Kitobni o'qish: «The Violin»

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.

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: —

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.

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 guitar². 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. Hogarth³ (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 Monteverdi’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 undetermined⁴. 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 poetry⁵, 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.

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 Violin¹⁵. 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 appear¹⁸; 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 masters¹⁹, 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, Raffaelle²⁰.

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.”

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 per manent 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 public³⁷.

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.

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 sions 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.

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 débût 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 Beriot, 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 appoint ments, 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 people⁵⁰– 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, with out 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.

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, how ever, 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 uncommon – 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.”

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 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!”

 
Chemist, Fiddler, Statesman, and Buffoon;
 

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 depreciation 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 praise⁶³.

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 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: —

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

“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.’

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 suspect⁶⁸, 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 watch spring. 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.