solo-player,
were restricted, they could not be entirely suppressed. Enough has
transpired to warrant us in the conclusion, that, with a fair field, Mr.
Dando might, in that branch of his art, at the present day, have stood
second to none. As a _quartett-player_, he has achieved a reputation
which places him in the front rank of contemporary violinists.

Any notice of Mr. Dando’s professional career, which should pretend to
throw a light on his progress and present position as an artist, must
necessarily include much that properly belongs to a history of the rise
and progress of Quartett-performances in England. It is to him,
probably, that we are indebted, not only for the first public
introduction of the Quartett in London, but also, in a great degree, for
our present familiar acquaintance with those elegant works, which have
of late years so largely contributed to the increase of our musical
enjoyment. A license may therefore be reasonably solicited for diverging
into matter which, under other circumstances, might appear foreign to
the purpose of a mere biographical sketch. It is presumed, however, that
no apology will be required for crossing the strict boundary line, by
stating some of the following particulars; seeing that they, in reality,
are quite _apropos_ of the general design of this work, and come with
propriety under the present section of it.

From his youth upwards, Mr. Dando’s society appears to have been
courted, and his talents appreciated, by most of the amateurs of music
in that part of our metropolis designated as the City, where more
intimately he was known, owing to early introduction; and where his
agreeable manners, added to his professional merits, contributed to the
formation of some lasting friendships, as well as valuable connexions.
Of these gentlemen, some were well skilled in the performance of the
favourite works of the great quartett writers; and a larger number were
qualified to form an accurate estimate of their merits. The charm of Mr.
Dando’s style, as a quartett-player, had in due time (about the year
1834-5) rendered the fact apparent to his friends, that the choice works
of those masters, which were the delight of the initiated, still
remained “a sealed book,” not only to the general public, but even to
the ordinary _habitué_ of the concert-room; and it was thought that they
only required a fair introduction, to secure to them that favour in
public, which they so largely attracted in those private musical circles
where they were familiarly known. Accordingly, in the year 1835, a
subscription was opened amongst the amateurs—Mr. Dando’s more immediate
admirers—for the purpose of submitting some of these works to more open
notice. An occasion of distress was selected as an excuse for an
evening’s public performance of quartetts, trios, &c. the profits of
which were to be presented to a worthy individual who had fallen into
pecuniary difficulties, and was about to quit our shores, to better his
fortunes in America. A party was formed, with Mr. Dando at its head, and
the First (as far as we have been able to ascertain) Public Quartett
Concert in this country, was given on the 23rd September, 1835, at the
Horn Tavern, Doctors’-Commons. This presentation was the commencement of
an epoch in the musical history of this country. On the occasion, the
amateurs mastered in force, and brought their friends, to support the
two-fold object they had espoused. The evening passed away in raptures.
A second public trial was immediately undertaken, and announced for the
12th October, in the same year; and then a third (on the 26th October),
each, in succession, proving more widely attractive than its
predecessors. So unequivocal was the success of these experiments on
public taste, and such was the _furore_ excited in the musical world by
them, that from these performances may be dated the _establishment_ of
Quartett Concerts in this country.

As might be expected, the first blow so effectively struck, led, by its
own impulse, to a regular series, which followed at rapid intervals
(first at the same rooms, and afterwards at the London Tavern), between
the 13th January, 1836, and the 31st January, 1838, two consecutive
seasons.

In the mean time, an early spark had fired the train, and the idea
extended to the west end of the town, where a company of talented
professors combined to set on foot a sequence of similar attractions;
and four had been quickly announced under the title of “Concerti da
Camera,” at the Hanover Square Rooms, for the 7th and 21st of November,
5th and 19th of December, 1835. At the fourth of these meetings, Mr.
Dando was engaged to play the principal _viola_ part in Spohr’s Third
Double Quartett. The effect of his performance of the part was notable;
inasmuch as it led to an immediate invitation from Messrs. H. G.
Blagrove and Lucas (the principal Violin and Violoncello on that
occasion) to join _them_ in the formation of a select party, for the
more perfect study and presentation of Quartetts and other chamber
instrumental compositions, which, by this time, were beginning to
attract universal attention. Mr. Dando acceded to the proposition, and
enrolled himself as the tenor-player of a party which was completed by
the subsequent adhesion of Mr. Henry Gattie, as second violinist. The
party, thus constituted, brought before the public the first of their
“Quartett Concerts” at the Hanover Square Rooms, on the evening of the
17th March, 1836, with a completeness of effect in the _ensemble_, that
threw all prior performances of their kind into the shade.

Under the impression produced by an audience of these interesting
confederates, was penned the piece of panegyric that here-under asks the
indulgent attention of such of my readers as are tolerant of verse:—

  Happy the man of taste that’s led
  Hither, to have his cravings fed!
  He who this dainty circle nears,
  Takes in _ambrosia_ at the ears,
  Through a new sense, revives a fable,
  And finds a feast that needs no table!
  When thus _as one_ are met these _four_,
  What treat can Music yield us more?
  Ye birds, that haunt by night or day grove,
  Yield, yield in _dulcetry_ to _Blagrove_!
  Say, is he not, while warbling now,
  Well worthy of a _topmost bough_?
  And do not these, that add their claim,
  Put all your “sylvan choirs” to shame?
  What think ye, feathered ones! of notes
  So ravishing—and _not_ from _throats_?
  How sweet, and exquisitely _natty_,
  Those trills ancillary, from _Gattie_!
  And list! t’ enhance our joy what _can_ do
  The “even tenor” of smooth _Dando_.
  Then, in the stream of sound to hook us
  “Deeper, and deeper still,” comes _Lucas_.
  Felicity, with clearest voice,
  Calls here on Echo to rejoice!
  Desire may here, with resting feet,
  Sit still—nor care to shift her seat.
  —Who-e’er thou art, that long’st to _feel_,
  Psha! Twitch no more “the electric eel!”
  Nor dream thy languor to dispel
  By bathos of “the diving bell!”
  If in thy brain one corner yet
  To dozing dulness be unlet—
  If ’scape thou would’st from stupor’s net,
  And, like a man just free from debt,
  Thy load of lumpishness forget—
  Come! for one hour be Pleasure’s pet!
  Oh, come, and hear a choice _Quartett_
  _Diffused_[60] by this consummate set!

About the time that gave birth to the intentions of this party,
Mori—then at the zenith of his powers—finding that his juniors in the
profession were taking steps in advance of him[61], and determining upon
the maintenance of his position, organized a party in which Messrs.
Watts, Moralt, and Lindley were his coadjutors. Without much prelude,
they commenced operations on the growingly attractive Quartett, by
giving three “Classical Chamber Concerts” at Willis’s Rooms, on the 6th
and 20th January, and 3rd February, 1836.

The flood-tide of public favor had now set in. We find no less than four
distinct parties of leading professors embarked in serial
quartett-performances; with others, occasionally launching on the
swelling current, just for a little cruize. “Chamber Concerts” became
the fashion; “Musical Réunions,” “Soirées Musicales,” and “Classical
Instrumental Concerts,” multiplied almost _ad infinitum_. “The Beethoven
Society” was formed, and a host of others followed suit—their names
“legion”—_all_ under favour of the absorbing interest in the Quartett.
In short, since the season of 1836, these deserving works have become
recognized and claimed as Public Property—witness the advertising
columns of the diurnal and periodical press, which teem with
announcements, in every form of allurement, inviting support.

Of all these associated parties, none has attained such distinguished
popularity, and secured such unqualified approbation, as that of Messrs.
Blagrove, Gattie, Dando, and Lucas. At an early stage of their career
(the 23rd May, 1836), they were invited to perform at the
“Philharmonic,” where they produced a sensation which at once
established them on the pinnacle of public favour. From that date up to
the 29th April, 1842 (the close of their seventh season), they continued
their combined operations, with unabated _éclat_, at the Hanover Square
Rooms. About that period, Mr. Blagrove, being desirous of investing his
interest in a private undertaking of his own, withdrew from the
association. The retirement of Mr. Blagrove did not, however, affect the
stability of the “Quartett Concerts.” The veteran Loder, of Bath,
recruited the party, undertaking to perform the _viola_ part; Mr. Dando
resumed the principal violin; Messrs. Gattie and Lucas retained their
original appointments. Thus remodelled, the party removed its
attractions to Crosby Hall, in the City, where, with Mr. Dando at its
head, “The Quartett Concerts” continue to be carried on up to the
present day.

It has been less the purpose, in this retrospect, to eulogize
individuals, or to make comparisons between parties, than to set forth
premises wherefrom we may reasonably conclude that the _modus operandi_
adopted by that party to which we have more particularly pointed
attention, must have been the best, if not the only, road to true
excellence. The Quartett demands, not only individual efficiency in its
execution, but collective agreement in the expression of its parts; the
nicest discrimination in delineating its delicacies; and an _ensemble_
animated, as it were, by _one mind_. To produce this unity of parts in
one completeness, it is not sufficient that parties should merely play
together;—they absolutely must meet for frequent _practice_ together,
and (according to the light that is in them) fixing upon the best
interpretation of the author’s meaning, proceed to its exemplification
with simultaneous feeling and decision.

We have it from undoubted authority—and record the fact for the benefit
of all aspirants to public applause—that the Quartett-party, which has
run the most brilliant and extended course, has devoted to the object
which called it into existence the largest amount of industry and
energy, in private preparation for its public exhibitions—these
qualities being by them considered necessary additions to a
well-digested experience, which, as the ground to begin upon, they
previously possessed. Instead of rushing into public the moment they had
formed their compact with each other, and trusting to the novelty of
their introduction, or relying on a name already inscribed in capitals,
indicative of honours achieved in another branch of the art, more
dependent on manual dexterity than on mental cultivation—we find these
(then young) professors patiently submitting themselves to the drudgery
of preparation. There is the best authority for stating that they did
not think six or eight rehearsals, previous to the production of a work
in public, too much trouble, or time and application thrown away, or
even unnecessarily bestowed. The success of their undertakings has been
commensurate with the pains which they underwent to secure it. This
accounts for their having achieved the vantage-ground in the general
competition for distinction, while others, of more matured reputation as
individual performers, failed to attain the preference which they were
equally in quest of, by _apparently_ the same path. How otherwise, it
might be asked, could ... But lest some should consider the digression
to be growing tedious, let us at once resume the object with which we
started, and complete our biographical sketch—leaving the facts and
hints that have been incidentally recorded, to the further (private)
meditation of such as are more particularly interested in them.

Mr. Dando first appeared as a member of the Philharmonic orchestra, in
1831: since which time he has held an uninterrupted engagement in its
front rank of violins. As an orchestral leader, himself, he has had a
long and honourable career, as well in the provinces as in London and
its suburban offshoots. In the City, he has almost exclusively occupied
that post. At the great concerts given by the amateurs at the London
Tavern; at those of the “Classical” and “Choral Harmonists” Societies;
also at others brought out on a less extensive scale, at the “Horn
Tavern,” Doctors’ Commons, the “Albion,” and “London” Tavern, his
qualifications have been fully admitted, and the highest credit awarded.
As to his peculiar manner, or style, it may doubtless be averred that,
as a pupil, he must have profited largely by the example of his master,
Mori; although, finally, his talents have become conspicuous in a very
distinct school. Fire and vigour, more than feeling, were the
characteristics of style in the one, while the other has become
remarkable for the elegance of his expression, and the neatness of his
execution—a neatness which is by no means unattended by the amount of
vigour occasionally requisite to express the passion of an inspired
author. In his hands, the violin has oftentimes become almost vocal, and
his performance on that most expressive of instruments has been very
characteristically described by an accomplished public critic, as
“soul-satisfying in the extreme.”

HENRY C. COOPER, a fine solo-player, indoctrinated by Spagnoletti, holds
a distinguished place among our Violinists. In the absence of materials
for treating of him _in extenso_, his laurels, green and vigorous as
they are, can at present only be recognized—not displayed—in these
ministering pages.

EDWARD WILLIAM THOMAS, of Welsh parentage, was born in 1814. His
commencement with the Violin was under Mr. W. Thomas, formerly Leader of
Covent Garden Theatre. It was said that he was too old to “do any good”
(being then twelve years of age), but the prediction—like many other
such familiar croakings—came happily to nothing.

Leaving Mr. W. Thomas, his young name-sake was placed at the Royal
Academy of Music, under Oury, Cramer, Mori, and Spagnoletti; the result
of which multiplication of masters was, that he no sooner began to feel
the good effects of the endeavours of _one_, than he lost them under the
different system pursued by _another_. To remedy this, he became a
resident pupil in the house of the kind-hearted Spagnoletti, to whom, as
well as to his first master (Thomas), he always evinced a feeling of
grateful attachment.

His first appearance, as a Solo-player, was at “Russian Field’s”
Concert, at Her Majesty’s Theatre, in 1832, when he played Spohr’s
Dramatic Concerto: this was also the year of his first engagement (by
Mr. Monck Mason) at Her Majesty’s Theatre, where he remained until the
establishment of the Royal Italian Opera, which he left in 1850, to
become the Leader of the Liverpool Philharmonic.

BREAM THOM, a native of Portsmouth, dating his days from 1817, made his
first approaches to the Violin at eight years of age, having from
infancy evinced a predilection for music, although no other member of
his family was that way inclined. He studied hard, and, at seventeen,
was appointed Leader of the Orchestra at the Portsmouth Theatre. He
appeared, in 1838, at the Hanover Square Concert-Room, in London, and
was favourably received. Shortly afterwards (by the advice of Mr. Oury),
he went to Paris, and placed himself under Monsieur Robretch, a
professor to whom belongs the credit of having had some share in the
tuition of De Beriot, and of Artot. Returning to England, he settled
eventually at Brighton, where he has for some time officiated as Leader
at the Theatre, Amateur Concerts, &c.

CHARLES FREDERICK HALL, five years a member of Her Majesty’s Theatre,
and the present Musical Director of the Royal Marionette Theatre,
London, was born at Norwich, in 1820.

When a mere child, his melodious voice attracted the attention of the
Norwich denizens; but his early predilection for the stage induced his
family to accept an engagement for him from Elliston, in 1829, for the
purpose of bringing him out in juvenile operas (at the Surrey Theatre,
London), in which Master Burke, Miss Coveney, Miss Vincent, and Master
Henry Russell, &c. shared with our youthful vocalist the favours of the
public. Eighteen months after this period, his friends recalled him to
his birth-place, and articled him to Mr. Noverre, a dancing-master in
high repute, by whose advice he immediately commenced the study of the
Violin—upon which instrument he made such rapid progress, that his
friends were urged to cancel their agreement with Noverre, and destine
the youth exclusively for the musical profession.

Although his attainments in singing, as well as on the piano and violin,
seemed to point with sufficient clearness to his proper path, a passion
for the stage developed itself in 1833, when he appeared on the boards
of the Norwich Theatre, in the character of “Little Pickle,” in the
farce of the _Spoiled Child_; by which personation he attracted such
notice, that the manager of the Theatre engaged him to appear in that
character at all the theatres belonging to the Norwich Circuit.

The family of our youthful musician, being anxious to wean him from a
theatrical career, usually so trying to the principles of a young mind,
placed him with a German Violinist (Herr Müller), of whose experience he
availed himself to such extent as to become, in 1835, (when only 15
years of age) the Leader of the Norwich Theatre.

While on a tour with the Norwich Company, our young Violinist made
acquaintance with Edmund Kean; and, but for the sudden demise of that
rare but very rambling genius, would, in all probability, have been so
fascinated by his society, as to have relinquished the steady pursuit of
music. Soon after this event, however (in 1837), we find him residing at
Norwich, as a Professor of the Violin, Piano, Guitar, and Singing, in
which accomplishments he had the honour of instructing several families
of distinction. He was also appointed Organist of one of the churches,
and became the most eminent solo violinist of his own county, and its
neighbourhood. The Rev. R. F. Elwin (for many years sole manager of the
Norwich Festivals, and a great admirer of musical talent), was
influential in placing the youthful Violinist at the head of the musical
department in his native city.

Anxious to emulate the best musicians of the capital, Charles Hall, much
against the wish of his family, repaired to London, in 1840, and became
a student at the Royal Academy of Music, in which establishment he
availed himself of the valuable instruction of the best masters
belonging to the institution.

The late Mr. T. Cooke, when Musical Director of Drury Lane Theatre,
induced Mr. Hall to accept an engagement there as Leader of the Ballets
and Pantomimes, in which position he continued for the space of five
years.

In 1844, this enterprising artist wrote and delivered some entertaining
Musical Lectures at the Holborn Literary Institution, under the title of
“Poesy and Minstrelsy.”

Mr. Balfe, the Composer and Musical Director of Her Majesty’s Theatre,
being much pleased with Mr. Hall’s performance on the violin during the
Jenny Lind Concerts, took great notice of him, and engaged him for five
years at that large and fashionable establishment. In the first year of
this engagement, Mr. Hall offered the “Swedish Nightingale” the sum of
£1000 to sing at two Concerts in Norwich. That enchanting warbler
accepted the offer—the Concerts were given, upon the most liberal
scale—and our adventurous artist cleared nearly £800 by the speculation.
The Lord Bishop of Norwich appropriated his palace to the use of the
Queen of Song, and the whole city was a scene of excitement and
rejoicing, during the lady’s sojourn. After recording Mr. Hall’s
well-deserved profits on this occasion, it must be added, with regret,
that a large musical speculation, in 1848, deprived him of the chief
portion of what he had so acquired.

With an undaunted spirit, our persevering artist wrote another musical
entertainment, entitled “The Romance of Village Life,” which he gave, in
1850, at various London Literary Institutions, and which was warmly
applauded on each occasion. Mr. Hall is the author of an amusing
burlesque description of the well-known opera of _The Bohemian Girl_. He
is also the author and composer of several favourite ballads: and some
of the finest musicians of the day, among whom are Mr. Balfe and Mr.
Wallace, have wedded his verse to music. His last production, now in
course of publication, is entitled “Sacred Lays on the Ten
Commandments.”

       *       *       *       *       *

To attempt a notice in detail of _all_ the English Professors of the
Violin who are yet pursuing their career, and seeking occasions to make,
or to confirm, a reputation, is alike beyond my power, and beside my
purpose. A few general remarks that here occur, shall be subjoined.

So little had instrumental chamber-music (until within the last sixteen
years) been cultivated among us, that the Solo-player and the orchestral
Leader were those to whom the public attention had been almost
exclusively confined. To fill these two offices to the extent of all
possible occasion, requires but a small number of individuals. Some
musicians, possessing talents which, directed by an assiduous singleness
of purpose, might qualify them to shine in either of these two
capacities, were unwilling to encounter the toil of a competition, in
which so very few of the candidates can meet with the recompense of
election. Others, gifted with fine musical feeling and taste, and having
sound notions of the art generally, but not fully possessed of the
strength of nerve which gives confidence, or the manual suppleness
essential for brilliant execution, were naturally still less willing to
court the rarely accorded honours of prominent employ. Of these two
classes, principally, were the men who filled the ranks of our best
orchestras. In the Opera Band were found the names of WATTS, ELLA
(well-known also for his taste and resources, as a caterer for the
delight of our higher musical circles), REEVE, and PIGOTT,—in the
Philharmonic, WAGSTAFF, DANDO, GRIESBACH, and MORALT—good violinists,
accomplished musicians, and forming an invaluable acquisition in an
orchestra. It was one of the consequences to be anticipated from the
_Chamber Concerts_ at length introduced (and to which Fashion soon began
to lend the stamp of her currency), that a clearer and higher
appreciation of such men as these should be formed. That expectation has
been partly realized; and, with its fuller accomplishment, we shall be
sure to have good orchestras in goodly number.

—For its connection with the state and prospects of the Violin School
in England, the institution of the “Royal Academy of Music” calls for a
few words of notice in this place. The vocal art, through some
unexplained defects in the system pursued there—certainly not from the
want of fine voices in the country—has hitherto derived no very
conspicuous advantage from the establishment in question; but the
instruction communicated to instrumentalists must have been of a better
kind, for results of some importance have been manifested. Of several of
the students who have cultivated the powers of the violin with marked
success, the most distinguishable, perhaps, in point of genius, is
MAWKES, a performer of very great promise, who had the benefit of aid
from the master-hand of Spohr. Suddenly, however, and much to the regret
of those who were watching with interest the development of his fine
capacity, he seceded from playing in public, and is now living in
seclusion. To this strange sequestration of a valuable gift, he is said
to have been induced by scruples of a religious nature. _Why_ any branch
whatsoever of the refined arts may not be followed, as a profession, in
perfect compatibility with the higher and ulterior purposes of life, it
is difficult to discover. A man does not, commonly, take his principles
_from_ his worldly calling: he brings them _to_ it, and finds in it a
field for their due employment and exercise. Objections, however, that
refer us to the conscience, as their seat and source, must ever be
respected, even when (as in this case) their essential force is not
apparent.

BLAGROVE is another name that claims especial mention, among the
trophies of the Academy. This professor, also, has fortunately enjoyed
the highest means of accomplishment in his art, having superadded to his
noviciate at the Academy, a later prosecution of his studies under the
direction of Spohr, of the purity and refinement of whose style he
exhibited delightful traces in the quartett-performances at the head of
which he figured, when the merits of that delightful class of
compositions were as yet but imperfectly known. Mr. Blagrove enjoys the
unquestioned reputation of being one of the best of our living
artists.—SEYMOUR is another of the Academy pupils whose talent has
become favourably known to the public. As leader of the “younger
strengths” forming the Academy orchestra, he has shewn much steadiness
and ability.

When it is remembered how large an amount of instrumental talent in
France has owed its development to the fostering care and excellent
system of the _Conservatoire_, a very happy augury may be drawn from the
results in this kind that have as yet followed the institution of the
English Royal Academy of Music. Supposing this establishment to be
rightly and effectively conducted, one of its beneficial consequences as
regards the Violin-Students (and that by no means the smallest) will be
found in the harmonious unity of feeling and execution that will pervade
our orchestras, supplied as they will then mainly be, from the same
source. As a general fact, it has been remarked with regret by Spohr,
the great German master, that the Violinists of an orchestra never
originate from the same School;—the exceptions to this being in the
Conservatories of Paris, Prague, and Naples, where the orchestras have
been enabled to produce surprising effects, through this unity among the
Violinists.

       *       *       *       *       *

By way of _tail-piece_ to this chapter, I am tempted to present a brief
sketch of an individual in whose hands the Violin, as respects its
_lower_ range of capabilities, was long, and most conspicuously,
illustrated. Having devoted our attention at some length to the
instrument, under its _English_ aspect, shall we refuse a passing glance
at the _Scotch_ Fiddle, in the person of one of its most restless and
remarkable expositors?

NEIL GOW—the head of a race of north-country instrumentalists, and one
of the most zealous in the line where Music is the special handmaid of
the Dance—was born in Strathband, Perthshire, in the year 1727, of
humble parentage. His first efforts were made at the age of nine; but he
had no instructor till, at thirteen, he was taken in hand by one John
Cameron. Whilst yet a youth, he carried off the prize at a trial of
skill among the best performers in that rather out-of-the-way
district—on which occasion, one of the minstrels who was the umpire (a
blind man) declared that he could distinguish _the stroke of Neil’s bow_
among a hundred players! In process of time, while thus vigorously
engaged in working his way, Neil obtained the patronage of the Athol
family, and the Duchess of Gordon, whereby he became noticed and sought
after in the fashionable world. He was eminent in one department of
Scotch national music—the livelier airs belonging to the class of what
are called the strathspey and the reel. The characteristic expression of
the Highland reel depends materially on the _power of the bow_, and
particularly on the upward (or returning) stroke; and herein Neil was
truly great—“un homme marquant,” in a two-fold sense. His mode of
bowing, indeed, by which he imparted the native Highland _gout_ to
certain Highland tunes (such as “Tulloch Gorum” for instance), was never
fully attained by any other player. He was accustomed to throw in a
_sudden shout_, as an addendum in the quick tunes, so as to electrify
the dancers! In short, his fiddling—for its communication of saltatory
fury to the heels of his countrymen—was like the bite of a tarantula.

This active promoter of activity was also a compiler of national airs
and tunes, and dabbled occasionally in composition—his son Nathaniel
arranging and preparing the whole for publication. Forcible humour,
strong sense, knowledge of the world, propriety of general conduct, and
simplicity in carriage, dress, and manners, were combined
recommendations of Neil Gow, who has figured on the canvas of Raeburn
and of Allan. His brother Donald, a “fidus Achates,” was of good service
to him as his steady and constant _Violoncello_. Neil died in 1807, at
Inver, near Dunkeld.




CHAPTER VII.

AMATEURS.

  “Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb?”—BEATTIE.


It is as plain to the understanding, as it is palpable to the ear, that
Amateurs, or dilettante performers, on an instrument like the violin, so
rich in its capabilities, but so exacting in its demands, are in a very
trying situation. The amount of mere mechanical labour—the simple
manipulation—which it is essential to employ, before the very finest
mental disposition can express itself even passably on the violin, is a
thing to startle the coolest enquirer. Giardini, when asked how long it
would take to learn to play on the fiddle, answered, “twelve hours a
day, for twenty years together.” There may be hyperbole in this—but it
is only truth in too swelling a garb. There is the strongest meaning and
reality in the sentiment of difficulty which the reply was intended to
convey.[62] It has been said of a professor of some eminence, who was
current some years ago in London, that he has devoted himself for a
month together, during the whole disposable hours of each day, to the
practice of the passages contained in one single page of music; and many
remarkable instances might be adduced (were the point sufficiently
doubtful to require it) in proof of the prodigious exertions in private,
that have indispensably preceded those public displays by which the
excellence of great performers has been established. “Nocturnâ versate
manu, versate diurnâ,” is indeed that precept whose spirit is the guide
of the destined Violinist.

  Ilium non rutilis veniens Aurora capillis
  Cessantem vidit, non Hesperus!

His fiddle must be his inseparable companion, cultivated before all
other society, beloved before all other worldly objects—the means and
the end, the cause and the reward, of his assiduous toils. Such are the
conditions on which the _mastery_ of this “so potent art” depends.
Through this road must they travel, who aspire to real excellence. Alas!
what sort of compliance with such discipline are we to expect from the
miscellaneous, fitful gentleman whom we designate too roundly by the
term Amateur! What full conquest can we anticipate for him, who is the
volatile lover of a mistress so jealous that she was never yet
_entirely_ won, save by the most refined arts of study, and by
attentions the most persevering and the most delicate? No—there is no
sane hope of consummate swam upon _easy terms_; and accordingly we find
that, although Amateurs are sufficiently abundant, good players among
them are not _very_ numerous—and accomplished ones, positively few.

The Duke of Buckingham, Charles the Second’s rattling favourite, so
noted for the versatility of his acquirements, is characterized, in one
of Pope’s summary lines, as

  Chemist, _Fiddler_, Statesman, and Buffoon;

and the amount of his qualification in the two _latter_ respects has
been pretty nicely weighed and exhibited; but what kind of a _fiddler_
was he? History is ashamed to say—but her silence is well understood by
philosophy to signify contempt: it is a silence more expressive than
words—than even those memorable words, “So much for Buckingham!”

Dr. Johnson, whose habit of sound judgment has marked itself on almost
every subject that came within the grasp of his comprehensive mind,
appears to have duly appreciated the exemplary labours which distinguish
the Violinist by _profession_. We all know how little _music_ there was
in the great Doctor’s soul; but, even as regards the mechanical part of
musical practice, few of us have given him credit for such a readiness
to estimate fairly, as he has been really recorded to have shewn. The
fact is, that he was a prodigiously hard-working man himself, and had an
honest admiration for hard work, in whatever career manifested. “There
is nothing, I think” (quoth he) “in which the power of art is shewn 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. A man will saw a piece
of wood, and make a box, though a clumsy one; but—_give him a fiddle and
a fiddle-stick, and he can do nothing_.”

If a _learned man_ can thus calculate the value of professional
application, a _child_ can feel its results, and, feeling, can discern
between the practised player and the deficient dilettante—as we have
already seen in the little story which had for its hero the infant Earl
of Mornington.

From the very marked disparity subsisting, of necessity, between the
Professor and the Amateur—a disparity greater as respects the Violin,
than is observable as to any other instrument—it should follow that
modesty was a general characteristic of the non-professional class. Yet,
as if to confirm the truth of the current axiom, that “a little
knowledge is a dangerous thing,” it occurs too often that the deference
due to laborious attainment is withheld, and that the Amateur, content
with a mode of playing as noisy as it is shallow, assumes a prominence
which exposes him to ridicule, and gives pain to his friends, on _his_
account, if not on their own. If he do not err after this fashion, he
will perhaps affect to hold cheap the talent which he finds it were
_dear_ to imitate. It has been found, in the matter of hand-writing,
that lordly personages have sometimes scrawled illegibly, rather than
write in such fairer characters as might make them seem to possess a
knowledge in common with clerks and schoolmasters. In like manner,
certain dandy dilettanti, so far from regarding the interval of merit
between themselves and the accomplished professor as a “hiatus valde
deflendus,” or at least as a reason for becoming diffidence on their own
part, have curled the lip of disdain, while hinting that _their_ style
of playing was not that of people who _played to live_;—as if, by a
strange contrariety of ideas, it were _de_preciation to perform for a
price! There is something to our purpose on this head in the first
volume of Anecdotes, &c. by Miss Hawkins: and here is the passage:—

“Dr. Cooke, the composer, was giving lessons on the violin to a young
man of a noble family. The young man was beginning to play; but, in the
common impetuosity of a novice, he passed over all the _rests_. He
therefore soon left his master far behind him. ‘Stop, stop, Sir!’ said
the Doctor, ‘just take me with you!’ This was a very unpleasant check to
one who fancied he was going on famously; and it required to be more
than once enforced; till at length it was necessary to argue the point,
which the Doctor did with his usual candour, representing the
_necessity_ of these observances. The pupil, instead of shewing any sign
of conviction, replied rather coarsely, ‘Ay, ay, it may be necessary for
_you_, who get your living by it, to mind these trifles; but _I_ don’t
want to be so exact!’”

The strong contrast afforded by the glare of pretension, against the
opaqueness of incapacity, may often furnish forth a diverting picture.
Michael Kelly, in his “Reminiscences,” has drawn such a one, from an
original who _flourished_ about sixty years since. “The Apollo, the
Orpheus, of the age,” says he, “was the redoubted and renowned Baron
Bach, who came to Vienna to be heard by the Emperor. He, in his own
conceit, surpassed Tartini, Nardini, &c. This _fanatico per la musica_
had just arrived from Petersburg, where he went to make his
extraordinary talents known to the Royal Family and Court. Now, I have
often heard this man play, and I positively declare that his performance
was as bad as any blind fiddler’s at a wake in a country-town in
Ireland: but he was a man of immense fortune, and kept open house. In
every city which he passed through, he gave grand dinners, to which all
the musical professors were invited: at Vienna, myself among the rest.
One day, having a mind to put his vanity to the test, I told him that he
reminded me of the elder Cramer. He seemed rather disappointed than
pleased with my praise;—he acknowledged Cramer had some merit, adding
that he had played with him out of the _same book_ at Mannheim, when
Cramer was First Violin at that Court; but that the Elector said _his_
tone was far beyond Cramer’s, for Cramer was tame and slothful, and _he_
was all fire and spirit—and that, to make a comparison between them,
would be to compare a dove to a game cock! In my life, I never knew any
man who snuffed up the air of praise like this discordant idiot. After
he had been heard by the Emperor (who laughed heartily at him), he set
off for London, in order that the King of England might have an
opportunity of hearing his dulcet strains!”

Another curious story is that related elsewhere of an Amateur in Paris,
who began each day of his existence by studying practically a sonata,
but, in doing so, did not give himself the trouble to _quit his bed_, or
to lay aside his cotton night-cap and its pertaining yellow ribbon,
which might seem to represent on his brow the laurels and crown of the
Cynthian Apollo!

The more clumsy and hard-going sort of those who play _pour se
distraire_, ought not to distract their _friends_ with their playing;
but, when an Amateur is so _bad_ as to be insensible of the fact, he is
only the more apt to appeal to his acquaintance—not for advice, of
course, but approval. If, in that state, he have any _discernment_
connected with the object of his grand mistake, it is just of that kind
and degree which enables him to select, for auditors, those of his
friends who happen to be the most distinguished for patience and
mildness of character. They, poor souls! at each preparatory screw of
the fiddle-pegs, conscious of coming torture, wince and draw in their
breath; at every saw of the sharp-set bow, they sigh with fear, or
perspire with agony; for well do they know that

  Some are _sometimes_ correct, through chances boon,
  But Ruffman never _deviates into_ tune!

Their sufferings, however, are silent; until peradventure, when ‘the
operation’ is at length over, they do such discredit to their conscience
as to stammer out a tremulous “bravo!” or a “very well!” in accents of
courtesy that seem to sicken at their own import. Your _very_ bad
player, be it remarked, is hardly ever content with plain toleration—he
must have the sugared comfits of praise[63].

Admitting, as a reluctant principle, that we should lend our ears _at
all_ to those fanciers of the instrument who are so bad as to be out of
sight of mediocrity, and below the point where improvement _begins_, it
is clearly of urgent consequence that we should demand (or beseech) to
be indulged with the _shortest_ infliction that may be—an air _without_
the variations, or a quick movement _without_ the prefatory adagio. The
Horatian precept, ‘Esto brevis,’ was never more applicable than here;
but, alas! in no case is it less heeded. “As you are strong, be
merciful,” says Charity; but the spirit of this fine recommendation is
reversed by the Amateur belonging to “le genre ennuyeux”—reversed in
conformity with his own predicament. As he is weak, he is cruel. He will
not abate one minim, nor afford a single bar’s rest. He goes on and on,
with no other limit, oftentimes, than that which is eventually imposed
by the laws of physics, in the shape of personal fatigue. Such, in his
_worst_ state, is the Young Pretender!

But if so much is to be endured from an individual tormentor—from _one_
exercise of a

  “violon faux, qui jure sous l’archet,”

_what_ are the sufferings which may be produced by a _combination_ of
such barbarous bowmen—_all_ eager and emulous, _all_ rough and
ready?—The multiplication of discord _thus_ generated, who shall
calculate? It is past all understanding: it is the Babel of the tongues
of instruments! _This_ species of compound misery is too painful to
dwell upon, unless in mollified association with the ludicrous. Under
this impression, I will proceed to give a sketch of an affair of Amateur
Chamber-Music—being the description of a _Quartett-Party_, freely drawn
from the French of an eminent living writer, whose lively and graphic
powers in the delineation of familiar scenes have procured him very
extensive admiration among his own countrymen, and some share of credit
_parmi nous autres Anglais_. Here then is the exposition: but let
imagination first draw up the curtain, and place us in view of the
convened guests at a musical _soirée_, given by some people of middling
condition, but somewhat ambitious pretensions, in a private apartment
somewhere in Paris:—

“After several hours of the evening had worn away in lengthened
expectation, till the assembled party, tired of speculating and talking,
began to _yawn_, the old gentleman who usually undertook the _bass_
instrument, was seen to look at his watch, and was heard to murmur
between his teeth, ‘What a bore is this! How am I to get home by eleven,
if the time goes on in this do-nothing way—and I here since seven
o’clock, too! So much for your early invitations;—but they sha’nt catch
_me_ again.’

“At length, the host, who had been passing the evening in running about
to borrow instruments, and collect the ‘disjecta membra’ of the music,
reappears, with a scarlet countenance, and in the last state of
perspiring exhaustion—his small and feeble figure tottering beneath the
weight of sundry large music-books and a tenor fiddle. ‘Here I am
again,’ exclaims he, with an air that is rendered perfectly wild by his
exertions: ‘I’ve had a world of trouble to get the _parts_ together; but
I’ve managed the business. Gentlemen, you may commence the quartett.’

“‘Ay, ay,’ said Mons. Pattier, the bass-fiddle man, ‘let us begin at
once, for we’ve no time to lose—but where’s _my_ part?’

“‘There, there, on the music-desk.’—

“‘Come, gentlemen, now let us _tune_.’

“The constituent Amateurs proceed accordingly to the labour of getting
into mutual agreement; during which process, the auditory shuffle about,
and insert themselves into seats as they can. Already are yawning
symptoms of impatience visible among the ladies, to whom the very
mention of a quartett furnishes a pretence for the vapours, and who make
no scruple to _talk_, for diversion’s sake, with the loungers behind
their chairs. Whispering, laughing, quizzing, are freely indulged in,
and chiefly at the special expense of the musical _executioners_
themselves.

“The enterprising _four_, at length brought into unison, plant
themselves severally before their desks. The elderly _basso_ has stuck
his circlet of green paper round the top of his candle, for optical
protection from the glare: the tenor has mounted his spectacles: the
second violin has roughened his bow with a whole ounce of rosin; and the
_premier_ has adjusted his cravat so as to save his neck from too hard
an encounter with his instrument.

“These preliminaries being arranged, and the host having obtained
something of a ‘lull’ among the assembly, by dint of loud and repeated
exclamations of _hush!_—the First Violin elevates his ambitious bow-arm,
directs a look of command to his colleagues, and stamps with his foot.
‘Are we _ready_?’ he enquires, with a determined air.—

“‘_I_ have been ready any time these two hours,’ replies Mons. Pattier,
with a malcontent shrug of his shoulders.—

“‘Stay a moment, gentlemen,’ cries the Second Fiddle; ‘my treble string
is down. ’Tis a new string—just let me bring it up to pitch again.’

“The Tenor takes advantage of this interval, to _study_ a passage that
he fears is likely to ‘give him pause;’ and the Bass takes a consolatory
pinch of snuff.

“‘I’ve done it now,’ ejaculates at length the Second Violin.—

“‘That’s well, then; attention again, gentlemen, if you please! Let us
play the _allegro_ very moderately, and the _adagio_ rather fast—it
improves the effect.’—

“‘Ay, ay, just as you like; only, you must beat the time.’

“The signal is given; the First Violin starts off, the rest follow,
after their peculiar fashion. It becomes presently evident that, instead
of combination, all is contest; notwithstanding which evidence of
honorable rivalry, somebody has the malice to whisper, pretty audibly,
‘The rogues are in a conspiracy to flay our ears!’

“Presently, the First Violin makes a dead halt—‘There’s some mistake:
we’re all wrong.’

“‘Why, it seems to _go_ well enough,’ observes the Tenor.

“‘No, no, we’re out _somewhere_.’—

“‘Where is it then?’

“‘Where? That’s more than I can tell.’—

“‘For my part,’ says the Second Violin, ‘I have not missed a note.’—

“‘Nor I either.’—

“‘Nor I.’—

“‘Well, gentlemen, we must try back.’

“‘Ay, let us begin again; and pray be particular in beating the time.’

“‘Nay, I think I mark the time _loud_ enough.’

“‘As for _that_,’ exclaims the hostess, ‘the person who lodges below has
already talked about complaining to the landlord.’

“The business is now resumed, but with no improved success, although the
First Violin works away in an agitation not very dissimilar to that of a
maniac. The company relax into laughter—and the performers come to a
stand-still!

“‘This is decidedly _not_ the thing,’ says the conducting violinist,
Monsieur Longuet,—‘There is doubtless some error—let us look at the bass
part.—Why, here’s a pretty affair!—_you_ are playing in B flat, and we
are in D.’

“‘I only know that I’ve been playing what you told me—the first quartett
in the first book’—replies old Monsieur Pattier, florid with rage.

“‘_How_ on earth _is_ it then? let us see the title-page. Why, how is
this? a quartett of _Mozart’s_, and _we_ are playing one of _Pleyels_!
Now really that is too good!’

“Renewed laughter is the result of this discovery, and the abortive
attempt ends with a general merriment, the contagion of which, however,
fails to touch old Monsieur Pattier, who can by no means turn into a
_joke_ his indignation at a mistake that has effectually put a stop to
the performance of _the Quartett_.”

       *       *       *       *       *

For the credit of English Amateurs, it is to be hoped that so elaborate
a display of incompetence—so complete a _fiasco_—as is presented in the
foregoing sketch, has very rarely its parallel among ourselves.

Apropos of quartetts, it is related that His Most Catholic Majesty,
Charles the Fourth, King of Spain, piqued himself not a little on his
abilities as a violin-performer. Summer and winter, did this royal and
reiterating practitioner perform, every morning, at six precisely, his
_quatuor_, with three other violins; himself, of course, the violin _par
excellence_: and, with the trifling drawbacks of missing his notes, and
breaking his time (as if to mark his royal independence), he may indeed
be said to have approved himself a king among fiddlers.

Another quartett-player of the class which Flattery herself can scarcely
help frowning at, was the late Sir William Hamilton, whose acquirements
in other ways must have contrasted oddly enough with his feebleness as a
fiddler. “Sir William Hamilton, who was now at an advanced age,” says
Ferrari, in his gossipping book, “was a kind and good-humoured man; but
he used to bore us with his performance on the _viola_, especially in
Giardini’s quartetts, which I verily believe derived their greatest
value in his eyes from the circumstance of Giardini’s having been his
master.”—Doubtless, with all his amiable qualities, Sir William had
something of the obstinacy which belongs so closely to evil-doers on
stringed instruments; doubtless there was no deterring him from “the
_un_even _tenor_ of his way.”

The about-to-be subjoined _sestett_ of condemnatory lines is _not_
intended to apply to Sir William Hamilton (who had, at least, the merit
of fostering Giardini), but, generally, to him who, having no sort of
summons from Apollo, no musical vocation whatsoever from Nature, has
persisted, nevertheless, to the end of his days, in being what is called
a tormentor of catgut. A person of this peculiar turn of mistake, may
be said to fright the fiddle from its propriety—for surely, in his
hands, it wholly loses its temper and character. Making his fiddle-bow
the stalking-horse of his vanity, he walks over the strings in an
adagio, or curvets in an andante, with action that has nothing of the
graceful, and much of the ludicrous. Such a being is in the extreme of
the wrong. He hunts after a shadow: like Ixion, he embraces a cloud. His
pursuit is frivolous, because it is without a chance of attaining its
object. Unable to play in time, he is perpetually out of season: unable
to stop in tune, he is ever in a false position. He wears out his
existence in an unconscious dream; and his harsh discords and unpleasing
sharps are as the _snoring_ thereof. He dies in a delusion; his ricketty
crotchets and uneasy quavers are exchanged for one long _rest_; and here
is the amount of his _value_, in six lines—


ON AN AGED MUSICAL TRIFLER.

  The silly dilettante, who
  A thankless violin doth woo,
    Till _old_ he looks as Saturn,
  Can (to denote just what he _is_)
  No name receive so fit as this—
    A _spoon_, of _fiddle-pattern_.

By way of disporting a little further on this theme, I have spun a few
lines in which the reference is to that incongruous identity so often
found within the circle of private life—a good man, and bad fiddler:—

  Ralph Rasper is an honest man,
  Prone to do all the good he can;
  He never lets the piteous poor
  Go meatless from his open door:
  He loves his wife—he pays his bills—
  And with content his household fills.
  He seeks, in short, the rule of right,
  And keeps his conscience pretty white:
  But save, oh, save us from his _fiddling_!
  It is so very—_very_ middling!

Enough, however, of the indicative kind, as concerning the sins and
follies of the Amateur species. Are they unpardonable? Nay—they claim
indulgence through the very _cause_ which produces them. It is the
inspiring motive—the instrumental love, or love of the instrument—which
redeems, in some sort, the errors to which it gives birth. We must not
be too severe on the zeal which is indiscreet, lest we discountenance
good faith, and nip affection in the bud. Shall we excommunicate our
brother, for that he is too fond of fiddling? Nay, rather, let us
reserve our censure for him who hath _no_ fiddling in his soul. Cease
we, then, to dwell on deficiencies—let us “leave off discourse of
disability,”—except so far as may be necessary towards administering any
little further wholesome advice, with a friendly view to practical
improvement. In the past observations, let me not be thought to have had
no better purpose than that of playing the cynic for my own indulgence.
Myself an Amateur, and one of by no means large calibre, I should indeed
be doing what were equally graceless and witless, did I seek the damage
of the class to which I belong—that is, to which I _have_ belonged, in
practice, and still belong, by inclination and sympathy. My object is
reform—the reform of acknowledged errors and proved abuses—but, while
advocating the principles of that reform to the utmost extent that is
compatible with reason and propriety, I will never consent to abandon my
“order.”

Allusion has been made, at the commencement of this chapter, to the very
large amount of time which the _Professor_ must devote to his art, as
one of the absolute conditions of eminence. The ends of the Amateur may,
of course, be answered with a smaller expenditure of his moments. If he
possess the requisite predisposition for the instrument, _two hours_ a
day will suffice him. This must be regarded as the _minimum_—and with
this, according to Spohr (a very high authority), he may make such
progress as to afford himself and others great enjoyment of music, in
quartett-playing, in accompanying the pianoforte, or in the orchestra.

The principal error against which Amateurs have to guard themselves, is
that species of _ambition_ which impels them to imitate the showy and
more external quality of professional playing, called execution[64]. It
is natural enough that what is most obvious should make the greatest
impression at first, and should most readily attract imitation; but it
is, on the other hand, certain, that this same superficial principle
addresses itself rather to the senses than to the imagination, and that
the pleasure which it affords is trivial and evanescent. If execution do
not come recommended by the superior associations of accurate tune, fine
tone, and characteristic expression, it is unworthy of a welcome, and
can only impose on the most shallow-minded auditor. In that poor and
bald state, it is like the verbiage in a silly oral discourse, or the
language of un-respective parrots. If it come, moreover, unaccompanied
by the common regulator, time, it is still more absurd and
insignificant, and may be likened to a fit of the insanely capricious
activity called St. Vitus’s dance. Nothing, in fact, can make amends for
the grievous sin of

  “Omitting the sweet benefit of _time_.”

It should never be forgotten that, in the playing of the most simple
piece of music—the commonest air—there is much more required than
merely to render, or deliver, the notes that are dotted over the page.
It too often occurs, however, that the Amateur, who chances to have
heard at some Concert a fantasia or a potpourri, performed by the
agile bow of a De Beriot or a Sainton, returns home fascinated
exclusively by the brilliant execution he has witnessed, and stimulated
by vague aspirations after similar power of display. He calls next day
at a Music-shop, and just “happens to enquire” whether the said piece is
in print. It is handed to him, and he finds, to his agreeable surprise,
that the passages, with a few exceptions, do not look so difficult as
their dashing effect the evening before would have led him to
anticipate. He buys the piece, and, with uncased fiddle, sits down
before it, in his own chamber. He picks out the passages with which he
is best able to tickle his own ear; hammers them over till his _hand_
gets some familiarity with them; hurries the time, to encourage his mind
in the favourite idea of “execution;” slurs over those passages that
threaten to puzzle him; and, having got through the thing _à tort et à
travers_, hastens to shew his friends what he can do (in reality what he
can _not_ do) as a performer of De Beriot’s celebrated fantasia! A
little applause, from the over-complaisant or unthinking, deludes him,
already too confident, into the belief that he has succeeded in _that_
piece; and the same ambition of display, coupled with the eager and
unrepressed love of novelty, leads him on to attempt another, and
another, and to spoil himself with more _triumphs_ of the same
unfortunate and mistaken kind. Thus, everything is done most
imperfectly—no satisfaction is given to a single soul of the commonest
musical notions—and no real progress whatever is made. In short, when
once the unhappy Amateur abandons himself exclusively to _execution_—it
is all over with him!

It is impossible to build without the frequent use of the ladder. The
_scales_ are the ladders of music; and, without constant and diligent
recourse to them, there is no true edification—no reaching to
“perfection’s airiest ridge.” Slowly and cautiously must they be
ascended and descended, at first, till the acquisition of a firm hold,
and a nice habit of measurement; then comes the dexterity that enables
the practitioner to run up and down with a safe celerity of precision,
such as the curious beholder may witness in the movements of those
Hibernian hod-iernal ministrants of mortar, who are so powerfully
instrumental towards the construction of houses.

Let not the young Amateur, then, be diverted from the practice of his
_scales_, which are the regular steps to improvement. Let him not commit
the error of jumping about among those broken and irregular _flights_,
consisting of bits of airs, and snatches of tunes. These will not help
to raise the musical edifice; and the _expectations_ which they may
assist to build, will prove mere castles in the air. The dryness and
sameness of the labour are apt to be alleged as the excuse for omitting
this essential practice of the scales and intervals; while the love of
melody is pleaded in behalf of the more eccentric course. Now, what
should be desiderated for the student is, not to love _melody_ less, but
_improvement_ more. He should not, by reason of the tedium experienced
in working at the scales, cast them aside—for, while he perseveres, on
the contrary, in daily exercise upon them, are there not the immortal
Solos of Corelli, to furnish him with all that is needful of the
recreative principle? Here he will find refreshment enough, after the
perhaps fatiguing iteration of the ladder-work. Here, in connexion with
passages that will form his hand—here, along with modulation not dull
and crabbed, but graceful and natural—he will find enough of _melody_ to
sweeten his toil, without impairing it—to cheer his progress, without
retarding it. Here he will find fascination for his ear, with no
corruption for his taste—

  “Airs and sweet sounds, that give delight, and _hurt not_.”

Yes, when the tyro, tired, makes yawning complaint of the want of
encouragement, we would point to the Solos of Corelli, and say to him,
_Hæc tibi dulcia sunto_—let _these_ be unto thee for sweet-meats.

This distinction, however, should be noted that while Corelli is
recommended for the acquisition of _tone_ and _steadiness_, he is not a
sufficient authority as to the varieties and subtleties of _bowing_; for
(as heretofore observed) much that relates to these has been added
_since_ his time to the province of the violin. But the cultivation of
these graces and refinements of the bow is, after all, in its natural
order, a thing for later attention. The simplicity of Corelli is always
admirable for the earlier purposes; and then, for the niceties of the
bow, and for the communication of modern resources, there are various
special guides of good value—as the studies of Fiorillo—the elaborate,
systematic, and explanatory “Violin-School” of Spohr, as edited for
English students by Mr. John Bishop—and that justly-cited boast of the
French _Conservatoire_, the combined system of Rode, Kreutzer, and
Baillot[65].

Among the consequences of that ambition of display which I have had
occasion to refer to as a root of evil among Amateurs, is the tendency
to throw off prematurely the salutary restraints of professional aid.
This is a mistake of the most injurious kind. The violin, as the most
difficult of all instruments, demands more than any other the prolonged
assistance of the Master. There is no such being to be met with as a
_real_ self-taught Violinist. Scrapers and raspers there may be, of
various degrees of roughness and wretchedness, who have found out the
art of tormenting, _by themselves_; but _that_ is quite another matter.
Paganini himself, the most wild and singular of players, did not acquire
his excellence independently of magisterial rule. He was amply tutored
during the early years of his study; and, when he had become a great
Master, he still proceeded by calculations founded partly on what he had
already been taught, though transcending it in reach and refinement. Let
not the aspiring student, therefore, seek to _fly_ before he can _run_,
and reject the preceptor while his state is essentially that of
pupilage. They who, at a very early period, discontinuing the _study_ of
the instrument, think of playing to _amuse their friends_, will fail
inevitably, and be considered as the very reverse of what is agreeable
or, to present the same notable truth at the point of an indifferent
epigram:

  _Beginners_, lab’ring at the fiddle,
  Are apt to flounder _in the middle_:
  Such, when our comfort they diminish,
  Are wisely prayed to _make a finish_!

With reference to the _collective_ efforts of non-professional players,
it may be remarked that, as individual vanity is _there_ held in some
check, and as something like a painstaking preparation is customary,
the auditor is in a less hazardous condition than where _one_ exhibitor
has undisputed hold upon him,—besides which, the alternative of an
_escape_ is more decidedly open. The _single_ cacophonist, secretly
intending a “polacca,” may take you at unawares, after a quiet cup of
tea, that has treacherously served to _mask_ his purpose. He may
suddenly draw his lurking fiddle-case from beneath the very sofa whereon
you are at ease—may summon that passive accomplice, his sister, to
subservient office at the piano—and, putting his bow-arm into full
exercise, bring you to “agony-point,” before you have had time to
recover from your surprise. From the quartett or symphony-party, on the
contrary, you have due notice beforehand and, if suspicious of discords
that are not within the boundary of science, you can decline the
invitation, and maintain the tranquillity of your nerves.

The most desirable attainment for confederate Amateurs, next to a
familiar acquaintance with their respective instruments, is that
_self-knowledge_ which enables each to find contentedly his proper
place, and ensures that all shall be “correspondent to command, and do
their spiriting _gently_.” Then, by good discipline, under the
direction of a well-educated musician, whose practical knowledge, added
to his intimacy with the compositions of the best masters, gives him a
moral influence and authority over an organized body of Amateurs, it is
surprising what excellence of effect in musical execution may be
produced. It has been sometimes, however, the bane of Amateur Societies
to be subject to the control of some unwarrantably officious member,
whose musical qualifications in nowise render him a proper person for
the assumed dictatorial capacity: or, it may happen that accident brings
into the employ of a Society of Amateurs one of those mere practical and
executive professional Fiddlers, whose notions of art are only on a
level with the quality of their manners. In either case, little benefit,
and much less pleasure, is derived from submitting to such
directorship. The Amateur, and the Fiddler, will each exercise alike
his own weak judgment in the general appeal for the “time” of the
music—each (the composer being _least_ thought of) preferring the time
of an _allegro_ in the ratio of its adaptation to his own powers of
execution. Of the two, the Professor is the more mischievous, as regards
the production of bad consequences. Vain of his advantage over the
Amateur, he never neglects to shew it by the rapidity with which he will
_time_ the quick movements; creating thereby a bad habit in the Amateur,
who, to keep up with the first-fiddle, is obliged _so_ to scramble
through his part, as if it were the purpose of the composer to represent
_a race_. A musician with a cultivated mind, on the contrary, whose
enthusiasm for art renders “self” a secondary consideration, and whose
perseverance has enabled him really to conquer the difficulties of his
calling, is sure to effect very great good amongst private Amateurs. His
remarks on the merits of composers and players are listened to with
attention; his authority is respected; and the encouragement he
patiently bestows on the ingenuous efforts of the young player, is sure
to obtain the utmost confidence of the party.

In the practice of instrumental music, the chief obstacles (besides the
difficulty of playing passages in tune and time) are those which attach
to _reading_, and to _feeling_ the rhythm of the _phrase_, as well as to
the executing of passages without _hurry_. Young novices, adults, and
bands, are in one common predicament, as to partaking, more or less, of
a certain two-fold error—that of producing a disproportionate
acceleration of time in a quick and loud passage, and a disproportionate
delay in a slow and piano movement. By the advantage of the skilful tact
of a clever _maestro_, this error is either altogether corrected, or the
tendency is so well kept in check as never to become offensive. In order
to conquer the naturally strong influence of rhythmetical impulse in
playing, the Amateur should seek every occasion to play with others in
concert. The excitement in first playing with other instruments is
similar, in its origin, to that of which we have everyday proof in the
case of young ladies, who have devoted years of practice to playing the
pianoforte, and are yet unable to accompany a song, or solo, in time
and with proper feeling—the too common consequence, by the by, of an
English musical education. In Germany and France, every lady takes
alternate lessons, of her pianoforte master, and of an experienced and
well-educated musician, employed in the best orchestras; and thus she
imperceptibly loses those impediments which are the consequences of
nervous and timid inexperience.

One of the chief advantages of the Professor is his capacity of reading
onwards. Whilst occupied in executing one bar, his eyes and attention
are partly bestowed on the three or four subsequent ones—nay, on the
next line, and even the next page. All this is best acquired by perusing
music, without an instrument. By practice, the eye and mind seize at
once the construction of a simple phrase, so that, whilst the operation
of playing it is going on, you have time to prepare for the fingering
and execution of the following passage, without at once bursting on it,
and becoming confused. In overtures and sinfonias, the _time_ of the
several movements is seldom subject to alteration; and, beyond the mere
reading of the passages, the Amateur has only to attend to the various
signs used for the modification of sound.

The highest test of the discipline of a band is in playing “piano,” and
in attacking points of imitation and fugue with vigour. Whatever
constitutes the test of the excellence of a band, in execution and
effect, applies also to the individual performers.—The coarse, vulgar,
pantomime fiddler would make sad havoc in accompanying a trio of
Beethoven’s, where the most delicately subdued tone, and the most
vigorous expression, are alternately required. It must never be
forgotten, that the utmost strictness of subordination is an essential
requisite in an orchestra. In fact, it is one of the principal merits of
a good orchestra-player to practise uniformly this quality of
subordination, whereby the perfection of the whole is importantly
promoted.

Dramatic music is the most difficult to give effect to; whether it be
orchestral, for the action of a ballet, or as an accompaniment to the
voice—the license shewn in the numerous changes of a movement, and of
time, rendering this species of music by far the most embarrassing to
both Professor and Amateur. The attention of the performer must here be
divided between his instrument, and the singer, or the director; whilst,
in other music, his whole soul is wrapt up in his own performance. Hence
it follows that, on his first attempt to play opera-music, he is
embarrassed at every page! This difficulty is only conquered, like every
other, by habitual practice.

In the more advanced stage of his progress, there is nothing so
beneficial to the Amateur as to listen, “arrectis auribus,” to the
performance of genuine classical _quartetts_ by accomplished masters of
the bow. This will do him far more good than all the _Capriccios_ and
_Fantasias_ with which the most brilliant of the solo-players, or
single-handed exhibitors at concerts, can dazzle his discernment. It
will exalt his standard of taste, and enlarge his sense of the
beautiful—fully directing his perception, at the same time, to the
legitimate powers of the violin and its cognate instruments. The remark
has been well made by Spohr, that perfect _quartett-playing_, while it
requires perhaps less of mechanical skill than is called for in a
_concerto_, yet demands more of refined sentiment, taste, and knowledge.
No opportunity (adds the same great Master) of joining a good
quartett-party, ought to be lost. The occasions afforded for such mode
of improvement were for a long while, however, in our English
metropolis, as rare as they _might_ have been advantageous. The
experiments of the London _Concerti da Camera_, and “Quartett Concerts,”
happily occurred, at length, to test the feeling of our musical circles,
and open a new path to the career of the art in this country. Following
that new path, and developing further resources to which it led, the
“Beethoven Quartett Society,” originated and managed by a Committee of
enlightened Amateurs, with the Earl of Falmouth for their President,
came into honourable existence in 1845, to render the justice of a too
tardy notoriety to some of the most perfect and original of musical
compositions, and thereby to erect a higher standard of taste for the
benefit of our musical circles. The intentions of this most laudable
Association, practically wrought out by Professors of the first ability,
have had _some_, at least, of the success that should belong to
well-directed ambition[66].

With the stimulus and the enlightenment that may be derived from such a
school of observation as this, and others to the establishment of which
it may possibly lead, is it a thing to be altogether despaired of, that
we may hereafter be enabled to enjoy the rational luxury, here as in
Germany, of a quartett performed within the _evening family circle_, and
competently performed, by its own members? Already, indeed, in some of
our provincial towns, there have been examples of a disposition this
way[67]. It is to be hoped that our

London Amateurs will no longer be slow to adopt so laudable a practice,
nor be deterred from the pleasant advantages of family fiddling by any
poor jokes about “the brothers _Bohrer_,” or the like. That there is
good capacity in them, which occasion may bring out, was made evident at
the Musical Festival held at Exeter Hall, towards the end of 1834, as
well as at more recent celebrations there. A somewhat large amount of
single practice, and more working by _fours_, together with such
exercise of observation as has been here alluded to, would develop their
capabilities into real means of conferring pleasure upon their
friends—whether in the snug and smiling little domestic circle, or in
the wider area, and amid the more stimulative accessories, of the hired
music-room.

There is a little story, illustrating so pointedly that _love_ for his
peculiar pursuit, which gives to the Amateur his very _name_, that I
cannot resist the temptation to introduce it here. With that little
story—and a few special hints to the younger and earlier class of
students, conveyed in familiar verse, by way of a spur to the
attention—I propose to wind up the present chapter.

A certain Amateur, whose fondness for fiddling was his liveliest
passion, had two instruments—his _best_, on which he would by no means
have permitted his own father to draw a bow—and his _second best_. In
the course of his business, which was commercial, he was preparing to
quit England for South America, as super-cargo in a certain vessel, and
to make a long stay in the latter country. Concern for his two
violins—(he had no _wife_)—was uppermost in his mind. Should he commit
them, along with himself, to the perils of the ocean’s bosom? Should he,
suspending or sacrificing his own enjoyment, leave them behind, in the
custody of friendship that might prove fickle, or negligent? Much he
pondered—and much hesitated. At length, unable to endure the thoughts of
a separation from _both_, he came to a resolution that was, at the same
time, a compromise. He determined that he would take with him his
_second best_, and tear himself away from his principal darling, his
beloved _best_—_not_, however, to leave it behind—_that_ were _quite_
too much!—but to export it, highly insured, to the scene of his own
destination, in _another_ (because, as he conceived it, a _safer_)
vessel than that in which he was himself about to embark!


FRIENDLY ADVICE TO THE YOUNG AMATEUR.

  First, let a rear-ward _attic_ of your labours be the scene—
  For, such seclusion best for you (and others) is, I ween.
  In comfort, there, assume a chair, and be therein at ease,
  And _not_ as if, un-garmented, you sat upon _hard pease_.
  Your fiddle in sinister hand, and in your right the bow,
  Scan, next, the dotted page awhile, or ere _to work_ you go.
  Firm as a forceps be your wrist, but flexile as an eel!
  And—for that struggling shoulder-joint—just teach it to _be still_;
  For, mark! the motion of the arm must be ’twixt wrist and elbow,
  Or else, howe’er you moil and toil, be sure you’ll never _well_ bow!
  To guide each movement of the bow—to give it vital spring—
  To send it bounding on its way—the wrist, the wrist’s the thing!
  Your bow’s relation to the _bridge_, must keep a just right angle,
  Or harshly else, and out of tune, your tortured notes will jangle.

  From _heel_ to _point_ that bow now draw, with action slow and steady—
  Then back again—and so repeat, till in such practice ready.
  The same in quicker time then try—and next proceed to draw
  From _middle_ (with a shorter scope) to _point_, and back, see-saw.
  This, too, in swifter time rehearse;—and then, like justice deal
  Unto the other half of bow, from _middle_ to the _heel_.

  There is a word—too seldom heard—_not_ dear to young Ambition—
  But wholesome in its discipline,—that word is “_repetition_.”
  Content to glimmer ere you shine, leap not beyond your bounds!
  From small beginnings rise great ends—’tis _pence_ that make up
   _pounds_.
  From exercise to exercise, progressive, through your book
  Work on-scales, intervals, and all—how _dry_ soe’er they look;
  Nor jerk forth scraps, or odds and ends, of ev’ry tune that floats;—
  Can any foolery be worse than scatt’ring of _loose notes_?

  Let not thy steps untutored move! A master’s ready skill
  For safety and for succour seek, to curb or point thy will!
  _Plain_ work precedes all _ornament_: keep graces for a late
  Achievement, since you first must _build_, ere you can _decorate_.
  Think _elegance_ a pretty thing, but _breadth_ a vast deal better;
  Nor, for the sake of lesser charms, your larger movements fetter.
  It is the pride of players great, a free and dashing _bow_,
  As, borne along on waves of sound, to their success they go!

  _Corelli_ old, contemn thou not! Substantial, good, and plain,
  He’s like a round of British beef—he’s “cut-and-come-again!”
  But, as the interval is wide, you need not—_nota bene_—
  You need not travel _all_ the road ’twixt _him_ and _Paganini_.

  In fiddle-practice, as in life, are difficulties _gifts_?
  Yes—_double stops_ are just the thing to drive thee to thy _shifts_!
  “Bating no jot of heart or hope,” toil, till, in time’s process,
  The music that is in thy soul, thy fiddle shall express!




CHAPTER IX.

ON THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE VIOLIN.


It is a very natural curiosity which engages us to look minutely into
the structural peculiarities of that which is a medium for awakening
pleasurable sensations within us. The balloon that has borne us aloft
into aerial altitudes—and the violin that, under the management of a
Vieuxtemps or a Sivori, has transported us, through varying acoustic
currents, into the sublimer regions of harmony—are, each, the object of
a close and willingly conceded attention.

Quitting the balloon, however, and confining ourselves to the
violin—_what_ (let us enquire) are the component parts that make up the
“form and pressure,” the “complement extern” and intern, of this
material ministrant to our joys and sympathies;—_what_, also, are the
several most remarkable patterns, or models, of the _completed_
instrument;—and _who_ were the originators, respectively, of those
varieties of conformation? This latter point of enquiry will lead us to
advert, before concluding this chapter, to certain innovations that have
been attempted, with more or less felicity, in our own days.

A curious little work on the Construction, Preservation, Repair, &c. of
the Violin, written in German by JACOB AUGUSTUS OTTO, appeared in 1817,
and was translated into English some years afterwards. The author,
himself an instrument-maker, professes to have studied “music,
mathematics, physics, and acoustics,” which respectable preparation
certainly adds not a little to his claims to attention, in undertaking
to be instructive. It may be worth while here to present, in a condensed
form, some portion of his matter, which is both indicative and
preceptive. Such of my readers as, with a stronger impulse of curiosity,
may desire to possess the _whole_ of the information furnished by his
treatise, are referred to the latest English edition of it, which,
supplied with an appendix by the translator, Mr. John Bishop, has been
issued by the publishers of the present work.

Otto states that the Violin, when complete, consists of _fifty-eight_
different parts—a fact, by the by, which the ordinary observer would be
little inclined to suspect[68], and of which, indeed, many a good player
is probably not aware. The author makes general complaint, indeed, of
the ignorance on the part of many Violinists of celebrity, as to the
construction of the instrument. Then, as to the _wood_—for, “ex _quovis
ligno_ non fit Mercurius;” that is to say, a fellow so mercurial as your
fiddle is not to be created out of any chance piece of timber;—the wood
that is generally used is of three sorts: sycamore for the back, neck,
sides and circles: Tyrolese soft red deal for the belly, bass-bar,
sound-post, and six internal blocks: and ebony for the finger-board and
tail-piece. The greatest care and judgment, it seems, are requisite in
the selection of the material for the _belly_ of the instrument, on
which its _tone_ entirely depends. The wood for this purpose is
prescribed to be cut only in December or January, and only that part to
be used which has been exposed to the sun.

As to the _Cremonas_ (a word of fondest association to all votaries of
the violin!), the oldest of them are those from the hands of
_Hieronymus_ (or Jerome) _Amati_, at the beginning of the seventeenth
century, or rather earlier. Next come those of _Antonius Amati_,
belonging to the middle of that century; and then those of _Nicholas
Amati_, towards the end of it. To these makers are to be added _Antonius
Straduarius_, and afterwards (at the commencement of the eighteenth
century) _Joseph Guarnerius_. All these men of Cremona, so renowned for
the products of their ingenuity were (according to M. Otto),
_mathematical_ builders, and nice observers of the proportions best
calculated for imparting a full, powerful, sonorous tone. The
instruments by the three Amati are rather higher, or less flat, in the
model, than those of Straduarius. Of all the Italian Violins, Hieronymus
Amati’s are the handsomest in shape, and the best in make. They are now
more than two centuries and a half old, strongly constructed, and likely
to retain their excellence another century. Nicholas Amati’s are of
rather small size, and somewhat abrupt in the swell of the form. The
instruments of Straduarius are most esteemed by _Concert_ performers for
the power of their tone. Those of Guarnerius are beautifully
constructed, and with a good deal of similarity to those of Nicholas
Amati.

The fine _Tyrolese_ instruments—those of the celebrated _Jacob
Steiner_—differ much from the _Cremonese_, both in shape and tone. In
the latter respect, they are of sharper and more penetrating quality.
The _later_ Tyrolese makers have been rendered the great source of
deception by dealers, &c.—their instruments having been made to pass as
classics. The best among them are those of Klotz. The Tyrolese
imitations of the Steiners and Cremonese are chiefly distinguishable by
the coarse and wide grain of the deal, and by the thin spirit varnish
upon them, instead of the Italian strong amber varnish.

The author treats individually of the principal German makers.
_Statelmann_, of Vienna, of high fame as a studious maker, was a close
imitator of Jacob Steiner; as were also _Withalm_ of Nuremberg, and
_Riess_ of Bamberg. The flat model of Straduarius has been imitated by
_Buckstädter_ of Ratisbon, and _Jauch_ of Dresden. _Martin Hoffman_, and
_Hunger_, both of Leipsig, were excellent as tenor-makers, and good in
violins. The instruments by _Eberle_ of Prague, one of the most
celebrated German makers, are like the Cremonese, but less round and
full in their tone. _Bachmann_ of Berlin, also very eminent, was
strictly careful as to proportions.

Against the class of _repairers_ in general, as so many botchers,
tinkers, and spoilers, the author is emphatically severe; and he points
the especial finger of scorn at one _Kirchlag_, who, about 1787, made a
visit of destruction, under pretence of repair, to most of the towns in
Germany.

Instruments, it appears, should be sufficiently _well-timbered_; their
durability is much affected when they are finished off too weak in wood.
The bass-bar and sound-post are not inserted to strengthen the
instrument (as many have supposed), but to increase the vibration. The
vibratory principle, according to M. Otto, has been as yet but
imperfectly investigated, and is little understood. Recent experiments,
however, have somewhat further extended our knowledge of it. Great
nicety is requisite as to the erection and proportions of the _bridge_:
when it is too high, the effect is a dull tone, difficult to be brought
out—when too low, a shrill sharp, and thin tone. In good instruments,
the sound-post stands half an inch below the left foot of the bridge: in
defective ones, it may be placed rather nearer, to increase the
strength, and assist the tone. The screw-holes must not be rubbed with
rosin to tighten them: the best appliance is chalk. Some wise-acres
pretend that a violin is to be improved in tone by breaking it to
pieces, and mending it again! Others disturb and shift about the bridge
and sound-post, till the tone is almost gone. Others again, with a taste
worthy of Hottentots, have daubed over the “belly part” with a coat of
glue, mixed with powdered glass; and some there are, who have tampered
with instruments by an absurd plaster of varnish and white of eggs,
under the unwholesome idea of closing up the pores! It is suggested that
_flies_ should not be allowed to introduce themselves into the _f_
holes. (Children say, by the by, that _f_ “_stands for fly_:” and, in
the case in question, it stands _open_; so there seems, at least, a
pretty good excuse for the intruders.) The inside of the instrument is
to be cleaned out once in six months, by means of a handful of barley,
made warm, poured in at these _f_ holes, and well shaken. The best
_strings_ are those from Milan (called Roman), which are clear and
transparent as glass, and should have as much recoil, when opened out,
as a watchspring. A very important article of requirement is good
refined rosin: the common brown rosin of commerce is quite unfit,
because of its thickness and clamminess.

The author, deflecting entirely from the prevalent notion on the
subject, asserts that it is not _age_, but constant _use_, that is the
means of producing a smooth, clear tone. He lays it down as a position,
which he has himself verified in various experiments, that _any_
instrument is to be greatly improved by working at it daily for three
months together, with a strong bow—taking two tones at a time, fourths
or fifths. This method of improvement, it is clear, must be somewhat
costly, and infinitely tedious—but it is much recommended by our author.
Hapless indeed must be the condition of the human being destined to
labour at fourths and fifths, with a strong bow, for three months
together! If such a system were introduced among _us_, it is to be
feared that the announcement of “Improvers wanted” would frequently be
made in vain. What (we may ask) would become of the _intellects_ of a
human being _so_ employed? As for the reason _why_ so beneficial an
effect belongs to this peculiar practice, M. Otto has declined unfolding
it—his “duty to his family” forbidding such divulgement.

Thus far, Jacob Augustus Otto—dismissing whom, with thanks for the
information picked out of him, we proceed to other details, derived from
other sources.

To the names of the _Amati_ family already mentioned, should be added
that of _Andreas_, brother of Nicholas. These two brothers, as well as
the other makers in that family, constructed instruments of a soft and
rich tone, but deficient in the _brilliancy_ which modern players regard
as so great a requisite. They (the two above specified) supplied, about
the year 1570, some violins of large pattern for the chamber-music of
Charles IX, King of France, which are remarkable for beauty of shape,
and nicety of finish.

Contemporary with Andreas and Nicholas Amati, was _Gaspar de Salo_, of
Lombardy. He was especially renowned for his instruments of the _viol_
species, at that time more in request than violins. His instruments of
this latter kind, somewhat larger in pattern, have more power than those
of the Amati; but their tone has been said to be too analogous to that
of the _tenor_. Of a similar quality are the violins of _Giovanni
Granzino_, who operated at Milan, from about 1612 to 1635.

Another noted Italian fabricator, whose doings come within about the
same range of time as those of Granzino, was _Giovanni Paolo Magini_,
who established his factory at his native town, Brescia. Magini’s
violins are usually large, although he produced a few of small pattern.
Their convexity is very positive; and the back is a good deal flattened
towards its upper and lower extremities. The sides are softened off, at
the various points of angular projection. A broad double fillet sweeps
round the belly and back, and, on the latter, sometimes terminates in an
ornament, situated near the neck of the instrument, and having the shape
of a large clover-leaf. He made use of spirit-varnish, of a fine golden
colour. The tone of his violins, less soft than that of a Straduarius,
and less potent than a Guarnerius, approaches that of the _viol_, and
has in its character a touch of melancholy. Magini’s instruments came
(or rather, returned) into high consideration some years ago, from the
fact of De Beriot’s having adopted the custom of playing on one of them.
There are but few of them in existence. One, that was pretty loud in
tone, was sold, years ago, by an ingenious fiddle-fancier at Kensington,
to Reeve, principal “Second Violin” at the Italian Opera House. It had
been long in the possession of old Baumgarten, who was orchestra-leader
at Covent Garden for forty years, and died at Kensington Gravel-pits.

From about the middle of the seventeenth to that of the eighteenth
century, the Italian renown for instrument-making attained its climax by
the productions of those two Cremonese “men of pith,” _Straduarius_ and
_Guarnerius_—or to give them their local names, _Antonio Stradivari_,
and _Giuseppe Guarneri_. Violins—tenors—basses—all was admirable, that
came from their hands; but they are distinguished from each other by
qualities that are sufficiently appreciable. In the large Concert-hall,
the Guarnerius has the greater sonorous power; while, for the
combination of brilliancy with suavity, nothing can equal, in a private
music-room (and especially where a _quartett_ is in hand), a
well-conditioned Straduarius.

Born in 1664, and employed for years in the factory of the _Amati_,
Straduarius began his own separate career, by imitating their models;
but, at the commencement of the eighteenth century, taking leave of his
masters, he changed the proportions of his instruments—adopted a larger
size, with a diminished convexity—and was as studious about the
gradations of thickness, as in the choice of his wood. Nothing was
omitted, that the careful mind of this artist could devise, for the
production of the finest quality of tone. His instruments,
nicely-balanced, provoke no unseemly opposition of character among the
four strings. Add to these advantages, a graceful outline—high finish in
the details—a brilliant harmony in the varnish—and you have the
accomplished, the complete _Straduarius_.

_Giuseppe (Joseph) Guarnerius_, the most distinguished among a family
noted for the construction of bowed instruments, belongs, in date of
birth, to the latter end of the seventeenth century. He is said to have
studied his art in the factory of Straduarius, although the products of
his hand shew none of the high finish characteristic of that maker. His
_build_ is often very slovenly; the _f_ holes are cut almost straight,
and with angularity about the ends; the fillets are badly traced—and,
indeed, there is so little in the _look_ of his violins to proclaim the
master, that one might be tempted to attribute their fine quality to the
excellence of the materials he used, rather than to any bestowed
workings of his mind. Close examination, however, has decided that he
must have been guided by some positive principles, howsoever attained,
and that his productions have an originality derived from these. Of his
violins of the large pattern, there are but few: those of the smaller
size, which are more numerous, exhibit very little convexity, and are
thicker, in the thick parts, than those of Straduarius. The effect of
his instruments is more gratifying at a little distance, than at “close
quarters.”

The art under consideration seems to have gone on in Italy with hardly
any change, since the time of the above two celebrated makers—their
successors having been content with one or the other of them, for model.
_Lorenzio Guadagnini_, of Placentia, a pupil or apprentice of
Straduarius, copied the small-pattern fiddles of his master. His
instruments give a round and clear tone from the first and second
strings—but are dull on the third. He had a son, who worked at Milan,
till about 1770, after his father’s mode, but with smaller success. The
_Gagliani_ were also imitators of Straduarius, but were far from
equalling his instruments, and were not very scrupulous in their
selection of wood. _Ruggeri_ and _Alvani_, who were among the copyists
of Joseph Guarnerius, have produced good violins, but none that could
attain the estimation enjoyed by their prototype.

Of the noted Tyrolese fiddle-fabricants, _Jacob Steiner_, a man of
chequered fortunes, was the ingenious chief. Born about 1620, at Absom,
a village near Inspruck, he had, as an instrument-maker, a career marked
by three distinct epochs. At first, under the Amati at Cremona, he
produced some violins of admirable finish, but now very rarely to be met
with. Their convexity is still more decided than that of the Amati;
while the heads, or volutes, are less prolonged, and broader in the
anterior part—and the labels within them are written and signed by the
artist’s own hand. His _second_ epoch is when, married, and settled at
Absom, he produced, from 1650 to 1667, a prodigious number of
instruments, constructed with little care. Even then, however, after
languishing for some years in misery, and personally hawking about his
violins, for which he could get no better price than six florins, he
regained his position through some rays of aristocratic patronage that
suddenly shone upon him; and, with his genius thus revived, again
produced some fine instruments, distinguished by their scrolls,
ornamented with heads of animals—by the close fibres of the
belly-wood—and by the varnish of red mahogany-colour, browned by time.
Steiner’s _third_ epoch commences when, on losing his wife, he retired
to a monastery. In that tedious seclusion, he resolved to signalize the
end of his artistic career by some first-rate doings. Having obtained,
through the influence of the Superior, a supply of most exemplary wood,
he made sixteen violins—the intended concentrations of every gathered
perfection—and sent one to each of the twelve Electors of the Empire,
presenting to the Emperor himself the remaining four. These sixteen
instruments, whereof but three are (so far as is known) extant, have
acquired the name of _Elector Steiners_. A pure, ringing, ethereal tone,
comparable to that of a woman’s perfect voice—a shape of
elegance—studied finish in every detail—a diaphanous varnish, of golden
hue—such are the characteristics of these productions of Steiner’s
third, or last epoch. Their labels, unlike those of his second period,
which are printed, bear his autograph inscription and signature.

The imitations of the instruments of Steiner by the brothers _Klotz_
have reference to his second epoch, and are distinguishable from his own
manufacture by the varnish, which, instead of being red, is of a dark
body, with a tinge of yellow. From the pupils of the Klotzes, likewise,
have resulted numerous Tyrolese imitations of the Cremona patterns—but
always discernible by the inferior quality of the wood, by the duskiness
of the varnish, and the want of clearness and power in the tone.

The high market-value borne by the best instruments of the best Italian
and Tyrolese makers, is a point well known to those who take a
particular interest in the violin. It has formed the subject of
admiration to all, of exultation to a few, and of disappointment to
many. The money that would buy a house, has been sometimes demanded for
a fiddle! The subjoined passage from Mr. Gardiner’s “Music and
Friends,” will serve (among other purposes) to illustrate in some
degree this exorbitancy:—

“Mr. Champion, an Amateur, had just purchased a Stradivari violin and
tenor (in one case), for which he gave three hundred guineas. They
seemed to have been untouched since the day they were made. They were of
a beautiful yellow colour, inclining to orange, and appeared to have
ripened and mellowed into excellence. Mr. Salomon’s violin was the
celebrated one that belonged to Corelli, with his name elegantly
embossed in large capital letters on the ribs. Probably three such
valuable Cremonas were never before brought together. There can be no
question that the instruments made by Stradivari are superior to those
of any other Maker in the world. Dragonetti’s double-bass was made by
the same artist. Mr. Salomon, the Jew, has offered him eight hundred
guineas for it; but he will not part with it for less than a thousand.”

As in their own country, so in others, the great Italian and German
Makers have had their “servum pecus,” their crowd of imitative
followers, who have sometimes copied with a plausible neatness, and
sometimes caricatured with a coarse barbarity. The most prominent names
in France are, successively, those of _Bocquay_, _Pierret_, _Despons_,
_Véron_, _Guersan_, _Castagnery_, _Saint-Paul_, _Salomon_, _Médard_,
_Lambert_ (whose rough and ready doings got for him the name of “_Le
Charpentier_ de la Lutherie”), _Saunier_, _Piete_ (whose instruments
were given as prizes to the pupils of the Paris Conservatory, at the
commencement of the present century)—and, lastly, _Lupot_, a studious
artist, whose instruments, finished with a loving care, have a real
value in the eyes of the discerning, and are in request where a good
Cremona is unattainable. For one of Lupot’s best instruments, an offer
equal to sixty guineas has been known to be refused.—Of the English
Constructors, a scanty knowledge limits me to a slender account.
_Richard Duke_, who belongs to the middle of the last century,
flourished in Red Lion Street, near Gray’s Inn Passage. The _Forsters_,
old and young, grandfather and grandson, have, in their department of
art, a name that lives. _Banks_, of Salisbury, also claims notice. His
violoncellos (observes Mr. Gardiner) are of the finest quality of
tone—not so strong and fiery as old Forster’s, but, in sweetness and
purity, excelling them. Banks’s are more adapted to the chamber, and
Forster’s to the orchestra. The names of _Betts_, _Davis_, _Corsby_,
_Kennedy_, and _Hart_ (all London Makers) are likewise entitled to
respect.

Although the great Italian and German Constructors, who have so long
served as models and guides, did unquestionably somehow arrive at
certain proportions highly favourable to the development of beautiful
sound, it does not appear that those proportions, observed (as they
were) with mathematical exactness, were founded upon any clearly
understood philosophic principles. “Until recently,” says Monsieur
Fétis, from whose ingenious labours are derived some of the details in
this chapter, “the art of making bowed instruments has perceptibly been
cultivated, in turn, by inspiration, and imitation. Science, as an
element, did not enter into their construction. We have now reached an
epoch of transformation in this respect, though perhaps rather, as yet,
in the way of establishing principles, than of attaining results.” Into
this subject, it behoves us to enter with some particularity.

At about the same time as that of the publication of Otto’s little book
in Germany, an ingenious Frenchman made known the results of some
experiments he had undertaken with reference to the _principles_ of
construction. _M. Chanot_, officer of maritime engineers, and amateur of
music, professed to have discovered a method for determining invariably
the processes to be employed in the construction of bow-played
instruments.

His views are contained in a Memorial addressed to the French Academy,
during its sitting of the 27th of May, 1817. This memorial was submitted
to the consideration of the musical section of the Academy, to whose
labours, in making the investigation required by the committee, were
added those of MM. Charles and De Prony.

The first part of this memorial advocated the division of the
_Monochord_, so as to split the interval between the key-note and its
octave into twelve equal semi-tones. The short algebraic formula
employed by M. Chanot was found correct. Thus, a violin with a
finger-board graduated after this method, like the finger-board of a
guitar, would be fit to accompany all instruments which make no
difference between the sharp and flat through the enharmonic division.
But the imperfection of these instruments precisely consists in this
equality: to confine the violin to the same limits, would therefore be
to deprive it of its superiority over them. The committee accordingly
disapproved of this innovation, and M. Chanot renounced it with
readiness.

The second and most important part of the memorial points out the
ordinary construction of the grooved violin, with a view to produce more
sonorous vibrations, or to multiply the vibrations in the fibres of the
wood, and to obtain, as an accessary, a greater degree of solidity in
the body of the instrument. Projecting edges and grooves were employed
in the new example, and the angles covered with hard wood, in order to
resist concussions. This simple form enables the maker to employ one
single piece for the side curvatures, and to dispense with the use of
blocks, which diminish the general elasticity. This construction was
considered favorable to the production of some vibrations which
otherwise would not exist. M. Chanot chiefly attributed the sonorous
quality, in the vibrations of his new violin, to the method of cutting
the sounding-board;—to the form of the parallel holes on each side,
which were made to approximate as closely as possible to the curvatures,
and were therefore straighter than what are called the _f_ holes:—to the
situation of the bar in the centre of the sounding-board, in the form of
a splint—and likewise to the geometrical cutting of the instrument.

In consequence of these supposed improvements, there were, in an equal
degree of thickness, many more vibrating fibres than usual, under the
immediate pressure of the bridge. To give to the holes of common violins
the form of the letter _f_, was regarded by M. Chanot as generally bad.
The turnings of this letter render it necessary to _cut_ a considerable
number of _fibres_, which no longer vibrate under the immediate pressure
of the bridge; whilst, in the _new_ violin, without augmenting the mass
of fibres, the parallel holes on the sides allowed the attainment of the
maximum of the vibrations.

The memorialist insisted on a certain simple principle, as having been
confirmed by various positive experiments; namely, that the _long_
fibres are favorable to the production of _low_ tones, and the shorter
fibres to the production of _high_ tones. This, he said, should be the
guiding principle in the construction of instruments such as the violin.
By fixing the sounding-post at the back of the bridge, the fibres of
the sounding-board are divided into two arcs, instead of being cut in
two on the side of the E string. This division is necessary, because,
the high tones being produced on that side, the bridge acts on the
shorter arcs like a small lever, whilst, on the side of the large
strings, the fibres are enabled to vibrate in the long arcs necessary to
produce low tones.

This explanation of the play or action of the instrument is rendered
probable by the experiment of placing the sounding-post behind the foot
of the bridge, on the side of the thicker strings. These, as well as the
E string, then exhibit a greatly diminished power of sound, and the tone
of the instrument is considerably damped. It was supposed, therefore,
that M. Chanot’s new model, from the fact of its possessing in its
texture a greater number of long arcs for producing deep tones, as well
as of short ones for high tones, must produce, under a parity of size
and principal dimensions, a more powerful effect than the violin of the
usual construction, and must be better calculated for the performance of
_sostenuto_ passages.

This theory, founded on principles _apparently_ satisfactory, received
such confirmation from direct experiment as was held, by the French
Committee, to establish the superiority of the structure of the _new_
violin over all others. The ordeal resorted to was a hazardous one.
Monsieur Boucher, the eminent player, was requested to bring to the
sitting one of the best _Straduarius_ instruments: and, to counteract
any effect unfavourable to impartiality of decision, that might arise
from the notorious prepossession existing for these fine violins, M.
Boucher stepped into an adjoining apartment, and there played
alternately the same passages on both instruments.

The whole committee, during three successive experiments, thought they
were listening to the Straduarius, whilst M. Boucher was playing on the
new violin, and, _vice versâ_, supposed he was playing on the new
instrument, when it was otherwise. This repeated mistake—this double
illusion—was considered by the Academy to decide the question in favour
of M. Chanot’s violin, which, though made of new wood, partly of two
years and partly of six months’ cut, sustained so perilous a competition
in the manner described.

Thus, the mystification of the “authorities” was complete—but not so the
ulterior success of the innovation, for it found no favour among the
musical profession, and soon became a thing of the past. It amounted, in
fact, to little more than a return to the old discarded viol shape of
the middle ages, with its flatness of face and back, and its less
indented outline.

A similar fate to that which attended M. Chanot’s attempt, followed the
first experiments of _M. Savart_, who soon afterwards devised, and with
his own hand executed, another example of new construction, on
principles which he considered philosophic. Flatness of surface, and
straightness of line, were by him also adopted, instead of the curve and
flow, which give beauty and distinction to the instrument in ordinary
use; while the cross-bar and sounding-post were altered in position, and
the two holes or perforations on the face were cut in straight parallel
lines, instead of the graceful _f_ form. A more perfect and equable
vibration was supposed by M. Savart to result from these new
arrangements, and success was claimed for the innovation; but an
interval of what seemed more like failure, was observed to take place,
until, abandoning his advocacy of an ugly, bluff, box-like pattern, and
returning to the beautiful and classic proportions of Straduarius, M.
Savart wisely entered into association with an intelligent practical
man, _Vuillaume_, of Paris, a musical instrument-maker. Then—the
long-studied and well-digested acoustic theories of the man of science
being brought into operation, and tested in experience, by the skilful
man of art, a brighter result was obtained—so much brighter, indeed,
that there seems little reasonable doubt of its being possible,
henceforward, to produce any required number of instruments, equal in
primitive merit to those of the great Italian Constructors, and only
awaiting the indispensable accession of _time_, for the consummation of
their value; nor are we much disposed to charge Monsieur Fétis with
madness, when, under a lively sense of what has been already achieved by
Savart and Vuillaume, he points exultingly to Paris, as the Cremona of
the nineteenth century!

Into those deductions, drawn from his study of the phenomena of sound,
which became to Savart the guiding principles towards the right
construction of bowed instruments, it were too long here to enter;—but
our English Makers would do well to look into those principles, as
detailed in the French scientific journal, “L’Institut”—and to consider
curiously the practical result, as shewn in the handywork of Vuillaume,
whose instruments, to the number of more than two thousand, have gone
forth into the world, to attest the value of the system that has guided
his operations.

The adventures of this indefatigable mechanician, in quest of _wood_ for
his purpose,—wood of sufficient age and capable of giving out the proper
_pitch_ of sound—might fill a chapter. He ransacked Switzerland,
entering into the meanest of her hovels, and buying-up the furniture or
the wood-work of the _châlets_, wherever he could detect in it the
right resonance, “les conditions d’une bonne sonorité.” He one day went
so far as to persuade the curate of a small parish to let him take away
the cieling of his sitting-room, and replace it by another. Making his
way back to Paris with his “strange-achievéd heap”—his wooden wealth—he
forthwith betook himself to the completion of certain machinery, by
means of which, as it is asserted, he is enabled to form and hollow out,
at will, a “belly” of Straduarius, of Guarnerius, of Amati, or of
Magini—with a nicety which the hand, at its very best, can never
accomplish. Resolved to omit nothing, he studied finally the varieties
of _varnish_, till he hit upon the exact reflex of that clear, bright,
most self-commendatory super-fusion, which we observe as the crowning
grace of the fine old instruments.

Of the marvellous accuracy, as a copyist of the old models, that was
attained years since by Vuillaume, there is amusing proof, in a story
related by M. Fétis, on the authority of the great Violinist himself,
who figures in it:—

“On his return-journey from a visit to England, Paganini, with dismay,
observed the case containing his admirable _Guarnerius_ to fall from the
roof of the diligence. The instrument had sustained manifest injury;—but
Vuillaume was in Paris; and Paganini, fixing on _him_ all his hopes,
entrusted his violin to him, on descending from the vehicle. The repairs
were made with all the care demanded by the beauty of the instrument,
and the immense talent of its owner. Every minutest trace of the
accident was obliterated—and that which had been the confidant of
Paganini’s inspirations was restored to its full charm and power. Whilst
yet the depositary of so excellent an instrument, Monsieur Vuillaume
was tempted by opportunity to make a copy of it—_such_ a copy as nobody
might distinguish from the original. On the day appointed for putting
the renowned performer again in possession of his instrument, Vuillaume
went to him, and, placing two violins on the table, thus addressed him:
“I have so completely succeeded in obliterating every vestige of the
accident sustained by your fiddle, as to be quite unable to distinguish
it from the _other_ Guarnerius, now beside it, which has been entrusted
to me, and which bears a striking resemblance to it. _You_, who are well
acquainted with your own instrument, will relieve me from this
embarrassment.” At these words, Paganini changed countenance—stood up in
haste—seized a fiddle with each hand—scrutinized and compared them
both—and was struck dumb by their perfect similitude. _One_ hope
remains;—he snatches up his bow—sends it dancing alternately over the
strings of the two instruments—draws prodigies from each. Instead of
dissipating his anxiety, this experiment does but increase it. He
strides about the room—his hands are clenched—his eyes are on fire!
Vuillaume’s triumph had reached its acme. “Compose yourself,” said
he,—“_here_ is your violin!—and _there_—is the _copy_ I have made of it.
Keep them _both_, as memorials of this adventure—and think, sometimes,
on the _restorer_ of your instrument!”

Fortunately, the probity of Monsieur Vuillaume is known to equal his
talent; _else_ were imitation, by so cunning an artificer, a very
ticklish thing. Instruments of his, in fact, _have_ been bought and
sold, by musical-instrument-makers themselves, as those of Straduarius,
or Guarnerius: law-proceedings have resulted; and Vuillaume’s own
invoked testimony has established, by certain undetected private marks,
that _he_ was the real author of the instruments in question.

The services rendered to the musical community by the successful labours
of Vuillaume, will be best appreciated by those who bear in mind the
commercial rarity of the genuine old instruments, and the difficult
prices at which it is usual to value them. Their acquisition, in fact,
belongs rigidly to the rich; and it often occurs that the best part of
an artist’s life has gone by, before his savings have enabled him to
possess that which is wanted for the full manifestation of his talent.
The substitutes presented by the hand of the modern Frenchman, bear a
price somewhat analogous to the modesty of merit itself. Of their real
value, the recent “Great Exhibition” in our metropolis gave connoisseurs
the opportunity to form some estimate; and the conclusion arrived at is
sufficiently denoted by the awarded gold medal. Specimens creditable to
the skill of our English Makers, though not resulting from the like
diligent investigation into principles, were also displayed on the
above-named grand occasion. The names of Betts, Purdy and Fendt, and
Simon Forster, occur in connection with these. Examples claiming notice
on the convenient score of _cheapness_, too, were not wanting among the
foreign instruments there exhibited. The best of these were from the
Tyrol—while others were of the workmanship of Mericourt, in the Vosges,
a place which has been denominated the _Manchester_ of musical
instrument-making—and not without some show of reason, seeing that, for
about four shillings, it supplies the fiddler with a complete
instrument, strings and bow included! In the way of “a bargain,” surely
nothing can beat _this_; unless, indeed, they were to throw in _the
case_!

The latest improvement attempted in construction, is, I understand, a
discovery patented by an American. It is designed to give greater
freedom to the _vibration_, by omitting the end (or top and bottom)
blocks, and substituting an extra bass-bar, which runs longitudinally in
contiguity to the back, but without touching it.

The possession of a good _bow_ may be readily conceived to be a matter
of no slight importance. With whatever reason the art of making violins
may be considered (with the exceptions noticed in this chapter) to have
declined since the days of the old makers, it is certain that the _bow_
has been altered much for the better: so much, indeed, as to seem hardly
susceptible of further improvement. The bows of Tourte, of Paris, have
acquired a European celebrity. Their superiority lies in their
diminished weight, with increased elasticity in the stick; in the
beautiful uniformity of their bend, which is so regulated as to cause
the nearest approach made by the stick to the hair to be exactly in the
middle, between the head and the nut; and in the very exact and finished
workmanship of the whole. Here, too, acknowledgment is due to the
ability of Vuillaume, who has contrived a bow in which two
inconveniences, attendant on the previous method, are remedied; so that
the hand of the performer is no longer disturbed by those variations in
the length, and consequently in the weight, of the stick, which arose
from the necessity of making the thumb to follow the shiftings of the
nut, whenever the bow was altered as to its tension; while the hair,
firmly fixed to a kind of cylindrical nippers, is so arranged as to form
a perfectly even surface throughout its length, and to be renewable by
the performer himself, when he may desire it.

Let me point the termination of this chapter with a bit of cautionary
advice, which, though it concerns bodies politic, invalids, and
picture-owners, is not the less suited to the possessors of valuable
instruments that require, through some casualty, the aid of a
restorative hand:—

  BEWARE of _Vampers_!

If, in some unhappy, incautious moment, you confide your cherished
_Steiner_ or _Stradivari_ to the barbaric hands of one of these profane
pretenders, its recovery is hopeless—its constitution is gone!




CHAPTER X.

MISCELLANEOUS ANECDOTES, COLLECTED SCRAPS, ECCENTRIC VARIETIES, ETC.

  “Quæ quibus ante-feram?”


_Characteristics of the Fiddle Species._—In the _variety_ of expression,
as well as in its _quality_, the violin has often been signalized for
its approximation to the human voice. The _finesse_ of perception of a
clever woman has discovered in that remarkable instrument, and its
ligneous family, a yet closer approach to human character. The ingenious
parallels which this lady has drawn are described by Monsieur Beyle, in
a passage which I here translate from his curious and amusing work on
Haydn and Mozart.—“In listening to the quartetts of Haydn, this lady
felt as if present at a conversation held by four agreeable persons. She
found in the _First Violin_ the semblance of a man of considerable
intelligence, of the middle time of life, an accomplished talker, and
equally capable of sustaining the conversation, as of furnishing the
subject of it. In the _Second Violin_, she recognized a _friend_ of the
First, who endeavoured by every possible method to draw out his
brilliant qualities,—was rarely occupied about _himself_,—and kept up
the discourse rather by his approbation of what fell from the others,
than by advancing any ideas of his own. The _Tenor_ was a solid,
profound, and sententious personage, who gave support to the remarks of
the First Violin, by maxims of a laconic turn, but of striking truth. As
for the _Violoncello_, ’twas a good woman, of a somewhat babbling
inclination, who said nothing to signify overmuch, but yet would not be
without her share in the conversation. She contributed a certain grace
to it, however, and, whilst she was talking, the other interlocutors got
time to breathe! One thing, with respect to her, was not difficult to
discover—namely, that she cherished a secret bias for the _Tenor_, and
gave him the preference over his instrumental brethren.”

If these comparisons should appear too fanciful, let it be remembered
that the subject is inviting, and might even be carried a good deal
further. We should only wonder that Monsieur Beyle’s clever female
friend, having contrived to make up so snug a little party, did not
still further develop their capabilities, and explain, “avec
circonstance,” the _matter_ of their amiable chit-chat. _Why_ she should
have chosen, by the by, to assign to the _Violoncello_ the feminine
gender, is by no means obvious. According to the general rules of
proportion, which govern sex, it would be otherwise. Perhaps the
creation of that instrument subsequently to the fiddle, as a help-mate
to it, may have suggested this notion to our speculatist; but,
_n’importe_; let us be content, rather than differ with a lady, to allow
personification under the softer sex to the instrument in question,
which may then figure characteristically, like one of Byron’s heroines,
as

  “Somewhat large, and languishing, and lazy.”

Apropos of personification—a curious little pamphlet, of a dozen pages
only, but containing some ingenious turns of fancy, was printed by Dove,
in 1828, from the pen of a Mr. K——, a gentleman of refined taste in
various matters of art and literature. It is entitled, “Carluccio and
Signora Violina; a musical _jeu d’esprit_ for the benefit of Violinists,
in the manner of Lucian;” and it consists of a sort of dialogue between
a lover and his mistress—the latter being represented by the Violin. In
assigning the feminine gender to the instrument, the author thus
accounts for the innovation he has hazarded:—“We have _Viola_ in
Shakspeare, and _Viola_ in music. Why not, then, _Violina_—especially as
her voice is treble?”

  Sit juvenis quondam, nunc fæmina.—_Virg._

To the foregoing hints on distinctive peculiarities among the Fiddle
tribe, I am tempted to add a few words about the two extremes that
constitute, respectively, the _giant_ and the _dwarf_ of the race;
namely, the _double-bass_ (or _contra-basso_) and the _kit_. The former
of these, then—the double-bass—is a fellow of imposing appearance, with
the weight and strength of an Ajax, and a voice that you might conceive
him to have borrowed from a thunder-cloud. In the assembled circle, he
is dogmatical, slow, and heavy; yet one is forced to confess that there
is a _depth_ in all he utters, and that what he wants in brilliancy, is
amply made up in profundity. He hears the _flourishes_ of those around
him, but seems to take little heed of them—and sometimes makes a solemn
pause, as if in meditation, while the rest are chattering away. His
manner, even when he perfectly _agrees_ with what is advanced by others,
has a bluffness in it, that is not _very_ unlike _dissent_. His
arguments are of the sledge-hammer kind, knocking down contradiction.
He is the Doctor Johnson of the society—he settles matters with a
_growl_. With all his surliness, however, he is a thoroughly good fellow
at bottom, and, as he is well-understood, and pretty much humoured, by
his associates, the general harmony is none the worse for his
presence—nay, rather, would be very sensibly subtracted from, were he
absent.—As for the _kit_, he is a pert little whipper-snapper, with a
voice as _uppish_ as his notions of _himself_, and a figure _any thing_
but _symmetrical_, since it is, at once, by an odd contrariety, stunted
in height, and lanky in appearance. He is hardly ever seen in the
company of his own kith and kin, his own fraternity of the larger
growth—for his vanity leads him to seek distinction on _any_
terms, and so he goes into dancing academies, or among family
step-hop-and-jump-learners, where he is a sort of cock-of-the-walk, and
where, to judge from the quaint and abruptly intermitted strains that
proceed from him, he seems to crow and chuckle at the absurdities of the
“awkward squad” whom he delights to set in motion. As he is prone to
imitation, and proud of his squeaking voice, you will sometimes hear him
mimic the style and accents of his bigger brethren, behind their backs;
but these attempts incline you only to a smile—which he mistakes for
approbation. On the whole, though tolerated, he is never respected. The
very person who _introduces_ him into such society as that just
mentioned, makes a mere convenience of him; but, because he is usually
carried thither in the _pocket_ of his introducer, he fancies himself,
forsooth, a prodigious pet! Was there ever such impudence?

If there be, by a strange possibility, any special admirers of the
Pigmy, who shall think him too sharply dealt with in the above sketch,
let them turn for comfort to Sir John Hawkins, in whose pages they will
find mention of a certain London dancing-master, named Pemberton, who
was so consummate a handler of the kit, as to be able to play entire
_solos_ on it, and to exhibit in his performance (so declares the
statement) _all_ the graces and elegancies of _the violin_, although
himself a man of the most corpulent make! Besides this consolatory
reference, let me hint to the affecters of the kit, that possibly the
classic term “lyra jocosa” might, without much violence, be appropriated
to the honour of their queer little favourite!

_A Caricature repudiated._—A correspondent of the _Harmonicon_, who has
played on the violin amusingly enough with his _pen_, but appears, from
sundry indicative points, to have been no _bowman_, has designated the
instrument as “a box, half beech, half fir, on which are stretched the
entrails of a cat,” and from which, sounds are drawn “with a few
horse-hairs,” and which, moreover, “cannot be held without a distortion
of the frame, and obliges us to assume an attitude so disagreeable to
the head, by the chin of which, it is held.”—This is a description
wherewith the true Amateur will hold no sympathy: he will regard it no
otherwise than with “hatefullest disrelish.” He will not fail to
remember, too, that it is the _sheep’s_ interior which is laid under
contribution, and _not_ the _cat’s_. Then, again, doubtless, the
depression of the chin _is_ sometimes the reverse of agreeable; but this
is an objection rarely in great force, except with those round-headed
gentlemen who have short chins. A little punchy man, with a broad,
baffling, double chin, cannot be great upon the fiddle—and should not
aim at it. It is the business of a perfect performer to have a _long_
chin—a chin whose inclination or “facilis descensus” amounts to a fixed
welcome towards the instrument, which it embraces with a continuity
that in no degree compromises the head. Such a chin is the fiddler’s
firm friend;—its holdfast properties entitle it, as fitly as the
virtuous man in Horace, to the appellation of “tenax propositi.” Such a
chin, for example, had Paganini.

_Ambition let down._—During the last year of Spagnoletti’s Saturnian
rule at the Opera-House, when the reins of leadership were somewhat
relaxed in the hands of that good senior, it chanced that one of his
subjects, scarcely less ambitious than was Jove of old, and equally
hopeful of his own succession, aspired prematurely to a position in the
orchestral realm as elevated as the throne of the great directing power.
In plainer language, a certain noted First Violinist, scarcely satisfied
with being second to the Leader, sought to magnify his importance by the
help of a stool that was considerably more _stilted_ in its proportions
than that occupied by his brethren of the band. Thus raised into notice,
he managed, with many flourishes of his bow-arm, to divide the public
attention with the Leader himself, and was enabled to look down on all
besides. But pride does not triumph thus to _the end_. Spagnoletti
himself, perhaps indisposed, through his then feebler condition, to
contend with usurpation, took no notice of this upstart proceeding; but
the members of the band, feeling it to be an indignity to their Leader,
still more than to themselves, took counsel together for the purpose of
putting it down. The expedient they hit upon was equally ingenious and
successful. One of the carpenters of the establishment had private
instructions to saw off a small bit from the lanky legs of the stool,
previously to each night’s sitting in the orchestra; and, by this
graduated system of reduction, or what musicians would term a “_sempre
diminuendo_,” the obnoxious pretender was “let down easy,” and brought
to a reasonable level. Thus, though not going down, in his own
estimation, he was much depressed, in the eyes of all beside. Whether he
thought it worth while, when he discovered his situation, to enquire how
it happened, is more than remains on record—but, if he did so, it is
easy to conceive the sort of vague reply by which his mystification
would be “made absolute.”

_A new resource in difficulty._—The following graphic sketch—a piece of
what our American brethren delight to designate as the _real grit_—is
from Colonel Crockett’s “Adventures in Texas:”—

“As we drew nigh to the Washita, the silence was broken alone by our own
talk and the clattering of our horses’ hoofs; and we imagined ourselves
pretty much the only travellers, when we were suddenly somewhat startled
by the sound of music. We checked our horses, and listened, and the
music continued. ‘What can all that mean?’ says I. We listened again,
and we now heard, ‘Hail, Columbia, happy land!’ played in first-rate
style. ‘That’s fine,’ says I. ‘Fine as silk, Colonel, and leetle finer,’
says the other; ‘but hark, the tune’s changed.’ We took another spell of
listening, and now the musician struck up, in a brisk and lively manner,
‘Over the water to Charley.’ ‘That’s mighty mysterious,’ says one;
‘Can’t cipher it out, no-how,’ says a third. ‘Then let us go ahead,’
says I, and off we dashed at a pretty rapid gait, I tell you—by no means
slow.

“As we approached the river, we saw, to the right of the road, a new
clearing on a hill, where several men were at work, and running down the
hill like wild Indians, or rather like the office-holders in pursuit of
the depositees. There appeared to be no time to be lost; so they ran,
and we cut ahead for the crossing. The music continued all this time
stronger and stronger, and the very notes appeared to speak distinctly,
‘Over the water to Charley!’

“When we reached the crossing, we were struck all of a heap at beholding
a man seated in a sulky, in the middle of the river, and playing for his
life on a fiddle. The horse was up to his middle in the water: and it
seemed as if the flimsy vehicle was ready to be swept away by the
current. Still the fiddler fiddled on composedly, as if his life had
been insured, and he was nothing more than a passenger! We thought he
was mad,—and shouted to him. He heard us, and stopped his music. ‘You
have missed the crossing,’ shouted one of the men from the clearing.—‘I
_know_ I have,’ returned the fiddler.—‘If you go ten feet farther, you
will be drowned.’—‘I _know_ I shall,’ returned the fiddler.—‘Turn back,’
said the man.—‘I _can’t_,’ said the other. ‘Then how will you _get
out_?’—‘I’m sure I _don’t know_.’

“The men from the clearing, who understood the river, took our horses,
and rode up to the sulky, and, after some difficulty, succeeded in
bringing the traveller safe to shore, when we recognised the worthy
_parson_ who had fiddled for us at the puppet-show at Little Rock. They
told him that he had had a narrow escape; and he replied, that he had
found that out an hour ago! He said he had been fiddling to the fishes
for a full hour, and had exhausted all the tunes that he could play
without notes. We then asked him what could have induced him to think of
fiddling at a time of such peril; and he replied, that he had remarked,
in his progress through life, that there was nothing in universal natur
so well calculated to draw people together, as the sound of a fiddle;
and he knew that he might bawl until he was hoarse for assistance, and
no one would stir a peg; but they would no sooner hear the scraping of
his catgut, than they would quit all other business, and come to the
spot in flocks.”

_A prejudice overcome._—Another story of a clergyman fond of fiddling—in
this instance, a Scotchman—is to be found in _Tait’s Magazine_.—“A
number of his parishioners considered it as quite derogatory to his
calling, that he should play upon the fiddle; so a deputation of them
waited upon him, and remonstrated against this _crying_ enormity. He
said—“Gentlemen, did you ever see my fiddle, or hear me
play?”—“No!”—“You shall do both,” said he; and immediately brought a
violoncello, on which he struck up a Psalm tone, asking if they had any
objection to join him with their voices. They complied; and, when all
was over, they expressed themselves perfectly satisfied of his
orthodoxy. “A muckle, respectable, _releegious_-sounding fiddle like
_that_, there was nae harm in. Na, na! it was nane o’ yer scandalous
penny-weddin’ fiddles that they had heard o’!”

It will not have been forgotten, by some of my readers, that the musical
propensities of the Rev. Charles Wesley were made a subject of stringent
comment by the poet Cowper, who pointed his remarks by the line—

  “With wire and catgut he concludes the day.”

It is recorded, however (if I rightly remember), that the candid and
kind-hearted Cowper saw reason, afterwards, to alter his impressions on
that head, and to regret that he had reflected, with such freedom of
pen, on the harmless recreations of the earnestly pious minister.

——From the foregoing incidental references to men of the sacred
calling, we pass, by no violent transition, into the church-yard. On a
stone, in the porch at the southern entrance of the collegiate church,
Wolverhampton, is the following singular epitaph. “Near this place lies
Claudius Phillips, whose _absolute contempt of riches_, and _inimitable
performance upon the violin_, made him the admiration of all that knew
him. He was born in Wales, made the tour of Europe, and, after the
experience of _both_ kinds of fortune, died in 1733.”

Belonging to the same equivocal species of association with the grave,
and by no means to be commended for its admixture of the _quaint_ with
the solemn, is the following “musician’s epitaph,” from whence gotten, I
am unable to say:—

  Ah! what avails, when wrapped in shroud and pall,
    Who jigged, who fiddled, or who sang the best?
  What are to _me_ the crotchets, quavers, all,
    When I have found an everlasting _rest_?

_Fifty Years’ Fiddling._—“An interesting jubilee was lately kept here
(Mannheim). The scholars of our venerable Orchestra Director, M. Erasmus
Eisenmenger, now in his 70th year, met to celebrate the fiftieth year of
his life spent as an artist. It is worthy of remark that he played, in
the _same_ musical saloon, the _same_ concerto on the violin that he had
executed fifty years ago—as well as a double concerto of Viotti, which
he played with his pupil, Chapel-master Frey, with a spirit and vigour
quite wonderful at his age.” (_Harmonicon_, 1830.)—[The curious in
coincidences ought to be informed whether it was also the _same fiddle_,
as formerly, that was thus eloquent in the hands of the worthy old
gentleman.]

_Another fifty years of it!_—Teobaldo Gatti, a native of Florence, died
at Paris in 1727, at a very advanced age, after having been, for rather
more than half a century, a performer on the _bass-viol_ in the
orchestra of the Opera there. Is it possible to be more completely
identified with one’s instrument?

_Glory made out of Shame._—A stranger, visiting Greenwich Hospital, saw
a pensioner in a yellow coat, which is the punishment for disorderly
behaviour. Surprised at the singularity of the man’s appearance, he
asked him what it meant? “Oh, sir,” replied the fellow, “we who wear
yellow coats are the _music_, and it is I who play the _first fiddle_.”
(_Hawkins’s anecdotes._)

_Discrimination._—“Gentlemen,” said an auctioneer, addressing the
bargain-hunters by whom his sale-room was crammed—“the next lot is a
very fine-toned violin.”—“_A violin_, sir!” exclaimed his clerk, in
surprise—“You must have made some mistake, sir,—the next lot is _the
fiddle_!”

_The Cremona Fiddle._—Messrs. Schramm and Karstens, the principals of a
wealthy house of agency at Hamburg, were eager practitioners of the arts
of accumulation. In the month of May, 1794, their extensive warehouse
received the honour of a visit from an individual of unexceptionable
appearance and costume, who, after bargaining for a certain number of
ells of cloth, and ordering them to be cut off from the piece, found, on
examination of his purse, that his instant coin was somewhat short of
the sum required. He handed over, however, all the cash he had—took an
acknowledgment for it—ordered the cloth to be laid aside for him, and
arranged to return in a couple of hours with the balance of the money.
“By the by,” added he, “I may just as well leave with you this
_Cremona_, which is rather in my way, while I’m running about the town.
It is an instrument of particular value, for which I refused yesterday a
matter of 300 ducats: place it there in the corner, on the top of the
cloth, and it will be quite safe till my return.”

It happened, about an hour afterwards, that a handsome carriage stopped
at the door of Messrs. S. and K.’s warehouse. A personage, dressed with
the utmost attention to effect, and decorated with various knightly
insignia, alighted under an escort of three lacqueys in livery. Mons.
Schramm pressed forward to receive him, and conducted him into the
warehouse. His highness purchased several small articles, and, whilst
expressing his satisfaction at the arrangement and variety of the goods
before him, chanced to rest his eyes on the violin. Caught by its
appearance, he took it up, turned it over and over, contemplated it with
a kindling eye, and, calling forward one of his lacqueys, ordered him to
make trial of it. The domestic proceeded to do so in a masterly manner,
and drew forth sounds of such harmony as to bring together, by the ears,
a listening crowd of mute gapers at so extraordinary a virtuoso. Mons.
Schramm and the clerks were warmed up into an admiration far above the
commercial temperature; and the whole scene appeared to partake of
enchantment. Presently, motioning his domestic to stop, the great man
enquired of him, in the presence of all, what he thought of the
instrument, and what estimate he should incline to form of its value.
“Why, certainly,” said the livery-man, after a pause of examination, “if
your Excellency could make it your Excellency’s own for 500 ducats, I
should say that your Excellency would be in possession of the finest
Cremona fiddle in the world!” The man of distinction took Mons. Schramm
aside, and offered him 400: from that he ascended to 500; but the man of
commerce told the man of distinction that the instrument belonged to a
stranger, and explained the circumstances under which it had been left
there. “Now, mark me, Mons. Schramm,” said the great man; “if you can
secure me this violin, you shall not repent your having obliged me: do
your utmost to make the purchase for me, and go to 500 ducats, if
necessary; there’s my address, and I shall expect to see you at five,
with the fiddle and the account.”—Mons. Schramm, full of protestations
of his readiness to do all in his power, respectfully bows out his
visitor.

In an hour or two, the impatiently-expected owner of the instrument
makes his re-appearance, takes up his parcel and violin, and is about to
depart. “Stay, sir,” said Mons. Schramm, a little embarrassed—“one word
with you, if you please—would you feel inclined to s—, to sell that
violin? I could make you a good offer for it—say 350 ducats, cash.” The
proposition, however, is met by a short and dry answer in the negative,
and a renewed movement to depart. Mons. Schramm then offers him 360, and
so on, till in short, after considerable discussion, the stranger
consents to part with the object of solicitation,—but still as a matter
of regret,—for the sum of 470 ducats, and to give a receipt for 500. The
bargain is completed, and Mons. Schramm, receiving the fiddle with a
chuckle of delight, takes leave of the stranger with lavish civility.

Full of satisfaction at the idea of having made thirty ducats, and the
friendly acquaintance of a great man, Mons. Schramm, at the exact hour
of five, presented himself at the hotel of St. Petersburg, situated on
the Jungfernstieg. With the violin in his hand, and the receipt for 500
ducats in his pocket, he demanded to speak to his Excellency the Baron
De Strogonoff, Ambassador from Russia, to the Court of St. James’s—such
being the address given him in the morning by the gentleman with the
equipage. He was informed by the porter that he knew nothing of the said
nobleman, inasmuch as he had not come to their hotel. Mons. Schramm
hereupon insists and grows warm; the servants gather round, and the
dispute at length draws forth the master of the hotel, who pledges his
word, in positive terms, that the Ambassador in question is not at his
establishment! Enquiry is then made at all the large hotels in the
town—and, at all, the Baron De Strogonoff is unknown!

It was now high time for Mons. Schramm to consider himself as having
been played upon! As for the rogues, they had so well concerted their
measures, that all subsequent efforts to discover them proved abortive.
Mons. Schramm had full leisure for maledictions upon his own credulity
and ultra-commercial spirit; nor did he very speedily get rid of the
jests and gibes of his fellow-townsmen, at the piquant fact of his
having paid so handsome a sum, for a fiddle that was not worth much more
than a ducat!

_An apt Quotation._—The felicitous power of allusion which Dean Swift
had at his command, was never more pointedly shown, than in his seizure
of a line from Virgil, to _fit_ the circumstances of a certain domestic
disaster. Relating from memory, I give but the outline of the story. A
lady’s gown (or _mantua_) accidentally caught fire, and damaged a
gentleman’s fiddle, which was lying unfortunately near it. The Dean,
either witnessing the accident, or informed of it, exclaimed
pathetically,

  “_Mantua_, væ! miseræ nimiùm vicina _Cremonæ_!”

_The “Leading Instrument” victorious._—Anseaume, a French gentleman, of
very limited income, hired a small house at Bagnolet, and invited his
friends once or twice a-week to come and amuse themselves there. On
these occasions, each brought some provisions: one, wine; another, cold
meat; another, patties; another, game. It unluckily happened that
Anseaume, as absent in mind as straitened in his finances, had
forgotten, for a whole year, to pay his rent. The landlord made a
descent upon him, precisely on the day when his friends Collé, Panard,
Piron, Gillet, the painter Watteau, the musician Degueville, and other
epicures, had assembled there. These gentlemen, according to custom, had
brought plenty of provender, but no money; and the landlord imperiously
demanded his rent of two hundred crowns. What was to be done, in order
to assist their friend? They immediately set about cooking the meat and
poultry; they levied contributions on the fruit and vegetables of the
gardens; Watteau drew a beautiful and inviting sign, and Degueville
borrowed a _violin_ of the parish beadle; in short, they got up a
_cabaret_ and _fête Champêtre_. The appearance of these new cooks, who
served their customers in habits of embroidered velvet, with swords by
their sides, had a curious effect, and greatly diverted the company,
which was so numerous, that the receipts amounted to five hundred
crowns! Anseaume paid his landlord, and his distress was converted into
joy and gladness. But now a question arose, that was discussed with no
small earnestness and interest:—To which of his guests was the host most
indebted? Those who played the part of cooks, declared that, without
their labours, there would have been nothing for the public to eat;
Watteau laid no little stress on the invitation held out by his sign;
and Degueville insisted that, without his music, the people’s attention
would not have been drawn to the sign; and that, even if they had
noticed it, and come in, there would have been no mirth and spirit,
little eaten, and that little scantily and reluctantly paid for. The
dispute began to grow warm, when Degueville seized the violin, played
them all into good humour, and was, at length, allowed to be the victor!

_Sending for Time-Keepers._—In treating of the importance of adjusting
the time of a composition to the sentiment and intention of the author,
it is stated by Kandler, an able German writer, that Haydn was so
offended at the rude and hurried manner in which he found his music
driven by us English, when he first visited our country, as to send for
the family of the Moralts from Vienna, to shew the Londoners the time
and expression with which he intended his quartetts to be
played.—Kiesewetter also, in leading Beethoven’s symphonies at the
Philharmonic Concert (although himself a performer who particularly
shone in rapid playing), is said to have insisted upon their being
executed more slowly than that orchestra had been accustomed to perform
them.

_Musical Exaction._—A rich, but penurious personage, who somehow aspired
to be thought a man of _taste_, was resolved, on one occasion, to make
exhibition of this quality, by giving to his friends an entertainment of
instrumental music. While the musicians were all at work, he seemed
satisfied with the performance—but when the principal Violin came to be
engaged upon an incidental solo, he enquired, in a towering passion, why
the others were remaining _idle_? “It is a _pizzicato_ for one
instrument,” replied the operator. “I can’t help that,” exclaimed the
virtuoso, who was determined to have the worth of his money—“Let the
trumpets _pizzicato_ along with you!”—This hopeful amateur may serve to
recall the not unfamiliar anecdote about old Jacob Astley, of
“horse-theatre” celebrity, who observed a violinist in his band to be in
a state of temporary cessation from playing, during the continued
activity of the others, and asked him what he _meant_ by it. “Why, sir,
here’s a _rest_ marked in my part—a rest of several bars.”—“_Rest!_”
shouted Astley (who had always a great horror of being imposed upon),
“don’t tell me about _rest_, sir. I pay you to come here and _play_,
sir, and not to _rest_!”

_A Device for a Dinner._—Doctor Arne once went to Cannons, the seat of
the late Duke of Chandos, to assist at the performance of an oratorio in
the Chapel of Whitchurch, but such was the throng of company, that no
provisions were to be procured at the Duke’s house. On going to the
Chandos Arms, in the town of Edgeware, the Doctor made his way into the
kitchen, where he found only a leg of mutton on the spit. This, the
waiter informed him, was bespoken by a party of gentlemen. The Doctor
(rubbing his elbow—his usual habit) exclaimed, “I’ll have that
mutton—give me a _fiddle-string_.” He took the fiddle-string, cut it in
pieces, and, privately sprinkling it over the mutton, walked out of the
kitchen. Then, waiting very patiently till the waiter had served it up,
he heard one of the gentlemen exclaim—“Waiter! this meat is full of
_maggots_: take it away!” This was what the Doctor expected.—“Here, give
it _me_.”—“O, sir,” says the waiter, “you can’t eat it—’tis full of
maggots.”—“Nay, never mind,” cries the Doctor, “fiddlers have strong
stomachs.” So, bearing it away, and scraping off the catgut, he got a
hearty dinner.

_A “Practising” Coachman._—Too true it is that Nature has not gifted all
mortals with a taste for music. Shakspeare tells us that the man who
hath not music in his soul is fit for “broils;” and the Duchess of
Ragusa appears to have inclined to his opinion, if we may judge from an
occurrence in which she was concerned some years since. Finding herself
offended that the coachman of a certain Miss Ozenne, her neighbour,
should practise the violin too much in the vicinity of her ducal ears,
she summoned the lady, the coachman, and the violin, before the
_Tribunal de Police_, for making a “tapage injurieux et nocturne.” In
vain the lady pleaded the right of her domestics to make musicians of
themselves, if they could: the Duchess declared it was done solely and
purely for her annoyance; the _Commissaire du Quartier_ declared that
the noise consisted of “sons aigus, bruyans, et dissonans;” and Miss
Ozenne was condemned to be imprisoned one day, and to be fined to the
amount of ten shillings.—(_New Monthly Magazine._)

_A Footman, to match._—“The following curiously illustrative anecdote
may be relied on. A few days since, a footman went into Mori’s
music-shop to buy a fiddle-string. While he was making his choice, a
gentleman entered the shop, and began to examine various compositions
for the violin. Among the rest, he found Paganini’s celebrated
“Merveille—_Duo_ pour un _seul_ Violon,” and, perceiving the
difficulties in which it abounded, asked the shopman if he thought that
Mori himself could play it. The young man, a little perplexed, and
unwilling to imply that his master’s powers had any limit, replied that
he had no doubt he could perform it, _provided_ he practised it for _a
week_; upon which the footman, who stood intent on the conversation,
broke in on the discourse, and swore that Mori could do no such thing,
for that he himself had been practising the piece for _three weeks_, and
could not play it yet!”—(_Harmonicon_, _May, 1830_.)

_A Royal “Whereabout.”_—Salomon, who gave some lessons on the violin to
George the Third, said one day to his august pupil, “Fiddlers may be
divided into three classes: to the _first_ belong those who cannot play
_at all_; to the _second_, those who play _badly_; and to the third,
those who play _well_. You, Sire, have already reached the _second_.”

_Precocious Performers._—The violin, in the hands of _children_, has
been often rendered the theme of astonishment. In the foregoing pages,
many instances have been given of eminent players, whose powerful
maturity was prefigured, in the display of genius made in their tender
youth. Many blossoms there are, however, which _never_ pay their promise
afterwards in fruit; and many an “acute juvenal, voluble and full of
grace,” has made early flourishes on the fiddle, that have led to
nothing of value in his fuller years. Apropos of this too commonly
observable disproportion, a French writer has the following epigram:—


SUR LES PRODIGES À LA MODE.

  Plus merveilleux que nos ancêtres,
    Ou peut-être plus singuliers,
  A dix ans nous avons des maîtres,
    Qui sont à vingt des écoliers!

Which may be thus freely paraphrased:—

  Our’s is an age of wonders;—we behold
    Precocious prodigies, in passing plenty:
  We have our _masters_, now, at ten years old,—
    But then—they sink to _scholars_, when they’re twenty!

The Germans have an expressive denomination for these very early and
forced exhibitants. They style them _wunderkind_, or wonder-children.

After hearing some violin variations rattled through at a Vienna Concert
by a six-year old performer, son of a M. Birnbach, a prognosticator was
heard to say, with a gravity that scarcely seemed unreasonable: “Well! I
foresee that, before many years are passed, we shall have a symphony of
Haydn’s performed by babes in swaddling-clothes!”

As a matter of curiosity, I will here subjoin a few records of early
feats, without attempting to distinguish those which may belong simply
to the class of _wunder-kinde_.

Weichsel, the brother of Mrs. Billington, played in public with his
sister, when she was _six_ years old, and himself a year older—their
instruments being the violin and the pianoforte.—Balfe, the singer and
composer, made a kind of _début_ as a juvenile violin-player (according
to the _Harmonicon_) at a theatrical benefit.—Two Hungarian boys, of the
name of Ebner, one ten and the other eleven, played some of Mayseder’s
difficult variations at a Concert at Berlin, in 1823.—A boy of twelve
years of age, named Khayll, pupil of Jansa, introduced by Moscheles at a
Concert at Vienna in 1827, played some admirable variations on the
violin, in which he displayed an ease and solidity far beyond his years,
and a great knowledge of his instrument.—At Limberg, in 1831,
Apollinarino Conski, _five_ years old, surprised all hearers by his
execution of a concerto of Maurer’s; and the son of this last-named
Artist, at the age of twelve, performed in the same year some of
Mayseder’s variations, at his father’s Concerts at Berlin.

At Stutgardt, in 1831, the brothers Eickhorn, the elder _nine_, and the
younger _seven_ years of age, gave a Concert at one of the saloons, and
astonished not only the public in general, but the connoisseurs, by
their early proficiency on that most difficult of instruments here under
notice. The elder played variations by Mayseder and Rode, and a
potpourri with his younger brother, composed by Jacobi—and some
variations of Kummer’s.

In various towns of Switzerland, during the same year, the four brothers
Koella, of Zurich, gave Concerts with great success. These boys were
then respectively twelve, ten, nine, and seven years of age—“small by
degrees, and beautifully less.” The elder played the violin and
violoncello with great spirit and power; the third was a good
tenor-player; and the youngest executed concertos of Viotti’s! Their
quartett-playing, however, was their strongest point.

Dr. Crotch, when about _five_ years old, was capable of fiddling, and
after a fashion, too, by no means common to others—that is to say,
_left-handed_.

_Fiddlers’ Tricks._—In 1731, a Concert was announced at Hickford’s room,
for the benefit of Signor Castrucci, _first violin of the Opera_, who,
as the advertisement stated, was to play, amongst other pieces, a solo,
in which he would execute “_twenty-four_” notes with one bow.” On the
following day, this advertisement was burlesqued by another, in which
was promised a solo by the _last violin of Goodman’s Fields’ Playhouse_,
who would perform _twenty-five_ notes with one bow. Such a feat as
either of these, would, in our own days, be nothing at all.

A Signor Angelo Casirola, of Tortona, mystified the good people of
Milan, in 1825, by playing the _reverse_ way—that is, playing with _a
fiddle_ upon _a bow_! His plan was to fasten the bow in an upright
position upon a table, and play upon it with the violin, according to
the best manner in which he could manage to “rub on.” The effect was
unpleasing, both to ear and eye. Another of his tricks was a _sonata
scherzosa_, for which he had two violins _fixed_, with the heads screwed
on a table, and then worked away right and left, with a bow in each
hand, accompanied by a full orchestra. He fooled his audience to the top
of their bent, and was applauded to the very echo! It might assist the
gratification of the gapers after novelty, if the thaumaturgist,
operating with his left hand, as usual, on the finger-board of his
instrument, were to have the _bow_ held and worked by _another person_.
The Chinese flutists have done something like this in _principle_—one
blowing the flute which another has played on! More wonderful still—at
some entertainments given by their Emperor, two musicians played
together the same air, each having one hand on his own flute, and the
other on that of his companion!

At Munich, in 1827, M. Féréol Mazas raised a public astonishment
somewhat akin to that created in London more recently by Paganini, as an
operator on _one string_: and, indeed, all the more _obvious_
peculiarities in the performance of the great Italian artist—those
pertaining to mechanical dexterity—have been copied, more or less
successfully. Assuming to be “the English Paganini,” a certain
individual, of no distinction at that time as a legitimate player, was
particularly prominent in this business of imitation. He presented,
sooth to say, but a soul-less exhibition, having some of the externals
of similitude, indeed, but none of that which “passeth _show_.” Upon the
auditors scraped together, however, his “ad captandum” tricks appeared
to tell abundantly—more especially when he worked with his left hand the
pizzicato accompaniment to the bowed passages; when he brought out some
harmonics from _below_, instead of _above_, the finger-stops; when (by
way of going _beyond_ Paganini) he thrust the instrument between the
hair and stick of the relaxed bow, and thus played on the strings with
the _inner_ hair: and, above all, when he placed the bow between his
knees, and, taking the fiddle in both hands, rubbed the strings against
it, so as to execute some difficulties of which a judicious observer
might have well regretted the possibility! One of the least pardonable
of the faults attending this display, was that his instrument did not
always _tell the truth_: in other words, its intonation was sometimes
false.


ECCENTRIC VARIETIES OF THE VIOLIN KIND.

_The Fiddle of Iceland._—“Sir Joseph Banks and Dr. Solander, when they
visited this island in 1773, brought thence a very ancient musical
instrument, of a long and narrow form, which used to be played on with a
bow; and of which they did me the honour to make me a present. It is
called by the natives the _Long-Spiel_, and has four strings of copper,
one of which is used as a drone. Pieces of wood are placed at different
distances upon the finger-board, to serve as frets. Though this
individual instrument has the appearance of great antiquity, yet, rude
and clumsy as it is, there can be no doubt but that it was still more
imperfect in its first invention: for, to have placed these frets,
implies some small degree of meditation, experience, and a scale; and as
to the bow, that wonderful engine! which the ancients, with all their
diligence and musical refinements, had never been able to discover, it
seems, from this instrument, to have been known in Iceland at least as
early as in any other part of Europe. Sir Joseph Banks and Dr. Solander,
when they found the _Long-Spiel_ on the island, had very great
difficulty in discovering a person among the inhabitants who either
could, or would dare to play on it. At length a wicked Icelander was
found, who, being rendered more courageous and liberal than the rest, by
a few glasses of generous gin, ventured, in secret, to exhilarate these
philosophers ... with a psalm-tune.”—_Burney’s Hist. of Music_, v. iii,
p. 40, 41.

_Fiddle of Tartary._—The Tartars have an instrument peculiar to
themselves, which they denominate a _koba_. It is a _kind_ of violin,
half open at the top, in shape somewhat resembling a boat, having two
hair-strings, which are swept with a bow, the notes being stopped by the
fingers of the left hand, as in performing on the recognized violin.

_African Fiddle._—The Mosees, Mallowas, Burnous, and natives from the
more remote parts of the interior, play on a _rude violin_. The body is
a calabash; the top is covered with deer-skin, and two large holes are
cut in it for the sound to escape: the strings, or rather the string, is
composed of cow’s hair, and broad, like that of the bow with which they
play, which resembles the bow of a violin. Their grimace equals that of
an Italian _buffo_: they generally accompany themselves with the voice,
and increase the humour by a strong nasal sound.—_Bowdich’s Mission to
Ashantee._

“At parting, he (Bee Simera, a king in the Kooranko Country) sent his
_griot_, or minstrel, to play before me, and sing a song of welcome.
This man had a sort of fiddle, the body of which was formed of a
calabash, in which two small square holes were cut, to give it a tone.
It had only one string, composed of many twisted horse-hairs, and,
although he could only bring from it four notes, yet he contrived to
vary them so as to produce a pleasing harmony(!) He played at my door
till I fell asleep, and, waking at day-break, his notes still saluted my
ears; when, finding that his attendance would not be discontinued
without a _douceur_, I gave him a head of tobacco, and told him to go
home and thank his master.”—_Major Laing’s Travels in Western Africa._

“The admirers of Paganini (says Dr. Hogg, in his “_Visit to
Alexandria_”) may learn with surprise that a species of Violin, with a
single string, is not only well-known in Egypt, but is frequently played
in the streets, with extraordinary skill. Of the celebrated Italian, the
Egyptians never heard; but they often listen with delight to the
melodious sounds drawn forth from a single string by a wild untutored
Arab.”

_Greek Fiddle._—M. Fauriel, in his “Chants Populaires de la Grèce
Moderne,” says that the Greeks accompany their songs by an instrument
with strings, which is played with a bow, and that this is exactly the
ancient lyre of the Greeks, of which it retains the name as well as the
form. This lyre, he adds, when perfect, consists of five strings, but it
has frequently but two or three.

The _bow_ is of course a modern accessory, and must have changed,
materially, the mode of playing the instrument, as well as its effect.

_An Eight-Stringed Violin._—Prinz, in his History, assures us that,
about the year 1649, Lord Somerset invented a new kind of violin, which
had eight strings, instead of four; and that, in the hands of a master
who knew how to avail himself of its advantages, it was productive of
very extraordinary effects. To the truth of this, Kircher bears witness.
A violin, with eight strings, was also played on by a M. Urhan, at a
concert at the French _Conservatoire Royal_, in 1830.

_An intermediate Instrument._—With the plausible view of filling up a
void in the range of stringed instruments—that which occurs through the
interval of an _octave_ between the pitch of the viola and the
violoncello—a new instrument of the violin class was invented, a few
years ago, by a French Amateur, who proposed to designate it the
_Contralto_. Its four strings were tuned an octave below those of the
violin, and, consequently, a fourth below the common viola, or tenor,
and a fifth above the violoncello. In quartetts (according to the
inventor) the _second violin_ might in future be replaced by the
_viola_, and the viola by the _Contralto_; which latter would possess
the further advantage of enabling its player to execute with ease those
high passages that are so difficult on the violoncello.—That an
instrument thus designed _might_ sometimes participate effectively in
orchestral business, is extremely probable; but that it should displace
in quartetts the _second violin_, the importance of which, as an aid,
arises so much from its brilliancy, is not _at all_ to be supposed. The
truth appears to be, that what is here referred to as an invention,
possesses little claim to that character; for it was preceded by _the
baryton_, a stringed instrument of a character between the tenor and
violoncello, which has now entirely fallen into disuse. Prince Nicholas
Esterhazy, an ardent musical Amateur, was very fond of this instrument:
and Haydn, who composed a great number of pieces for it, in order to
supply the Prince’s incessant demand for novelty, frequently said that
the necessity he was under of composing so much for the baryton,
contributed greatly to his improvement.

_Something more than a Violin!_—M. Vincenti, a lute-master at Florence,
invented, some years ago, a violin with _eighteen strings_ and _two
bows_, and called it the _Violon-Général_, because it combined (or
professed to combine), with the tones of the violin, those of the
contra-basso, the violoncello, and the viola!

_An Air Violin._—A new and ingeniously invented instrument was
presented, some years since, to the “Académie des Sciences” of Paris, by
M. Isoard. It resembled the common violin, with the strings extended
between two wooden (or metal) blades. It was vibrated upon at one end by
a _current of air_, while, at the other, the player shortened the
strings by the pressure of the finger. In fact, the strings of
this instrument were acted upon by the current of air, _instead_ of
the common _bow_. The sounds were said to vary between those of the
French horn and bassoon. Were it possible for this invention to
come into ordinary use, the violin would have to be classed as a
_wind_-instrument!

_Automaton Violinist._—“After the extraordinary performance of Paganini
and Ole Bull, our readers will not be surprised at any new development
of the powers of this instrument, however great; but there are few in
the world who will hear, without wonder and admiration, of the
unequalled performance of Monsieur Marreppe’s _automaton violin-player_,
which was recently exhibited before the Royal Conservatory at Paris. Our
informant, M. Bruyère, who was present, thus describes this wonderful
piece of mechanism: “On entering the saloon, I saw a well-dressed
handsome figure of a man, apparently between forty and fifty, standing
with a violin in his hand, as if contemplating a piece of music which
lay on a desk before him; and, had I not gone to see an automaton, I
should have believed the object before me to have been endowed with life
and reason, so perfectly natural and easy were the attitudes and
expression of countenance of the figure! I had but little time for
observation, before the orchestra was filled by musicians, and, on the
leader taking his seat, the figure instantly raised itself erect, bowed
with much elegance two or three times, and then, turning to the leader,
nodded, as if to say he was ready, and placed his violin to his
shoulder. At the given signal, he raised his bow, and, applying it to
the instrument, produced, _à la Paganini_, one of the most thrilling and
extraordinary flourishes I ever heard, in which scarcely a semitone
within the compass of the instrument was omitted; and this, executed
with a degree of rapidity and clearness perfectly astonishing. The
orchestra then played a short symphony, in which the automaton
occasionally joined in beautiful style: he then played a most beautiful
fantasia in E natural, with accompaniments, including a movement
_allegro molto_ on the fourth string solo, which was perfectly
indescribable. The tones produced were like any thing but a violin; and
expressive beyond conception. I felt as if lifted from my seat, and
burst into tears, in which predicament I saw most persons in the room.
Suddenly, he struck into a cadenza, in which the harmonics, double and
single, arpeggios on the four strings, and saltos, for which Paganini
was so justly celebrated, were introduced with the greatest effect; and,
after a close shake of eight bars’ duration, commenced the coda, a
prestissimo movement, played in three parts throughout. This part of the
performance was perfectly magical. I have heard the great Italian—I have
heard the Norwegian—I have heard the best of music—but I never heard
such sounds as then saluted my ear. It commenced _p p p_, rising by a
gradual _crescendo_ to a pitch beyond belief, and then, by a gradual
_morendo_ and _calando_, died away, leaving the audience absolutely
enchanted. Monsieur Marreppe, who is a player of no mean order, then
came forward amidst the most deafening acclamations, and stated that,
emulated by the example of Vaucanson’s flute-player, he had conceived
the project of constructing this figure, which had cost him many years
of study and labour before he could bring it to completion. He then
showed to the company the interior of the figure, which was completely
filled with _small cranks_, by which the motions are given to the
several parts of the automaton, at the will of the conductor, who has
the whole machine so perfectly under control, that Monsieur Marreppe
proposes that the automaton shall perform any piece of music which may
be laid before him, within a fortnight. He also showed that to a certain
extent the figure was self-acting, as, on winding up a string, several
of the most beautiful airs were played, among which were “Nel
cor più,” “Partant pour la Syrie,” “Weber’s last Waltz,” and “La
ci darem la mano,” all with brilliant embellishments. But the
_chef-d’œuvre_ is the manner in which the figure is made to obey
the direction of the conductor, whereby it is endowed with a sort of
semi-reason.”—_Galignani’s Messenger._

       *       *       *       *       *

_The Street Fiddler._—Behold the poor fellow, as he stands there in the
sun, against that dead wall, with a face that betrays many a foregone
year of patient endurance, and a figure that is the very index to
“narrow circumstances.” His old brown great coat, loose and
hard-worn—his battered hat—his shoes unconscious of blacking—are the
vouchers of his low estate. He wears “the hapless vesture of humility.”
He is half-blind, and will be _wholly_ so before long, for blindness is
the badge of his sad tribe;—but _then_—he will have a _companion_, in
the _dog_ that will lead him about!

See, how sobered is his style of execution—how passive his action! The
fire of enthusiasm is not for _him_: he can but shew the plodding of a
quiet spirit. He holdeth his bow, not as your topping players do, but
with a third part of its length below his hand. He finds this plan the
easiest, because it is his wont to work more from the _shoulder_ than
the _wrist_! Think no scorn of him, ye great artists—ye _triumphant_
euphonists! He is self-taught,—or, which is the same thing, hath learned
of his father, who was _alter ipse_, and who himself got his knowledge
“in the family.” Yet, though his bow-arm hath none of the sweep that
belongs to science, behold how he puts mettle into the heels of infancy,
and even peradventure brings a wriggle into the sides of old age: such
power is there in the notes of a fiddle, even in the hands of
decrepitude itself! The nursery-maids, who cannot condescend to _talk_
with a street-fiddler, as they would with a young policeman, accord a
smile, nevertheless, to some of his “passages,” and a halfpenny to his
pauperism. Musician as he is, or would be _called_ (for poverty has its
pride), do not test him with terms, or ask him the meaning of a “common
chord:” he will think you design to insult his misery with a dependent
allusion! Him _harmony_ concerneth not, nor counterpoint either;—he is a
simple _melodist_, and, to him, a few old tunes are the entire world of
music. After all, too, the finest melody in _his_ ear, is the sound of
human sympathy; and the best of music is the rattle of frequent
halfpence in his hat—a hat by night, a money-box by day! His daily
gains, what are they? A sorry pittance, truly; yet the poor old fellow,
albeit no classic, manages to live on the Horatian plan, “contentus
parvo,” and is very far from being the most thankless of mortals,
although

  “For all his _shifts_, he cannot shift _his clothes_.”

It is not always people of the finest ear, who are the most intolerant
of ambulating fiddlers. There are some _dull_ persons who have little
other notion of music in _any_ shape, than as so much _noise_. The
complaint of these against the poor starveling here described, is that
he makes so _loud_ a noise. Let us only (with sly allusion to the early
name for the barbarous instrument) ask them one question—although even a
bad joke may be quite thrown away upon the dull:

  Say, wherefore should it _not_ be loud,
  The noise proceeding from a _crowd_?

And, while employing this kind of excuse, which will perhaps be received
as better than none, in behalf of a fraternity, who, if they _torment_ a
little, unquestionably do much more _suffer_, I may as well go on to
offer the following such-as-it-is


APOLOGY FOR MATTHEW MARKIT, A “COMMON FIDDLER.”

  Let not wrath against him gather—
    Call him not a useless bore!
  Would you not, this dirty weather,
    Have _a scraper at your door_?
  Such is he;—nay, more than that,
    He’s a _Scraper, and a—Mat_!

I do remember an itinerant, who used to sing a piece of dismal
merriment, with a squeaking violin accompaniment, to the appropriate
burden of “Heigh ho! fiddle de dee!” and a very wry face at each
recurrence of this peculiar interjection. He much affected Knightsbridge
and Hyde Park Corner, but was likewise visible at other points of the
metropolis. His wife, a diminutive body, with a small whine by way of
voice, helped to make “variety of wretchedness” in the exhibition. They
looked as if familiar with none but the copper coinage of the realm. Yet
they had generally their _côterie_ around them—their “assistance
admirative.” To be musical, _any how_, passes for a talent!

I will not suppose my readers so oblivious of an elderly joke, as not to
recognize the face of that which is about to greet them; but, having
found a version of it “turned to numbers,” I present it—a little “rubbed
up” for the occasion—to the indulgent attention of those who have only
met with it in prosaic statement:

  A blind man, fed by fiddling,
    Was known through many a street;
  His “style,” far short of “middling,”
    With some did pass for sweet.
  He priz’d his fiddle greatly;
    The _case_ had fainter praise—
  The _case_ by “wife” made lately,
    With half a yard of baize.
  One day, when, led by Rover,
    He had a bridge to pass,
  His fiddle tumbled over,
    Stick, case, and all, alas!
  He straight set up a roaring,
    And added such grimace,
  That folks around came pouring,
    And pitied his sad case.
  “Sad _case_! Psha! twiddle diddle!”
    Cried he, with scornful face;
  “Could I but get my _fiddle_
    D’ye think I’d mind _the case_?”

Having thus made ourselves familiar with the street fiddler, and
thereby, as it were, “sounded the very base-string of humility,” may we
not be fairly supposed to have reached the _fag-end_ of our subject?
Whilst on this lower level, however—or, in what may be termed the Vale
of Cacophony—I cannot conclude, without offering to the patience of my
kind readers two more scraps of verse, wherein I have sought to exhibit
a pair of specimens that belong, equally with the poor street fiddler,
to the class of—those that _might_ be dispensed with:


EPIGRAM

ON AN UNFORTUNATE MAN, AND BAD FIDDLER.

  Though DIBBLE is feeble in all that he’s _at_,
    Few fools ever _fondled a failure_ before, so.
  In love, as in music, he stands for a _flat_—
    (For his Fanny is false, and his fiddle is _more_ so),
  While _he_ still ignoreth—what none can dispute—
  That his suit’s out of tune, and his tune doesn’t suit!

ANOTHER, ON ANOTHER BAD FIDDLER.

  When SCREECHLEY on that _noise-box_ harshly grates,
    What, what’s the supposition that must follow?
  _This_—that by some odd shifting of the Fates,
    ’Tis _Marsyas_’ turn to flay alive _Apollo_!

[Illustration: FINIS]




ADDENDUM.

FEMALE VIOLINISTS.

   “Place aux dames!”


   [This section of the Work, which should have formed Chapter VIII,
   having been accidentally omitted in the printing, there remained
   no other course than, either to insert it here (as is actually
   done), or, by a dismissal utterly at variance with the laws of
   gallantry and of justice, to exclude it altogether, and so to
   debar the fairer portion of the community from all participation
   in the honours connected with the “King of Instruments”—an idea
   not to be for a moment entertained. If, in this volume, as in a
   campaigning army, the ladies find themselves placed altogether in
   _the rear_—let them attribute the position, in _this_ case as in
   _that_, to anything but disrespect.]


Instead of a _bow-arm_, must ladies be allowed only the _arm_ of a
_beau_? Why should not a lady play on the Violin? The common objection
is, that it is ungraceful. The ladies in Boccaccio’s Decameron,
however—and who shall charge _them_ with want of grace?—played on the
_viol_, a bowed instrument requiring from the performer a similar
position and handling to those exacted by the violin. If this latter
instrument, considered in relation to a lady, _should_ be admitted to be
somewhat deficient in grace,—has not the lady, out of the overflowing
abundance of this quality, which is her sex’s characteristic, some of it
to spare for communication to the instrument? Can she not impart some
of it to whatsoever object she chooses to associate with herself?
Surely, she who can transform the rudest of beings from a bear to a man,
and from a man to a gentleman, can lend a few spare charms to so
grateful a receiver as the fiddle, which is found to repay in so
eloquent a manner the attentions bestowed on it. But if the doubters
continue to shake their heads at this, I would ask them whether, after
all, we are to expect grace in _every_ act and habit of a lady’s life,
and call on her to reject every thing that may be thought inconsistent
with it? Our modern respected fair one may, like Eve, have “heaven in
her eye;” but really, looking at some of the offices which we are
content to thrust upon her, it seems rather too much to insist that she
shall also, like our original mother, have “grace in _all_ her
movements.” Is there grace in making a pie, or cutting bread and butter,
or darning a stocking? If we have grace in the _effect_, shall we be
rigid to require it in the _means_ also? Now, the grace which belongs to
violin-playing is _audible_ rather than _visible_, residing in the
effect more than in the means: nor ought we to be such cormorants of
pleasure, as to demand that the person who is filling our _ears_ with
rapture, shall, at the same time, be enchanting to the utmost our
_eyes_. If, then, a lady, full of soul and intelligence, is capable of
expressing these through the fine medium which this instrument offers,
should she be debarred from it, and restricted perhaps to the harp,
because, forsooth, the grace that is merely external is found most in
association with the latter? Let us only be reasonable enough to be
satisfied, on principle, with the delicious effect that visits us
through the ears, and we shall then give no hyper-critical heed to the
rapid action of a lady’s arm in a _presto_ movement, or to the
depression of her head in holding the instrument; nor shall we continue
to demand, with a pertinacity more nice than wise, that a feminine
fiddler be

  “Graceful as Dian when she draws _her_ bow.”

That exquisite sensibility which is one distinguishing charm of the
female character, has its fittest musical exponent in the powers of
the violin, which, therefore, in this particular sense, might even be
styled the women’s own instrument: but, without going so far as this,
there seems no sufficient reason why it should not, occasionally,
be honored by figuring in the hands of the fair. Should these
defensive remarks, however, be found unsatisfactory by your
anti-women’s-playing-the-violin-at-all sort of people, I have nothing
farther to say to them, but leave them to quote, undisturbed, their “quæ
sunt virorum, mascula dicas,” &c. For my own part, I think so highly
both of the ladies and the violin, that I rejoice at every opportunity
of their being introduced to each other, and am delighted to know that,
from time to time, certain clever and spirited women _have_ been found
ready to overcome the prejudices that have so long kept them asunder.
Let us by all means enquire who these are.

A very high name meets us at the outset of our investigation—no less a
one than that of QUEEN ELIZABETH. This exalted personage, who is
recorded to have been musical “so far forth as might become a princess,”
appears to have amused herself not only with the lute, the virginals,
and her own voice, but with the violin. An instrument of this
denomination, of the old and imperfect fashion, but splendidly “got up,”
has been traced to her possession. If any particulars of Her Majesty’s
style of performance could now be obtained, it would doubtless be found
that she displayed, in no common degree, what is called “a powerful
bow-arm,” but that she neglected the “sweet little touches” that give
delicacy to execution.

To arrive at instances nearer to our own time, let us go at once from
the Queen of England to Madame MARA, the Queen of Song. Her first
musical studies were directed to the violin. When yet an infant, the
little Gertrude Elizabeth Smaling (such was her name) discovered so
strong an inclination for the violin, that her father was induced to
give her a few lessons on that instrument. Her progress was so rapid,
that, as early as her tenth year, she excited the public surprise. It is
certain that the development of her vocal powers was not a little aided
by this cultivation of an instrument that may be called the friendly
rival of the human voice. She herself was known to declare, that, if she
had a daughter, she should learn the fiddle before she sang a note; for
(as she remarked) how can you convey a just notion of minute variations
in the pitch of a note? By a fixed instrument? No! By the voice? No!
but, by sliding the fingers upon a string, you instantly make the
slightest variations visibly, as well as audibly, perceptible. It was by
her early practice of the violin, that this celebrated woman had
acquired her wonderful facility of dashing at all musical intervals,
however unusual and difficult. She married a violoncellist, of no great
capacity, except for drinking.

MADDALENA LOMBARDINI SIRMEN, who united to high accomplishment as a
singer such an eminence in violin-playing, as enabled her, in some
degree, to rival Nardini, had an almost European reputation towards the
end of the last century. She received her first musical instructions at
the Conservatory of the _Mendicanti_ at Venice, and then took lessons
on the violin from Tartini. About the year 1780, she visited France and
England. This feminine artist composed a considerable quantity of violin
music, a great part of which was published at Amsterdam. A curious
document is extant as a relic of the correspondence between this lady
and Tartini. It consists of a perceptive letter from the great master,
the original of which, along with a translation by Dr. Burney, was
published in London in 1771. From this pamphlet, which is now among the
rarities of musical literature, I shall here give the Doctor’s English
version of the letter:

  “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,
  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 manner as that 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 scarce 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, or _la_: 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
  practice is, of all others, the most difficult, and the most
  essential to playing well 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 greatest 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, as if there
  was a rest after each note. 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 the point
  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 if
  you accustom yourself to skip over a string between two quick
  notes in divisions. Of such divisions you may play extempore as
  many as you please, 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 (any thing 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 every thing 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.
  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 a good _shake_; and I would have
  you practise it slowly, moderately fast, and quickly; 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. 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 slowly, increasing in quickness by insensible degrees, till
  it becomes rapid. You must not rigorously move immediately from
  semiquavers to demisemiquavers, 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 _gradation_; 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 clearly thus far;
  that you will accept of my respects, which I likewise beg of you
  to present to the Princess, to Signora Teresa, and to Signora
  Clara, for all whom I have a sincere regard; and believe me to
  be, with great affection,

  “Your obedient and most humble servant,

  “GIUSEPPE TARTINI.”

REGINA SCHLICK, wife of a noted German Violoncellist and Composer, was
celebrated under her maiden name of Sacchi, as well as afterwards, for
her performance on the violin. She was born at Mantua in 1764, and
received her musical education at the _Conservatorio della Pietà_, at
Venice. She afterwards passed some years at Paris. This lady was a
particular friend of Mozart’s, and, being in Vienna, about the year
1786, solicited the great composer to write something for their joint
performance at her concert. With his usual kindness, Mozart promised to
comply with her request, and, accordingly, composed and arranged in his
mind the beautiful Sonata for the piano and violin, in B flat minor,
with its solemn adagio introduction. But it was necessary to go from
_mind_ to _matter_—that is, to put the combined ideas into visible form,
in the usual way. The destined day approached, and not a note was
committed to paper! The anxiety of Madame Schlick became excessive, and,
at length, the earnestness of her entreaties was such, that Mozart could
no longer procrastinate. But his favorite and seductive game of
billiards came in the way; and it was only the very evening before the
concert, that he sent her the manuscript, in order that she might study
it by the following afternoon. Happy to obtain the treasure, though so
late, she scarcely quitted it for a moment’s repose. The concert
commenced: the Court was present, and the rooms were crowded with the
rank and fashion of Vienna. The sonata began; the composition was
beautiful, and the execution of the two artists perfect in every
respect. The audience was all rapture—the applause enthusiastic: but
there was one distinguished personage in the room, whose enjoyment
exceeded that of all the other auditors—the Emperor Joseph II, who, in
his box, just over the heads of the performers, using his opera-glass to
look at Mozart, perceived that there was nothing upon his music-desk but
a sheet of white paper! At the conclusion of the concert, the Emperor
beckoned Mozart to his box, and said to him, in a half-whisper, “So,
Mozart, you have once again trusted to chance!”—“Yes, your Majesty,”
replied the composer, with a smile that was half triumph and half
confusion. Had Mozart—not _studied_—but merely _played over_, this music
_once_ with the lady, it would not have been so wonderful: but he had
never even heard the Sonata _with_ the violin[68].

LOUISE GAUTHEROT, a Frenchwoman, was also distinguished on this
instrument. In 1789 and 1790, she performed concertos at the London
Oratorios, making great impression by the fine ability she manifested.
In referring to this lady’s professional achievements, one of those who
refuse to consider violin-playing as “an excellent thing in woman,” has
indulged in the following remarks: “It is said, by fabulous writers,
that Minerva, happening to look into a stream whilst playing her
favorite instrument, the flute, and perceiving the distortion of
countenance it occasioned, was so much disgusted, that she cast it away,
and dashed it to pieces! Although I would not recommend, to any lady
playing on a valuable Cremona fiddle, to follow the example of the
goddess, yet it strikes me that, if she is desirous of enrapturing her
audience, she should display her talent in a situation where there is
only just light enough to make darkness visible.”—Shall we reply,
ladies, to a detractor who is forced to seek support for his opinions in
“fabulous writers,” and, even then, drags forward that which is no
parallel case? Nay, nay, let him pass! Let him retire into the darkness
which he so unwarrantably recommends to others!

LUIGIA GERBINI, who ranks among the pupils of Viotti, attained
considerable credit as a performer. In 1799, her execution of some
violin concertos, between the acts, at the Italian Theatre in Lisbon,
was attended with marked success; as were afterwards her vocal exertions
at the same Theatre. This lady visited Madrid in 1801; and, some years
later, gave evidence of her instrumental talent at some public concerts
in London.

SIGNORA PARAVICINI, another pupil of Viotti’s, earned a widely spread
fame as a violinist. At Milan, where various fêtes were given in
celebration of the battle of Lodi, the wife of Bonaparte was very
favorably impressed, during one of these, by the talents of Madame
Paravicini. Josephine, a woman of generosity as well as taste, became
the patroness of this lady, engaged her to instruct her son, Eugène
Beauharnois, and afterwards took her to Paris. However, for some reason
not publicly known, Madame Paravicini was, after a time, neglected by
Josephine; in consequence of which, and of other misfortunes, she became
so distressed in her circumstances, as to be compelled to live on the
money produced by the sale of her wearing-apparel. Driven at last to the
utmost exigence, she had no remaining resource, except that of applying
to the benevolence of the Italians then in Paris, who enabled her to
redeem her clothes, and return to Milan. There, her abilities again
procured her competence and credit. Her performance was much admired
also at Vienna, where, in 1827, she

  “Flourished her _bow_, and showed how _fame_ was won.”

According to the report which travelled in her favour from thence, she
evinced a full and pure tone—a touch possessing the solidity and
decision of the excellent school in which were formed a Kreutzer and a
Lafont—and a mode of bowing so graceful, as to triumph over all
preconceived ideas of the awkwardness of the instrument in a female
hand. Madame Paravicini, in the course of her professional migrations,
was performing at Bologna in the year 1832.

CATARINA CALCAGNO, born at Genoa in 1797, received, as a child, some
instructions from the potential Paganini; and, at the age of fifteen,
astonished Italy by the fearless freedom of her play—but seems to have
left no traces of her career, beyond the year 1816.

Madame KRAHMEN, in 1824, executed a violin concerto of Viotti’s, with
great spirit and effect, at a concert in Vienna. At Prague, in the same
year, a young lady named SCHULZ gave public delight as a violin
performer. Mademoiselle ELEANORA NEUMANN, of Moscow, pupil of Professsor
Morandi, also astonished the public in like manner at Prague, and at
Vienna, when she had scarcely reached her tenth year! She is said to
have treated the instrument with great effect, and with a precision and
purity of tone not always to be found in those “children of _larger_
growth” who are content to substitute feats of skill, in place of these
essential requisites.

Madame FILIPOWICZ, of Polish derivation, has given us evidence, in
London, not many years since, of the success with which feminine sway
_may_ be exercised over the most difficult of instruments.

The instances I have thus brought forward will probably be deemed
sufficient—_else_ were it easy to go backward again in date, and to
mention Horace Walpole’s visit to St. Cyr, in one of the apartments of
which serious establishment, he beheld the young ladies dancing minuets
and country-dances, while a nun, albeit “not quite so able as St.
Cecilia,” played on the violin!—Or, I might allude to the threefold
musical genius of Mrs. Sarah Ottey, who, in 1721-22, frequently
performed solos at concerts, on the harpsichord, violin, and base-viol!
Enough, however, has been produced, to shew “quid femina possit”—what
the fair sex _can_ achieve, upon the first and most fascinating of
instruments.


THE END.


FOOTNOTES:

[1] M. Cartier, Musicien de la Chapelle du Roi, announced for
publication, several years ago, an “Essai Historique sur le Violon, et
sur les progrès de l’Art Musical, depuis le moyen age.” This
announcement was accompanied by the following observations:—“An
Historical Essay upon the Violin may, at first sight, appear to many to
possess but little interest. They will not readily believe that it is
capable of exciting their liveliest curiosity, and of presenting an
object of real utility, inasmuch as an attempt will be made to lead the
mind from the mere mechanism of the art to a moral and scientific view
of the subject, and to a consideration how far the _beau idéal_ of music
is indebted to the violin. The author proves that this instrument was
unknown to _the ancients_, and derives its origin from the _Druids of
Gaul_, from whom it afterwards passed to the bards of Scotland—that,
from this obscure beginning, it made its way through the dark ages, with
slow but certain success, till the beginning of the 17th century, when
it attained the first rank among instruments.”—(_Harmonicon_, 1827.) I
have not been able to discover whether this promised treatise has yet
seen the light. The idea of tracing the instrument to the _Druids of
Gaul_ seems more romantic than rational; but it would be something
gained for _la gloire de la France_, could such a theory be
substantiated.

[2] In England, during the time here referred to, the instruments of the
viol class were so much in favour that every considerable family had, as
a necessary part of its establishment, a complete _chest of viols_, that
is to say, a treble, tenor and bass-viol, each played with a bow, and
bearing such proportion to one another as do the modern violin, tenor
and violoncello.

[3] “Memoirs of the Musical Drama.”

[4] M. Baillot makes a somewhat longer draft upon the past tense; for he
states, that for nearly _three hundred years_ back there has been no
change in the structure of the violin.—Introduction to the “Méthode de
Violon du Conservatoire.”

[5] They who enjoy the advantage of access to curious books may see a
figure of a Provençal Fiddler in “Diez, Poesie der Troubadour.” Viol was
the old Norman French name for the fiddle used by the minstrels of the
middle ages, which was furnished variously with 3, 4, 5, or 6 strings.
Viula was the Provençal term—and arson, or arçon, for the _bow_.

[6] “It is a kinde of disparagement to be a cunning fiddler.”—_Feltham._

[7] The lute, of which hardly the shape, and still less the sound, are
now known, was, during the 16th and 17th centuries, the favourite
chamber instrument of every nation in Europe.

[8] According to Strutt, the name of _fiddlers_ was applied to the
_minstrels_ as early, at least, as the 14th century. “It occurs (says
that writer) in the Vision of Pierce the Ploughman, where we read, ‘not
to fare as a fydeler, or a frier, to seke feastes.’ It is also used, but
not sarcastically, in the poem of Launfel:—

  They had menstrelles of moche honours,
  Fydelers, sytolyrs, and trompoters.

“I remember also (says Strutt) a story recorded in a manuscript, written
about the reign of Edward III, of a young man of family, who came to a
feast, where many of the nobility were present, in a vesture called a
coat bardy, cut short in the German fashion, and resembling the dress of
a minstrel. The oddity of his habit attracted the notice of the company,
and especially of an elderly knight, to whom he was well known, who thus
addressed him: “Where, my friend, is your fiddle, your ribible, or
suchlike instrument belonging to a minstrel?” “Sir,” replied the young
man, “I have no crafte nor science in using such instruments.” “Then,”
returned the knight, “you are much to blame; for, if you choose to
debase yourself and your family by appearing in the garb of a minstrel,
it is fitting you should be able to perform his duty.”

[9] The miserable state of itinerant fiddlers, and other musicians, is
described by Putenham, in his _Arte of English Poesie_, printed in 1589;
and Bishop Hall, the satirist, adverting to their low condition,
describes them as

  Selling a laughter for a cold meale’s meat.

[10] The learned Wilhelm Grimm, who quotes this curious record from
_Storck, Darstellungen aus dem Rhein-und Mosellande_, conceives that
this armorial bearing fully explains the allusion to the fiddle of
Volker, the accomplished musician and warrior in the old poem of the
“Nibelungen Lied” (supposed of the 12th century), and forms a key to the
enigma of his being exhibited in the joint capacity of champion and
fiddler, and bearing his fiddle, that is, his _arms_, into the battle
with him.

[11] The readiness of an apothecary to _take up a viol_ does not seem,
after all, a thing so much out of course. The singularity is, rather,
that he should be able to _make so little of it_.

[12] The viol, less powerful and penetrating than its supplanter, the
violin, was not without its recommendatory qualities. Hawkins speaks of
“the sweet and delicate tone which distinguishes the viol species.” Old
Thomas Mace, who wrote when the viol was declining in fashion, was
emphatic in its praise. “Your best provision,” says he, “and most
compleat, will be a good _chest of_ viols; six in number, viz. 2 basses,
2 tenors, and 2 trebles; all truly and proportionally suited.”

[13] According to this loose diction of honest Anthony’s, it would
appear as if Troylus and Achilles had exhibited a rivalry on the violin,
like Lafont and Paganini!

[14] That the Italians (says M. Choron) have perfected every sort of
vocal composition, is generally agreed; but a fact which is apt to be
overlooked, is that they have been the instructors of all Europe in
instrumental composition, and that to them we are indebted for the first
and most esteemed models in that department of the art. It is the
Italians who invented all the various kinds of instrumental music which
we have called single pieces or solos, from the sonata to the concerto.
In violin music, Corelli, Tartini, and their pupils, preceded the
composers of all the other nations of Europe, to whom they have served
as models. The same may be said with regard to the harpsichord, from
Frescobaldi to Clementi. All other single pieces have been constructed
on the model of the compositions for the two instruments just named.

[15] At the time of Corelli’s greatest reputation, Geminiani asked
Scarlatti what he thought of him. The man of hard learning replied that
“he found nothing greatly to admire in his composition, but was
extremely struck with the manner in which he played his concertos, and
his nice management of his band, the uncommon accuracy of whose
performance gave the concertos an amazing effect, even to the _eye_, as
well as to the ear; for (as Geminiani explained) Corelli regarded it as
essential to a band that their bows should all move exactly together,
_all up_, or _all down_; so that, at his rehearsal, which constantly
preceded every public performance of his Concertos, he would immediately
stop the band, if he saw an irregular bow.

We may smile a little at Scarlatti’s criticism; but the smile may extend
at the same time to the quaint precision of the Corellian custom it
notices:—a custom which suggests the idea of military mechanism, as well
as military time; or rather, which reminds us, in a still more lively
manner, of the old nursery pæan.

  Here we go up, up, up,
  And here we go down, down, downy!

Scarlatti (it may be here observed) was the first who introduced into
his airs, accompaniments for the violin, as well as bits of
symphony;—thus both enriching the melody, and giving relief to the
singer.

[16] The only English editions of the above-named works are those
published by Messrs. Robert Cocks and Co.; one of which editions is
printed from the original plates of copper, which formed part of the
stock of Walsh, who printed for Handel.

[17] Burney has made the mistake of stating that the work dedicated to
the Cardinal was the _Opera Quinta_; and, although this was obviously a
mere slip of the pen, carrying with it its own contradiction, it is
curious to observe with what easy acquiescence the successive English
Compilers have reprinted the error.

[18] The overture is inserted in the printed collections of Handel’s
Overtures; and it is conjectured that it was the _first_ movement which
appeared so difficult to Corelli.

[19] This must have happened about the year 1708; as it appears that
Scarlatti was settled at Rome from 1709 to the time of his decease.
Corelli’s Concertos therefore must have been composed many years before
they were published.

[20] The coincidences suggested by this juxta-position are so inviting
for an epigrammatic twist, that the indulgent reader will perhaps,
pardon the following attempt:

  Each heading, in his art, the school of Rome,
  Painter and Fiddler here have found their tomb.
  Though dead in body, both in fame are quick—
  Fame wrought with _hair_ appended to a _stick_!
  So Genius triumphs, and her sway extends,
  By means minute attaining greatest ends.

[21] Dr. Burney dates his birth 1666; but Sir John Hawkins, who assigns
the date above given, is the more likely to be correct, as he was
personally acquainted with Geminiani.

[22] According to Dr. Burney’s reckoning, his term of years would have
been 96: the reason for supposing that authority erroneous has been
already stated.

[23] It is a somewhat curious circumstance that the descendant of
Carbonelli, with an _i_ less than his progenitor, is at this day
exercising that very liquid calling which finally prevailed with the man
of music. Whether, besides selling superlative wine, he makes any
pretension to support the ancestral honors on the violin, is a point I
am unable to determine.

[24] There is another account of this love episode in Tartini’s life,
which does not conduct it so far as matrimony, but represents that, when
all the arguments of his friends against the match were found to be
without effect, his father was compelled to confine him to his room; and
that, in order to engage his attention, he furnished him with books and
musical instruments, by means of which he _soon overcame his passion_!
This statement, so opposed to the general experience of such matters,
will easily be discredited by all youthful hearts. Cure a young
gentleman’s passion, his first love, by locking him up in a study!
Preposterous. Let us cling to the more current account, and confide in
probability and Dr. Burney.

[25] Of several treatises which Tartini has written, the one most
celebrated, his “Trattato di Musica, secondo in vera scienza dell’
Armonia,” is that in which he unfolds the nature of this discovery, and
deduces many observations tending to explain the musical scale, and, in
the opinion of some persons, to correct several of the intervals of
which it is composed.

[26] For Tartini’s judicious letter of elementary hints, addressed to
Madame Sirmen, see the chapter on _Female Violinists_.

[27] Query, _Solo_?—PRINTER’S IMP.

[28] See the reference to the old sacerdotal habit of fiddling, at page
55.

[29] In his “Sonate Accademiche,” _opera seconda_, published in London,
1744, we meet (observes Mr. G. F. Graham), on the page immediately
preceding the music, with the first example we have noticed in _Sonate_
of that time, of an explanation of marks of bowing and expression that
occur in the course of the work. His marks for _crescendo-diminuendo_,
and for _diminuendo_, and for _crescendo_, are of the same form as the
modern ones—only _black_ throughout.—His mark for an up-bow consists of
a vertical line drawn from the interior of a semi-circle placed
beneath it. His mark for a down-bow is the same figure reversed in
position;—Mʳ. for _mordente_, &c. These are things worth noticing in
old music. In pages 67-9, of the same work, Veracini gives the Scottish
air of Tweedside, with variations; the first instance we know, of
Scottish music being so honored by an old Italian violinist.

[30] “I cannot understand how _Arts_ and _Sciences_ should be subject
unto any such fantastical, giddy, or inconsiderate toyish conceits, as
ever to be said to be _in fashion_, or _out of fashion_.”—_Mace’s
Music’s Monument._

[31] It was remarked, while he was in England, that his execution was
astonishing, but that he dealt occasionally in such tricks as tended to
excite the risible faculty, rather than the admiration, of his auditors.

[32] Voltaire’s contempt for _bad_ playing seems to have equalled his
indifference towards _good_, as may be evidenced in the following lines
from his caustic pen:—

            toi, dont le violon
  Sous un archêt maudit par Apollon
  D’un ton si dur a _ráclé_, &c.

[33] Michael Kelly, who heard this artist at Vienna, on his return from
Russia, makes the following mention of him:—

“Giornovick, who was on his way from Russia to Paris, had been many
years first concerto-player at the court of Petersburgh. He was a man of
a certain age, but in the full vigour of talent: his tone was very
powerful, his execution most rapid, and his taste, above all, alluring.
No performer, in my remembrance, played such pleasing music. He
generally closed his concertos with a rondo, the subject of which was
some popular Russian air, to which he composed variations, with
enchanting taste.”

[34] Apropos of this deficiency of English, I find an anecdote in the
book of Parke, the oboist. He is describing the return from a
dinner-party.—“When we arrived at Tottenham-court Road, there being
several coaches on the stand, one was called for Jarnovicki, to convey
him home; but, on its coming up, although he had been in London several
years, he could not muster up English enough to name the street in which
he lived; and, none of the party knowing his residence, it produced a
dilemma, in which he participated, till, suddenly recollecting himself,
he broke out singing, _Marlbrouk s’en va-t-en guerre_, which enabled his
English friends to direct the coachman to Marlborough Street.”

[35] Parke, also, mentions the occurrence of this dispute, and the
challenge—stating, as the occasion, that Shaw had refused to leave his
proper station in the orchestra, to accompany Giornovichi.

[36] Authentic editions of these charming productions will be found in
the Catalogue of the Messrs. Robert Cocks and Co. who are the sole
publishers of Viotti’s Duos and Trios.

[37] It has been asserted that the _wire_ of his fourth string was
particularly fine and close, to ensure greater smoothness of surface,
and facilitate the sliding of the fingers.

[38] It is right to add here, that M. Guhr has subsequently reduced to a
system the results of his investigation into the peculiarities of
Paganini’s playing, and, illustrating the whole with copious examples,
has published it in a special work, of which an English version, under
the title of “Paganini’s Method of Playing the Violin,” has been put
forth by Messrs. Cocks and Co. The work is a curiosity in its kind, and
lays open, perhaps, as many of the great Artist’s labyrinthine recesses,
as could well be traced upon paper, for the guidance of those who would
toil in his track. Many of the difficulties thus exhibited to view, are
truly astounding—difficulties that look as inexpugnable as the
fortifications of Gibraltar! The _simultaneous four A’s flat_, do
“puzzle the will,” while the _artificial double harmonics_, and other
eagle-flights, cause an aching of “the mind’s eye,” in the attempt to
follow them. Ordinary students, in beholding such things, may well
experience a double shake of apprehension; but those of more energetic
fibre, and devoted patience, should by no means despair of attaining, at
least, a partial success in the undertaking.

Among the mechanical resources employed by Paganini, as essential for
the production of his extraordinary effects, M. Guhr mentions the
peculiar smallness or thinness of his strings—a quality the _reverse_ of
advantageous, as regards the _usual_ course of playing,—and his frequent
habit of screwing up his G string to B flat, through which device
certain passages, otherwise unmanageable, were brought within the scope
of possibility. Ordinary strings would resent this freedom of treatment
by a _snap_; but those of Paganini were, it seems, expressly fitted and
prepared for their _higher_ duty, in a way which M. Guhr minutely
explains.

[39] When Paganini was afterwards in England, it was observed by a rigid
time-keeper, who happened to attend one of his Concerts (at Winchester),
that his own portion of the performance, for which the requital was the
sum of £200, occupied just twenty-eight minutes.

[40] Duranowski, the Pole.

[41] M. Fétis, in his _Notice Biographique_, enters into a defence of
Paganini in this matter—explains the advantages of the _contract_
system, as liberating the artist from the petty cares that pertain to
concert-giving—and clears Paganini from the imputation of sordid
motives.

[42] _Some_ enlightenment on this point may be derived from a scrutiny
of M. Guhr’s Work, already referred to.

[43] Dr. Bennati read, before the _Royal Academy of Sciences_, at Paris,
a physiological notice of this extraordinary man, in which he gave it as
_his_ opinion, that his prodigious talent was mainly to be attributed to
the peculiar conformation which enabled him to bring his elbows close
together, and place them one over the other, to the elevation of his
left shoulder, which was an inch higher than the right; to the
slackening of the ligaments of the wrist, and the mobility of his
phalanges, which he could move in a lateral direction at pleasure. Dr.
Bennati also alluded to the excessive development of the cerebellum, as
connected with the extraordinary acuteness of his organs of hearing,
which enabled him to hear conversations carried on in a low tone, at
considerable distance.—M. Geoffroy St. Hilaire remarked that he had been
particularly struck with the prominence of the artist’s forehead, which
hung over his deeply-seated eyes like a pent-house.

[44] “_De l’Opéra en France._”

[45] Of harmony, or of fine melody, or of the higher relations between
poetry and music, the ostentatious Louis appears to have had no
conception. In a case of rivalry, wherein Battista, a scholar of
Corelli’s, played against one of the French band who was an ordinary
performer, he (the royal Auditor) preferred an air in “Cadmus” (an opera
of Lully’s, and not one of his best), as given by the Frenchman, to a
solo (probably of Corelli’s) by the Italian,—saying, “Voila mon gout, à
moi; Voila mon gout!”

[46] “Jamais homme n’à porté si haut l’art de jouer du violon: et cet
instrument était plus agréable entre ses mains qu’aucun autre de ceux
qui plaisent le plus.”—_Moreri, Dict. Historique._

[47] The above anecdote suggests another, of a somewhat similar cast,
pertaining to the great Musical Commemoration at Westminster Abbey, in
1791. A person falling upon a double bass, as it lay on its side,
immediately disappeared—nothing being seen of him, except his legs
protruding out of the instrument; and for some time no one could assist
him, owing to the laughter occasioned by his predicament!

[48] “Paris est le foyer musical de la France: les astres les plus
brillans roulent dans cette région préférée; mais hélas! leurs rayons ne
portent pas la lumière une grande distance. A peine sommes nous sortis
des portes de cette capitale, que nous tombons soudain dans une
obscurité profonde.”—(_Castil-Blaze, de l’Opéra en France._)

[49] “_Equisse de l’Histoire du Violon._”

[50] The universal diffusion of musical tendencies among the Germans has
been often made the subject of remark. A late traveller, visiting the
Theatre at Cassel, says that the orchestra there was half filled with
_officers_, who fiddled in their regimental uniform, without considering
the practice as at all derogatory from their dignity.

[51] Dr. Burney remarks that Geminiani used to claim the _invention_ of
the half-shift on the violin, and that he probably first brought it to
England; but that the Italians ascribed it to Vivaldi, and others to the
elder Matteis, who came hither in King William’s time.

[52] Of _Tassenberg_, a fine player, who came over to England with
William Cramer, little can be said. As he fell speedily into obscurity,
I place him here below in a note. With capacity for achieving a
position, but with no prudence for its retention, he endured much misery
through his own reckless follies. To some one who was once enquiring
where he _lived_, the reply was, “In and about the brick-kilns at
Tothill-Fields.”

[53] Apropos of the violoncello—let us here bestow a passing glance on
the name of _Merk_, distinguished more recently than that of Bernard
Romberg, in connection with the larger instrument. Merk seems to have
made a closer approach to our eminent Robert Lindley, in quality of
taste, than in firmness of hand, or brilliancy of tone. Mr. Novello, who
has rated him higher than any of our players, _except_ Lindley, adds a
remark with reference to the _double basses_ used in Germany—that they
have frequently, instead of _three_ strings, a complement of _four_,
thinner than those in use with us, and descending to E below the usual
scale—and that, when mixed with other instruments of the same class, the
depth and richness they produce are very fine.

[54] Life of Anthony à Wood, Oxford, 1772, p. 88, &c.

[55] In process of time, these compositions likewise were supplanted by
Martini’s Concertos and Sonatas, which, in their turn, were abandoned
for the Symphonies of Van Malder, and the sonatas of the elder Stamitz.
Afterwards, the trios of Campioni, Zanetti, and Abel came into play, and
then the symphonies of Stamitz, Canabich, Holtzbauer, and other Germans,
with those of Abel, Bach, and Giardini; which, having done their duty,
“slept with their fathers,” and gave way to those of Vanhall, Pleyel,
and Boccherini; and all have now gradually sunk into insignificance,
eclipsed by the superior brightness and grandeur of Haydn, Mozart,
Beethoven, Cherubini, and some others, whose symphonies are the delight
and wonder of the existing generation. So runs the changeful course of
musical success!

[56] As a grandson of the individual here recorded, the writer of these
pages may perhaps find licence to mention that there is extant in his
family a fine portrait of Dubourg, by the Dutch painter Vander Smissen,
interesting for the qualities of intelligence and good-humour that are
blended in its expression.

[57] Vide “Records of a Stage Veteran,” in the New Monthly Magazine.

[58] As to this asserted advantage of resorting to _chemical agency_,
the joke is somewhat of the oldest—so we may as well turn its coat, and
it will then wear the aspect of the following

HINT TO PURCHASERS.

  To buy a fiddle when about,
    Your way unto a Chemist’s win,
  Where, if but twelve-pence you lay out,
    You’re sure to get a _vial_ “_in_.”

[59] Should there be any to whom the foregoing estimate (which aims at
being a candid one) may seem to render imperfect justice to the claims
it deals with, I can only remind them that they have the same freedom as
myself to indulge their opinion, and to assert it. Nay, I will even
furnish them with four measured lines, by way of a text from which to
expand their own more propitious adjudication; provided only, that they
will accept them as conceived in any other spirit than that of
ill-nature, which is hereby wholly disavowed:—

  Ask not how long shall flourish yet his fame,
    Nor when shall cease the record of his glory!
  Oblivion _dares not_ to efface his name,
    Since e’en the _tomb_ cries out “_Memento Mori_!”

[60] “Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain.”—_Johnson._

[61] It must be borne in mind, that the three Quartett Concerts had been
given, with Mr. Dando as Leader, at the Horn Tavern; and the four
“Concerti da Camera,” at the Hanover Square Rooms;—that both parties had
advertised their forthcoming series;—and that it was pretty extensively
rumoured that the Blagrove, Gattie, Dando, and Lucas party had combined
to try their fortune in the new field.

[62] In the getting-up of Concertos for the annual _Concours_ in Paris,
the Violin students exercise a perseverance and length of labour truly
surprising; and, in the result, such is the perfect manner in which the
same Concerto is executed successively by sometimes a dozen candidates,
that it would puzzle the most skilful judges to discriminate the
individual to whom the prize should be awarded. In such cases, were it
not for the subsequent resource—the safe and certain test of
sight-playing, which brings into operation the intellect as well as the
hand—it would perhaps be impossible to give a single decision that
should not be open to dispute. Thus great is the power of execution
which practice confers—and thus rigorous, the _need_ of that practice!

[63] If an Amateur, who is capable of murdering time, should yet have
the grace of a disposition to offer some _apology_ for the act, I would
suggest his quoting, for that purpose, the subjoined rhyming octave:—

  “Cease, cease this fiddling,” cried Sir John,
   To Ned, his tune-perplexing son—
  “You _lose your time_, you idle lout.”
  “No, sir, my time I keep, throughout.”
  “Psha! _keep_ time! no, _kill_ time, you mean,”
   Mutter’d the father, full of spleen.
  “_Kill_ him! well, sure, sir, I’m no zany,
   For killing him who has killed _so many_.”

[64] The injurious and disqualifying effect of musical vanity,
complained of in France as well as here, is thus noticed by M.
Castil-Blaze:—“Although music is every where taught to our youth, and is
an art cultivated by a very considerable number of Amateurs, we find
very few amongst them who are really useful with regard to playing in
concert. And this proceeds, partly, from the fact of each individual
desiring to occupy the first place. I have known violin-players renounce
their instrument, because of finding themselves restricted to the
_second part_. As for your _tenor_, it is a department not to be
mentioned, and is left in the hands of those good elderly dullards who
have already forgotten the half of what they never very well knew.”

[65] As it is neither hoped nor intended that this chapter should
constitute a _gradus_, or complete code of instruction for the young
student, I do but hint at a _few_ of the streams of information that
Footnote: are open to him. A more extended view of these would result to
him from a reference to the printed catalogues of those very diligent
purveyors of _pabulum_ for auricular purposes, Messrs. Cocks and Co.;
but, should he look upon a copious Catalogue as little better than a
strange road without a guide, or a labyrinth without a _clue_—and should
he have no _live_ preceptor at hand, to consult—I would point his
attention to an available help from the same quarter, namely,
“_Hamilton’s Catechism for the Violin_,” small in compass as in cost,
wherein he will find, briefly indicated, the various steps by which,
with due regard to continuous advancement, he should make his way.

[66] It is noticeable, as among the advantages due to this enterprise,
that the text of the great Master, whose name it borrows, has been
rescued (so far as relates to his Quartetts) from the numerous _errors_
wherewith all the editions were chargeable; and that a new edition,
edited by Monsieur Rousselot (through whose labours that purification
was mainly accomplished) has been submitted to the public by Messrs.
Cocks & Co.

[67] Among the meritorious doings of provincial Amateurs (albeit _not_
in the way of Quartetts), I would here take occasion to mention the
Brighton “Choral Society,” commenced in 1835, under the zealous
management of Mr. H. Woledge, whose funds, as well as his time and
talent, were liberally contributed to the undertaking. That social
combination, although not continued beyond its third season, has been
followed by the Brighton “Amateur Symphony Society,” which, with Mr. B.
Thom for its Leader, and Mr. Woledge as its Secretary, is at this time
pursuing its career of recreative euphony. Such Societies as this last,
though they do not form quartett-players, can qualify their members to
supply, with creditable effect, some of the demands of an orchestra.

[68] When twenty-four bits, instead of twelve, are used for the
_purfling_, and when the _tail-piece_ is made of _two_ bits, the total
number of pieces extends to _seventy-one_!

[69] Anecdotes of Mozart, by Frederic Rochlitz.


PRINTED BY J. MALLETT, 59, WARDOUR STREET, LONDON. WORKS FOR
VIOLINISTS.

OTTO ON THE STRUCTURE AND PRESERVATION OF THE VIOLIN, ENLARGED EDITION,
8VO. BOARDS, BY JOHN BISHOP,

(_With Illustrations_).

PRICE THREE SHILLINGS.


A TREATISE

ON THE

STRUCTURE AND PRESERVATION

OF THE

VIOLIN,

AND

ALL OTHER BOW INSTRUMENTS;

TOGETHER WITH

An Account of the most celebrated Makers, and of the genuine
Characteristics of their Instruments;

BY

JACOBUS AUGUSTUS OTTO,

_Instrument Maker to the Court of the Grand Duke of Wiemar_.

Translated from the Original, with Additions and Illustrations,

BY

JOHN BISHOP,

OF CHELTENHAM.

ROBERT COCKS & CO. LONDON.

OTTO ON THE CONSTRUCTION AND PRESERVATION OF THE VIOLIN, ENLARGED
EDITION, BY JOHN BISHOP.


_From the Author’s Preface._

“I have been induced to draw up a minute description of the construction
of the Violin and all other bow instruments, together with a careful
explanation of the forms of the genuine Italian instruments, by which
they may be clearly distinguished from the spurious imitations. I shall
specify those makers who, next to the Cremonese, have produced the best
instruments and worked on the most correct mathematical principles, and
shall treat at large of the rules which should be observed in repairing;
because, through this, most of the good Italian violins, and those of
other celebrated makers, have been spoiled.”

“... many good Violinists are unacquainted with the construction and
the various component parts of their instruments....” _Chap. II, p. 4._


_From the Morning Herald._

“The famous Treatise of Otto on the Violin has been ably translated by
Mr. John Bishop, whose book will be welcome to those who are curious in
the history of the instrument, in the biographies of its most renowned
makers, and in its mechanism philosophically considered.”


“The appendix (only found in this edition) contains a valuable article
on the proportions, &c. of the several parts of the violin, illustrated
by elaborate diagrams; and also another upon the bow, which was a
desideratum in the original work—thus completing the necessary circle of
information which every violinist should possess respecting the
mechanism of his instrument—and which will prove an effectual safeguard
against the mischievous practices of so-called restorers and repairers.”


“The study of this book will show any unfair dealing on the part of
dealers in old violins.”—_Harmonicon._


See also _Chap. IX, p. 342_, of “The Violin.”

A LIST

OF

BOOKS OF INSTRUCTION

FOR THE

VIOLIN,

INCLUDING

THE METHODS OF THE MOST CELEBRATED MASTERS.


STANDARD EDITION OF DR. SPOHR’S GREAT WORK,

_With the Author’s own Sanction._

  LOUIS SPOHR’S CELEBRATED VIOLIN SCHOOL, translated by JOHN
  BISHOP, with two portraits of the Author—large music folio, whole
  cloth boards, £1 11s. 6d.


TESTIMONIAL FROM THE AUTHOR.

  “London, June, 1843.

“I have carefully looked over the English edition of my Violin School,
published by Messrs. Cocks and Co. and have no hesitation in
recommending it as a faithful translation of the original work.

  “LOUIS SPOHR.”


The following is the reply to the Inscription Letter of the Publishers,
received by them from the Secretary to the

ROYAL ACADEMY OF MUSIC:

  “Royal Academy of Music, February 13th, 1843.

  “Sir,—I am directed by the Committee of Management of this
  Institution, to state that they have much pleasure in granting
  your wish to publish their names as patronizing your edition of
  SPOHR’S VIOLIN SCHOOL. I am farther instructed to return you
  their best thanks for your donation of a copy of the above Work,
  and which they have felt much pleasure in directing to be placed
  in the Library of the Academy.

  “I am, Sir, your obedient Servant,

  “To Robert Cocks, Esq.”

  “J. GIMSON, Secretary.”


_From the Morning Chronicle._

“This edition is fully equal in value to the original German; or,
indeed, superior to it, when we consider the useful notes added by the
Translator, and the correct and beautiful manner in which the Volume has
been brought out by the Publishers.”


_From the Spectator._

“Any criticism on a work of such standing and repute as SPOHR’S VIOLIN
SCHOOL would now be superfluous, if not impertinent. Its reputation has
long been established throughout Europe; and the testimony of the best
judges has stamped it as the most perfect work of its kind.”


INSTRUCTION BOOKS FOR THE VIOLIN.


  CAMPAGNOLI’S New and Progressive Method for the Violin,
    translated by John Bishop, and dedicated to His late
    Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge—large music
    folio, whole cloth boards                               £1  4 0

  PAGANINI’S Method of Playing the Violin, by Charles Guhr,
    translated by James Clarke                                 12 0

  RODE, BAILLOT, and KREUTZER’S Method of Learning the
    Violin, as adopted by the Conservatoire de Musique,
    in Paris, translated by J. A. Hamilton                     10 6

  Supplement to Rode, Baillot, and Kreutzer’s Method            8 0

  HAMILTON’S Catechism of the Violin, with an Appendix
    by John Bishop, 6th Edition                                 1 0

  PACINI’S Easy Method, with 50 Airs, 13th Edition, revised
    by Hamilton                                                 2 0

  ABBÉ’S (fils) Treatise on Harmonics                           1 6

  GUHR’S Treatise on Single and Double Harmonics                4 0

  PRAEGER’S Elementary and Practical School for the Violin,
    in Three Parts.

  Part 1. Easy Method, with 28 Airs, &c.                        5 0

  Part 2. The Indispensable, containing Scales, &c.             5 0

  Part 3. Studies selected from Beethoven, Haydn, &c.
    &c. &c. fingered                                            5 0

  T. GOODBAN’S Violin Method                                   10 6

  HOWELL’S Instruction Book                                    10 6

  HOWELL’S Elementary Examples                                  6 0

  MULLER’S Twenty Lessons for the acquirement of Time,
    for one or two Violins                                      4 0


  FOR THE VIOLA, OR TENOR VIOLIN.

  INSTRUCTION BOOKS, SCALES, &c.

  BRUNT’S Method for the Tenor, followed by 12 Studies          4 0

  PRAEGER’S (H. A.) Scales and Chords in all the Keys,
    with their proper fingering, at one view                    1 0

  PRAEGER’S (H. A.) 12 easy Preludes in different keys,
    fingered     for the use of those who wish to play
    with feeling and expression                                 2 0

  PRAEGER’S (H. A.) 18 Easy Studies, fingered                   3 0


THE VIOLA FOR SOLO PERFORMERS.—“Why is the VIOLA so little cultivated
among amateurs in comparison with the rest of the Violin Family? It
would seem, in my judgment, to be especially adapted for them, as it
does not embrace that wide range and execution that the violin does, but
depends on the sweetness and volume of tone. For the performance of
_Notturnos_, perhaps no instrument is more suitable, as any one, who has
heard Mr. Hill on it, will confess.”—_Correspondent of Cocks’s Musical
Miscellany, July, 1851._


FOR THE VIOLONCELLO.

   BAILLOT, LEVASSEUR, CATEL, and BAUDIOT’s Method for
     the Violoncello, adopted by the Conservatoire, translated
     by A. Merrick—fingered by T. Binfield                     12 0

   Supplement to ditto                                          6 0

   HUS-DESFORGES’ Instruction Book for the Violoncello         10 6

   HAMILTON’S Catechism for the Violoncello                     1 0

   DUPORT’S celebrated Essay for the Violoncello, translated
     by John Bishop (_in the press_).


FOR THE CONTRE-BASSO, OR DOUBLE BASS.

   MINE and FROLICH’S Method for the Double Bass (edited
   by Hamilton)                                                 8 0


STANDARD CLASSICAL WORKS

FOR VIOLIN, &c.


CORELLI’S TRIOS AND SOLOS.

  CORELLI’S Forty-eight Trios for Two Violins and Violoncello,
    Four Books, each                                            8 0

    Or, complete in Three Volumes                           £1  4 0

  CORELLI’S 12 celebrated Solos, newly arranged by Czerny      10 6

  CORELLI’S 12 Solos, printed from the plates (copper)
    originally belonging to Walsh                              10 6

  DE BÉRIOT’S Six Airs, varied for the Violin,
    with accompaniment for the Pianoforte:

  Nos. 1 to 5, each                                             4 0

  8th Air                                                       5 0


  VIOTTI’S DUETTS AND TRIOS.

  VIOTTI’S complete Collection of Duetts, Op. 1. 12 Duetts,
  2 books, each                                                 8 0

  VIOTTI’S Six Duetts, Op. 5, 2 books, each                     8 0

  VIOTTI’S Six Duetts, Op. 6, 2 books, each                     8 0

  VIOTTI’S Three Duetts, Op. 18                                 8 0

  VIOTTI’S Three Duetts, Op. 21                                 8 0

  VIOTTI’S Three Duetts, Homage à l’Amitié                      8 0

  VIOTTI’S complete Collection of Trios,

    First Set, Six Trios, Op. 2                                10 6

    Second Set, Op. 16                                          8 0

    Third Set, Op. 17                                           8 0

    Fourth Set, Op. 20                                          8 0

  VIOTTI’S Three Airs, with Variations (Violin & Piano), each   2 0


  BEETHOVEN’S Four Grand Trios, edited by Scipion Rousselot:

    Nos. 1, 2, 3 (Op. 4)                                       12 0

    No. 4 (Op. 3)                                               8 0

  (_The only complete Edition_).

  MOZART’S Original Trio for Violin, Tenor, and Bass            6 0

  TRIOS by PLEYEL, HUMMEL, &c. for Violin, Tenor, and
    Violoncello, or Pianoforte.


QUARTETTS.

TWO VIOLINS, TENOR, AND VIOLONCELLO.

  BEETHOVEN’S 17 Quartetts for Two Violins, Tenor, and
    Violoncello, edited by M. Scipion Rousselot, as performed
    at the Beethoven Quartett Society in London,
    with a Portrait and Memoir of the Composer. The
    entire set, engraved in the best style, on extra large
    plates, and printed on fine stout paper                 £6  6 0

    _Separately._

    Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, composed for, and dedicated to,
      Prince Lichnowsky (Op. 18), each                          9 0

    Nos. 7, 8, 9, dedicated to Prince Rasumowsky
      (Op. 58), each                                           10 6

    Nos. 10, 11, 12, and 14 (Ops. 74, 95, 97, and 133), each   10 6

    Nos. 13, 15, 16, 17 (Ops. 130, 131, 132, and 135), each    12 0

  HAYDN’S 83 Quartetts for Two Violins, Tenor, and Violoncello;
    a new edition, revised and corrected, with
    Portrait of the Author, and a Catalogue Thématique,
    4 vols. bound in cloth                                  £6  6 0

  The Quartetts may be had singly, at 2s. 6d. 3s. and 4s. each;
    or in Operas, or Sets of Six, at from 12s. to 16s. each set.

  _N.B.—A Catalogue Thématique may be had, on application,
    gratis and postage free._

  MOZART’S Ten Quartetts, 4 vols. boards                    £2  2 0

    First Set of Three                                         15 0

    Second Set of Three                                        15 0

    Third Set of Three, dedicated to the King of Prussia       15 0

    Single Quartett                                             6 O

    The Ten Quartetts in Score, 8vo. 10 Nos.                £1 10 0


  These unique and splendid Editions are

  THE ONLY UNIFORM EDITIONS EXTANT

  of the Quartetts of Haydn, Mozart, & Beethoven.

  QUINTETTS.

  TWO VIOLINS, TWO TENORS, AND VIOLONCELLO.

  BEETHOVEN’S Quintetts, complete edition, as performed by
    the Beethoven Society; edited by Scipion Rousselot—engraved
    in the same style as the Quartetts, on large sized plates,
    and printed on extra paper:

    Grand Quintett—No. 1, in E flat (Op. 4)                    10 6

                   No. 2, in C (Op. 29)                        10 6

                   No. 3, in E flat (Op. 20)                   10 6

                   No. 4, in B flat (Op. 20)                   10 6

   (The only complete English Edition,)

  BEETHOVEN’S Grand Quintett, in E flat, for Piano, Violin,
    Tenor, Flute, and Violoncello                               6 0

  DUSSEK’S Quintett for Piano, Violin, Tenor, Violoncello,
    and Double Bass (Op. 41)                                    7 0

  HAYDN’S Twelve Grand Symphonies, arranged by Dr. Hague
    for Flute, two Violins, Tenor, and Violoncello, 4 books,
    each                                                       15 0

    Pianoforte parts, each                                      4 0

  MOZART’S Six Quintetts for two Violins, two Tenors,
     and Violoncellos—6 books, each                             8 6

     Or, the Six complete in 5 volumes, boards              £2  2 0

     The first Five Quintetts, in score                     £1  2 6

     The only correct editions of these Quintetts extant..

  A. ROMBERG’S Quintetts for Violin, Flute, two Tenors,
    and Violoncello

    Six Quintetts, each                                         5 0

    Three Quintetts, each                                       6 0

—————

SEPTETTS, &c.

All the Symphonies and Overtures of Auber, Beethoven, Haydn, Mozart,
  Romberg, Rossini, &c.

  (Catalogues gratis and postage free.)

—————

  SYMHONIES AND OVERTURES FOR A FULL ORCHESTRA.

  BEETHOVEN’S Grand Symphony. No. 1, in C (Op. 21)             12 0

  HAYDN’S Grand Symphony, The Surprise                          7 6

  HAYDN’S Grand Military Symphony                               7 6

  MOZART’S Grand Symphonies, each                              10 6

  A. ROMBERG’S Grand Symphony in E flat (Op. 6)                10 6

  *** Duplicate Violin, Tenor, and Bass Parts, each             1 0

  OVERTURES FOR A FULL ORCHESTRA

  BEETHOVEN’S Overture to Prometheus (Op. 48)                   7 0

  CHERUBINI’S Overtures to Anacreon and Lodoiska, each          6 0

  MOZART’S Overtures—viz. Le nozze di Figaro, Il Flauto Magico,
    Il Don Giovanni, Idomeneo, La Clemanza di Tito,
    Cosi fan Tutti, La Vilanella Rapita, each                   7 0

  B. ROMBERG’S Overture in D (Op. 11)                           7 6

  C. M. VON WEBER’S Overture to Der Freyschütz                 10 6

    Duplicate Violin, Tenor, and Bass parts, each               1 6

  —————

  DANCE MUSIC

  All Lanner, Strauss, Labitzky, and Musard’s Dances may be had
    for a Full Orchestra.

  —————

  VIOLIN AND PIANOFORTE

  (with accompaniments.)

  Haydn’s Twelve Grand Symphonies, arranged for the Pianoforte by
    Czerny, with Accompaniments for Violin, &c. Mozart’s Symphonies,
    arranged by Clementi, with similar Accompaniments. Brilliant
    Duetts for Pianoforte and Violin Concertante, by Mozart, Beethoven,
    Rossini, Auber, Mayseder, Weber, Spohr, &c. with a large collection
    of Music for Violin, &c. and Pianoforte.

  —————

  Just Published

  A Catalogue of Standard and New Music for the Violin, Tenor, and
    Violoncello. 11th Edition.

  ☞ This catalogue is not equalled throughout Europe for the number,
     variety, and value of the Works it contains. It will be furnished
     on application, gratis and postage free.

  Applicants may also have, free by post, a List of Violins, Tenors,
    Violoncellos, and other Instruments; including some undoubted
    originals by the Italian Makers, with the Prices affixed.

  ALSO

  A Catalogue of the Original Works of Louis van Beethoven, with various
    arrangements.

  CATALOGUES, &c. FREE BY POST.

  GENERAL CATALOGUES of Music for all Instruments, embracing a
    stock printed from no less than a quarter of a million of plates,
    may be had, on application, _gratis and postage free_.

  A MISCELLANEOUS CATALOGUE of Standard and other Musical Works,
    ancient and modern, including Treatises on the Theory of Music,
    Historical Treatises, &c. with rare and curious works, printed,
    and in manuscript, including a copious selection from the Musical
    Library of His late R. H. the Duke of Cambridge (_gratis and
    postage free_).

  SELECT CATALOGUE of Sacred Music, Vocal, and for the Organ, with
    tables of the contents of the several works (_gratis and postage
    free_).


IN COURSE OF PUBLICATION.

  ORGAN WORKS, by W. T. Best; viz. The Organ Student, in Parts, at
  2s. 6d. each; Six Adagios for the Organ, 5s.; Pedal Exercises,
  &c. 12s.

  Several Copies of Handel’s Complete Works, £25 to £42.

  DR. BOYCE’S COLLECTION OF CATHEDRAL MUSIC, with Portrait, and
  Memoirs of the Composers, by Joseph Warren, dedicated to H. R. H.
  Prince Albert—3 vols. extra music folio, £6 6s.

  A LARGE COLLECTION OF PORTRAITS OF MUSICAL MEN, at various
  prices. Also Busts in bisque China of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven,
  Handel, J. S. Bach, Mendelssohn, and Weber, each 2s. 6d.


_Just Published_,

Vol. I. in Royal 8vo. Price £1 1s. of

(COCKS’S EDITION OF)

THE SCHOOL OF MUSICAL COMPOSITION,

BY DR. ADOLPH MARX.

This Edition, under the supervision of the Author himself (with
additions exclusively for the English translation), is published
simultaneously with the FOURTH GERMAN EDITION, _now in course of issue
at Liepzig_.


VIOLINS, BOWS, &c.

Vuillaume’s Copies of Straduarius, Guarnerius, the Amatis, Magini, &c.
price £14 each instrument.

Brazil Wood Violin, Tenor, and Violoncello Bows, by Vuillaume, at the
uniform price of thirty shillings; Moveable Hair, by the same,
eighteen-pence each hank; and his Patent Rosin, one shilling the box.


ROBERT COCKS & Co. NEW BURLINGTON STREET, _Music Publishers, by Special
Warrant, to the Queen_.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40289 ***