Of this trade there are two branches; the sale of instruments which
are really second-hand, and the sale of those which are pretendedly
so; in other words, an honest and a dishonest business. As in street
estimation the whole is a second-hand calling, I shall so deal with it.
At this season of the year, when fairs are frequent and the river
steamers with their bands of music run oft and regularly, and out-door
music may be played until late, the calling of the street-musician
is “at its best.” In the winter he is not unfrequently starving,
especially if he be what is called “a chance hand,” and have not
the privilege of playing in public-houses when the weather renders
it impossible to collect a street audience. Such persons are often
compelled to part with their instruments, which they offer in the
streets or the public-houses, for the pawnbrokers have been so often
“stuck” (taken in) with inferior instruments, that it is difficult to
pledge even a really good violin. With some of these musical men it
goes hard to part with their instruments, as they have their full share
of the pride of art. Some, however, sell them recklessly and at almost
any price, to obtain the means of prolonging a drunken carouse.
From a man who is now a dealer in second-hand musical instruments, and
is also a musician, I had the following account of his start in the
second-hand trade, and of his feelings when he first had to part with
his fiddle.
“I was a gentleman’s footboy,” he said, “when I was young, but I was
always very fond of music, and so was my father before me. He was a
tailor in a village in Suffolk and used to play the bass-fiddle at
church. I hardly know how or when I learned to play, but I seemed to
grow up to it. There was two neighbours used to call at my father’s
and practise, and one or other was always showing me something, and so
I learned to play very well. Everybody said so. Before I was twelve,
I’ve played nearly all night at a dance in a farm-house. I never played
on anything but the violin. You must stick to one instrument, or you’re
not up to the mark on any if you keep changing. When I got a place as
footboy it was in a gentleman’s family in the country, and I never was
so happy as when master and mistress was out dining, and I could play
to the servants in the kitchen or the servants’ hall. Sometimes they
got up a bit of a dance to my violin. If there was a dance at Christmas
at any of the tenants’, they often got leave for me to go and play. It
was very little money I got given, but too much drink. At last master
said, he hired me to be his servant and not for a parish fiddler, so I
must drop it. I left him not long after--he got so cross and snappish.
In my next place--no, the next but one--I was on board wages, in
London, a goodish bit, as the family were travelling, and I had time
on my hands, and used to go and play at public-houses of a night, just
for the amusement of the company at first, but I soon got to know other
musicians and made a little money. Yes, indeed, I could have saved
money easily then, but I didn’t; I got too fond of a public-house life
for that, and was never easy at home.”
I need not very closely pursue this man’s course to the streets, but
merely intimate it. He had several places, remaining in some a year or
more, in others two, three, or six months, but always unsettled. On
leaving his last place he married a fellow-servant, older than himself,
who had saved “a goodish bit of money,” and they took a beer-shop in
Bermondsey. A “free and easy” (concert), both vocal and instrumental,
was held in the house, the man playing regularly, and the business
went on, not unprosperously, until the wife died in child-bed, the
child surviving. After this everything went wrong, and at last the man
was “sold up,” and was penniless. For three or four years he lived
precariously on what he could earn as a musician, until about six
or seven years ago, when one bitter winter’s night he was without a
farthing, and had laboured all day in the vain endeavour to earn a
meal. His son, a boy then of five, had been sent home to him, and an
old woman with whom he had placed the lad was incessantly dunning for
12_s._ due for the child’s maintenance. The landlord clamoured for
15_s._ arrear of rent for a furnished room, and the hapless musician
did not possess one thing which he could convert into money except his
fiddle. He must leave his room next day. He had held no intercourse
with his friends in the country since he heard of his father’s death
some years before, and was, indeed, resourceless. After dwelling on
the many excellences of his violin, which he had purchased, “a dead
bargain,” for 3_l._ 15_s._, he said: “Well, sir, I sat down by the
last bit of coal in the place, and sat a long time thinking, and
didn’t know what to do. There was nothing to hinder me going out in
the morning, and working the streets with a mate, as I’d done before,
but then there was little James that was sleeping there in his bed.
He was very delicate then, and to drag him about and let him sleep
in lodging-houses would have killed him, I knew. But then I couldn’t
think of parting with my violin. I felt I should never again have such
another. I felt as if to part with it was parting with my last prop,
for what was I to do? I sat a long time thinking, with my instrument
on my knees, ’til--I’m sure I don’t know how to describe it--I felt
as if I was drunk, though I hadn’t even tasted beer. So I went out
boldly, just as if I _was_ drunk, and with a deal of trouble persuaded
a landlord I knew to lend me 1_l._ on my instrument, and keep it by him
for three months, ’til I could redeem it. I have it now, sir. Next day
I satisfied my two creditors by paying each half, and a week’s rent in
advance, and I walked off to a shop in Soho, where I bought a dirty old
instrument, broken in parts, for 2_s._ 3_d._ I was great part of the
day in doing it up, and in the evening earned 7_d._ by playing solos by
Watchorn’s door, and the Crown and Cushion, and the Lord Rodney, which
are all in the Westminster-road. I lodged in Stangate-street. There was
a young man--he looked like a respectable mechanic--gave me 1_d._, and
said: ‘I wonder how you can use your fingers at all such a freezing
night. It seems a good fiddle.’ I assure you, sir, I was surprised
myself to find what I could do with my instrument. ‘There’s a beer-shop
over the way,’ says the young man, ‘step in, and I’ll pay for a pint,
and try my hand at it.’ And so it was done, and I sold him my fiddle
for 7_s._ 6_d._ No, sir, there was no take in; it was worth the money.
I’d have sold it now that I’ve got a connection for half a guinea. Next
day I bought such another instrument at the same shop for 3_s._, and
sold it after a while for 6_s._, having done it up, in course. This
it was that first put it into my head to start selling second-hand
instruments, and so I began. Now I’m known as a man to be depended on,
and with my second-hand business, and engagements every now and then as
a musician, I do middling.”
In this manner is the honest second-hand street-business in musical
instruments carried on. It is usually done by hawking. A few, however,
are sold at miscellaneous stalls, but they are generally such as
require repair, and are often without the bow, &c. The persons carrying
on the trade have all, as far as I could ascertain, been musicians.
Of the street-sale of musical instruments by drunken members of the
“profession” I need say little, as it is exceptional, though it is
certainly a branch of the trade, for so numerous is the body of
street-musicians, and of so many classes is it composed, that this
description of second-hand business is being constantly transacted,
and often to the profit of the more wary dealers in these goods. The
statistics I shall show at the close of my remarks on this subject.