[Footnote 8: "This is an enigmatical description of a pair of stocks

and whipping-post. It is so pompous and sublime that we are surprised

so noble a structure could be raised from so ludicrous a subject. We

perceive wit and humour in the strongest light in every part of the

description."--_Note by Dr. Grey_.]

[Footnote 9: Dr. Nash suggests the following rendering: "His spoils,

the Fiddle, and the case."]

GEORGE HERBERT'S REFERENCES TO MUSIC.

George Herbert, poet and divine, said of music, "That it did relieve

his drooping spirits, compose his distracted thoughts, and raised his

weary soul so far above earth, that it gave him an earnest of the joys

of heaven before he possessed them." His worthy biographer, Izaak

Walton, tells us--"His chiefest recreation was music, in which

heavenly art he was a most excellent master, and did himself compose

many divine hymns and anthems, which he set and sung to his Lute or

Viol; and though he was a lover of retiredness, yet his love to music

was such that he went usually twice every week, on certain appointed

days, to the Cathedral Church in Salisbury, and at his return would

say, 'That his time spent in prayer and Cathedral music elevated his

soul, and was his heaven upon earth.' But before his return thence to

Bemerton, he would usually sing and play his part at an appointed

private music meeting; and, to justify this practice, he would often

say, 'Religion does not banish mirth, but only moderates and sets

rules to it.'"

In walking to Salisbury upon one occasion to attend his usual music

meeting, George Herbert saw a poor man with a poor horse that was

fallen under his load. He helped the man to unload and re-load; the

poor man blessed him for it, and he blessed the poor man. Upon

reaching his musical friends at Salisbury they were surprised to see

him so soiled and discomposed; but he told them the occasion, and when

one of the company said to him "He had disparaged himself by so dirty

an employment," his answer was, "That the thought of what he had done

would prove music to him at midnight; and that the omission of it

would have upbraided and made discord in his conscience whenever he

should pass by that place; 'for if I be bound to pray for all that be

in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far as it is in my power,

to practise what I pray for; and though I do not wish for the like

occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass

one day of my life without comforting a sad soul, or showing mercy;

and I praise God for this occasion; and now let us tune our

instruments.'"

Herbert's love of imagery was often curious and startling. In singing

of "Easter" he said--

"Awake my lute and struggle for thy part

With all thy heart.

The Cross taught all wood to resound His name,

Who bore the same.

His stretched sinews taught all strings, what key

Is best to celebrate this most high day,

Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song

Pleasant and long:

Or since all music is but three parts vied

And multiplied,

O let thy blessed spirit bear a part,

And make up our defects with his sweet art."

The Sunday before the death of "Holy George Herbert," Izaak Walton

says, "he rose suddenly from his bed, or couch, called for one of his

instruments, took it into his hand and said--

"My God, my God, my music shall find Thee;

And every string

Shall have his attribute to sing."

And having tuned it, he played and sung--

"The Sundays of man's life,

Threaded together on Time's string,

Make bracelets to adorn the wife

Of the eternal, glorious King;

On Sundays heaven's door stands ope,

Blessings are plentiful and ripe,

More plentiful than hope."

The thought to which Herbert has given expression in his lines on

Easter--that "All music is but three parts vied and multiplied"--was

also in the mind of Christopher Simpson, who, in his work on "The

Division Viol," 1659, uses it as a musical illustration of the

doctrine of Trinity in Unity. He says: "I cannot but wonder, even to

amazement, that from no more than three concords (with some

intervening discords) there should arise such an infinite variety, as

all the music that ever has been, or ever shall be, composed. When I

further consider that these sounds, placed by the interval of a third

one above another, do constitute one entire harmony, which governs and

comprises all the sounds that by art or imagination can be joined

together in musical concordance, _that_, I cannot but think a

significant emblem of that Supreme and Incomprehensible Three in One,

governing, comprising, and disposing the whole machine of the world,

with all its included parts, in a most perfect and stupendous

harmony."

It is interesting to notice an earlier and remarkable allusion to the

union of sound from the pen of Shakespeare--

"If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,

By unions married, do offend thine ear,

They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds

In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.

Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,

Strikes each in each by mutual ordering,

Resembling sire and child and happy mother,

Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing."

VIOLINS FROM A MEDICAL POINT OF VIEW.

"Music and the sounds of instruments--says the lively Vigneul de

Marville--contribute to the health of the body and the mind; they

assist the circulation of the blood, they dissipate vapours, and open

the vessels, so that the action of perspiration is freer. He tells the

story of a person of distinction, who assured him that once being

suddenly seized by violent illness, instead of a consultation of

physicians, he immediately called a band of musicians, and their

Violins played so well in his inside that his bowels became perfectly

in tune, and in a few hours were harmoniously

becalmed."--_D'Israeli's_ "_Curiosities of Literature_."

Dr. Abercrombie recommends "Careful classification of the insane, so

that the mild and peaceful melancholic may not be harassed by the

ravings of the maniac. The importance of this is obvious; but of still

greater importance," he continues, "it will probably be to watch the

first dawnings of reason, and instantly to remove from the patient all

associates by whom his mind might be again bewildered."

The following case, mentioned by Pinel, is certainly an extreme one,

but much important reflection arises out of it:--

"A musician confined in the Bicetre, as one of the first symptoms of

returning reason, made some slight allusion to his favourite

instrument. It was immediately procured for him; he occupied himself

with music for several hours every day, and his convalescence seemed

to be advancing rapidly. But he was then, unfortunately, allowed to

come frequently in contact with a furious maniac, by meeting him in

the gardens. The musician's mind was unhinged; _his Violin was

destroyed;_ and he fell back into a state of insanity which was

considered as confirmed and hopeless."--_Abercrombie's_ "_Intellectual

Powers_."

"A MUSICIAN

is like an Echo, a retail dealer in sounds. As Diana is the goddess of

the silver bow, so is he the Lord of the wooden one; he has a hundred

strings in his bow; other people are bow-_legged_, he is bow-_armed_;

and though armed with a bow he has no skill in archery. He plays with

_cat_-gut and _Kit_-Fiddle. His fingers and arms run a constant race;

the former would run away from him did not a bridge interpose and

oblige him to pay toll. He can distinguish sounds as other men

distinguish colours. His companions are crotchets and quavers. Time

will never be a match for him, for he _beats_ him most unmercifully.

He runs after an Italian air open-mouthed, with as much eagerness as

some fools have sought the philosopher's stone. He can bring a tune

over the seas, and thinks it more excellent because far-fetched. His

most admired domestics are Soprano, Siciliano, Andantino, and all the

Anos and Inos that constitute the musical science. He can scrape,

scratch, shake, diminish, increase, flourish, &c.; and he is so

delighted with the sound of his own Viol, that an ass would sooner

lend his ears to anything than to him; and as a dog shakes a pig, so

does he shake a note _by the ear_, and never lets it go till he makes

it squeak. He is a walking pillory, and crucifies more ears than a

dozen standing ones. He often involves himself in dark and intricate

passages, till he is put to a _shift_, and obliged to get out of a

_scrape_--by scraping. His Viol has the effect of a _Scotch_ Fiddle,

for it irritates his hearers, and puts them to the itch. He tears his

audience in various ways, as I do this subject; and as I wear away my

pen, so does he wear away the strings of his Fiddle. There is no

medium to him; he is either in a flat or a sharp key, though both are

_natural_ to him. He deals in third minors, and major thirds; proves a

turncoat, and is often in the majority and the minority in the course

of a few minutes. He runs over the _flat_ as often as any Newmarket

racehorse; both meet the same fate, as they usually terminate in a

_cadence_; the difference is--one is driven by the _whip-hand_, the

other by the _bow-arm_; one deals in _stakado_, the other in

_staccato_. As a thoroughbred hound discovers, by instinct, his game

from all other animals, so an experienced musician _feels_ the

compositions of Handel or Corelli.--Yours, TIMOTHY CATGUT,

Stamford."--_Monthly Mirror_.

ORIGIN OF TARTINI'S "DEVIL'S SONATA."

The following interesting account of this marvellous composition was

given by Tartini to M. de Lalande, the celebrated astronomer:--

"One night in the year 1713, I dreamed that I had made a compact with

his Satanic Majesty, by which he was received into my service.

Everything succeeded to the utmost of my desire, and my every wish was

anticipated by this my new domestic. I thought that on taking up my

Violin to practise, I jocosely asked him if he could play on that

instrument. He answered that he believed he was able to pick out a

tune; and then, to my astonishment, began to play a sonata, so strange

and yet so beautiful, and executed in so masterly a manner, that I had

never in my life heard anything so exquisite. So great was my

amazement that I could scarcely breathe. Awakened by the violent

emotion, I instantly seized my Violin, in the hope of being able to

catch some part of the ravishing melody which I had just heard, but

all in vain. The piece which I composed according to my scattered

recollection is, it is true, the best of my works. I have called it

the 'Sonata del Diavolo,' but it is so far inferior to the one I heard

in my dream, that I should have dashed my Violin into a thousand

pieces, and given up music for ever, had it been possible to deprive

myself of the enjoyments which I derive from it."

[Illustration: The Devil Playing for Tartini.]

In the "Reminiscences of Michael Kelly" we are told that in the year

1779 Kelly was at Florence, and that he was present at a concert given

at the residence of Lord Cowper, where, he says, he had "the

gratification of hearing a sonata on the Violin played by the great

Nardini; though very far advanced in years, he played divinely. Lord

Cowper requested him to play the popular sonata, composed by his

master, Tartini, called the 'Devil's Sonata.' Mr. Jackson, an English

gentleman present, asked Nardini whether the anecdote relative to this

piece of music was true. Nardini answered that 'he had frequently

heard Tartini relate the circumstance,' and at once gave an account of

the composition, in accordance with that furnished by M. de Lalande."

DR. JOHNSON AND THE VIOLIN.

"Dr. Johnson was observed by a musical friend of his to be extremely

inattentive at a concert, whilst a celebrated solo-player was running

up the divisions and sub-divisions of notes upon his Violin. His

friend, to induce him to take greater notice of what was going on,

told him how extremely difficult it was. 'Difficult do you call it,

sir?' replied the Doctor; 'I wish it were _impossible_.'"--_Seward's_

"_Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson_."

"In the evening our gentleman farmer and two others entertained

themselves and the company with a great number of tunes on the Fiddle.

Johnson desired to have 'Let ambition fire thy mind' played over

again, and appeared to give a patient attention to it; though he owned

to me that he was very insensible to the power of music. I told him

that it affected me to such a degree, as often to agitate my nerves

painfully, producing in my mind alternate sensations of pathetic

dejection, so that I was ready to shed tears; and of daring

resolution, so that I was inclined to rush into the thickest part of

the battle. 'Sir,' said he, 'I should never hear it if it made me such

a fool.'"--_Boswell's_ "_Life of Johnson_."

DR. JOHNSON ON THE DIFFICULTY OF PLAYING THE FIDDLE.

"_Goldsmith_: 'I spoke of Mr. Harris, of Salisbury, as being a very

learned man, and in particular an eminent Grecian.'

"_Johnson_: 'I am not sure of that. His friends give him out as such,

but I know not who of his friends are able to judge of it.'

"_Goldsmith_: 'He is what is much better; he is a worthy, humane man.'

"_Johnson_: 'Nay, sir, that is not to the purpose of our argument;

that will as much prove that he can play upon the Fiddle as well as

Giardini, as that he is an eminent Grecian.'

"_Goldsmith_: 'The greatest musical performers have but small

emoluments; Giardini, I am told, does not get above seven hundred a

year.'

"_Johnson_: 'That is indeed but little for a man to get, who does best

that which so many endeavour to do. There is nothing, I think, in

which the power of art is shown so much as in playing on the Fiddle.

In all other things we can do something at first; any man will forge a

bar of iron if you give him a hammer; not so well as a smith, but

tolerably; and make a box, though a clumsy one; but give him a Fiddle

and a Fiddlestick, and he can do nothing.'"--_Boswell's_ "_Life of

Johnson_."

DR. JOHNSON'S EPITAPH ON PHILLIPS, THE WELSH VIOLINIST.

Johnson and Garrick were sitting together, when among other things

Garrick repeated an epitaph upon Phillips, by a Dr. Wilkes, which was

very commonplace, and Johnson said to Garrick, "I think, Davy, I can

make a better." Then, stirring about his tea for a little while in a

state of meditation, he, almost extempore, produced the following

verses:--

"Phillips, whose touch harmonious could remove

The pangs of guilty power or hapless love;

Rest here, distress'd by poverty no more;

Here find that calm thou gav'st so oft before;

Sleep undisturbed within this peaceful shrine,

Till angels wake thee with a note like thine!"

Boswell says, "Mr. Garrick appears not to have recited the verses

correctly, the original being as follows. One of the various readings

is remarkable, and it is the germ of Johnson's concluding line:--

"Exalted soul, thy various sounds could please

The love-sick virgin, and the gouty ease;

Could jarring _crowds_, like old Amphion, move

To beauteous order and harmonious love;

Rest here in peace, till angels bid thee rise,

And meet thy Saviour's _concert_ in the skies."

Boswell's "Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides" contains the author's

letter to Garrick asking him to send the "bad verses which led Johnson

to make his fine verses on Phillips the musician." Garrick replied,

enclosing the desired epitaph.

Boswell remarks, "This epitaph is so exquisitely beautiful that I

remember even Lord Kames, strangely prejudiced as he was against Dr.

Johnson, was compelled to allow it very high praise. It has been

ascribed to Garrick, from its appearing at first with the signature

G.; but I heard Mr. Garrick declare that it was written by Dr.

Johnson."

The epitaph of Phillips is in the porch of Wolverhampton Church. The

prose part of it is curious:--

Near this place lies

Charles Claudius Phillips,

Whose absolute contempt of riches,

and inimitable performances upon the Violin,

made him the admiration of all that knew him.

He was born in Wales,

made the tour of Europe,

and, after the experience of both kinds of fortune,

Died in 1732.

DR. JOHNSON'S KNOWLEDGE OF MUSIC.

He said he knew "a drum from a trumpet, and a bagpipe from a guitar,

which was about the extent of his knowledge of music." He further

tells us that "if he had learnt music he should have been afraid he

should have done nothing else but play. It was a method of employing

the mind, without the labour of thinking at all, and with some

applause from a man's self." These remarks are better appraised and

understood when we bear in mind Dr. Johnson's own estimate of his

musical knowledge together with his having derived pleasure from

listening to the sounds of the bagpipes. If a performance on those

droning instruments was in the Doctor's mind when he said that the

reflective powers need not be exercised in performing on a musical

instrument, there might be some truth in the observation. The labour

of thinking, however, cannot be dispensed with in connection with

playing most musical instruments, and least of all the Violin.

DR. JOHNSON ON FIDDLING AND FREE WILL.

"_Johnson_: 'Moral evil is occasioned by free will, which implies

choice between good and evil. With all the evil that there is, there

is no man but would rather be a free agent, than a mere machine

without the evil; and what is best for each individual must be best

for the whole. If a man would rather be the machine, I cannot argue

with him. He is a different being from me.'

"_Boswell_: 'A man, as a machine, may have agreeable sensations; for

instance, he may have pleasure in music.'

"_Johnson_: 'No, sir, he cannot have pleasure in music; at least no

power of producing music; for he who can produce music may let it

alone; he who can play upon a Fiddle may break it: such a man is not a

machine.'"--"_Tour to the Hebrides_."

HAYDN IN LONDON.--A "SWEET STRADIVARI."

(BY PERMISSION OF MR. JOHN MURRAY.)

The following extracts, taken from "A Country Clergyman of the

Eighteenth Century," a pleasant and entertaining book (consisting of

selections from the correspondence of the Rev. Thomas Twining, M.A.),

cannot fail to interest the reader. The Rev. Thomas Twining was born

in 1735. He was an excellent musician, both in theory and practice,

and a lover of the Violin. He had collected much valuable information

with regard to music, with a view to writing a history of the subject.

Upon learning that Dr. Burney was engaged on his History of Music, he

not only generously placed his valuable notes at the service of the

Doctor, but revised the manuscript of his friend's History. Dr.

Burney, in the preface of his work, says: "In order to satisfy the

sentiments of friendship, as well as those of gratitude, I must

publicly acknowledge my obligations to the zeal, intelligence, taste,

and erudition of the Rev. Mr. Twining, a gentleman whose least merit

is being perfectly acquainted with every branch of theoretical and

practical music."

The publication of the volume containing the interesting

correspondence between Dr. Burney and his friend not only serves to

enlighten us relative to the substantial aid given to our musical

historian, but also makes us acquainted with an English eighteenth

century amateur and votary of the Fiddle of singular ability and rare

humility:--

"COLCHESTER, _February_ 15, 1791.

"To DR. BURNEY,--

"... And now, my dear friend, let's draw our stools together, and have

some fun. Is it possible we can help talking of Haydn first? How do

you like him? What does he say? What does he do? What does he play

upon? How does he play?... The papers say he has been bowed to by

whole orchestras when he has appeared at the play-houses. Is he about

anything in the way of composition? Come, come! I'll pester you no

more with interrogations; but trust to your generosity to gratify my

ardent curiosity in your own way. I have just--and I am ashamed to say

but just--sent for his 'Stabat Mater.' Fisin[10] told me some

quartetts had, not long ago, been published by him. He has written so

much that I cannot help fearing he will soon have written himself dry.

If the resources of any human composer could be inexhaustible, I

should suppose Haydn's would; but as, after all, he is but mortal, I

am afraid he must soon get to the bottom of his genius-box. My friend

Mr. Tindal is come to settle (for the present at least) in this

neighbourhood. He is going to succeed me in the curacy of Fordham. He

plays the Fiddle well, the Harpsichord well, the Violoncello well.

Now, sir, when I say 'well,' I can't be supposed to mean the wellness

that one should predicate of a professor who makes the instrument his

study; but that he plays in a very ungentlemanlike manner, exactly in

time and tune, with taste, accent, and meaning, and the true sense of

what he plays; and, upon the Violoncello, he has execution sufficient

to play Boccherini's quintettos, at least what may be called very

decently. But ask Fisin, he will tell you about our Fiddling, and

vouch for our decency at least. I saw in one of the public prints an

insinuation that Haydn, upon his arrival in London, had detected some

forgeries, some things published in his name that were not done by

him. Is that true? It does not seem very unlikely."

[Footnote 10: James Fisin was born in Colchester; was intimate with

Dr. Burney, and well known as a Professor of Music.]

. . . . .

Haydn left Vienna December 15, 1790, and arrived with Salomon in

London on New Year's Day, 1791. The Rev. Thomas Twining's

interrogations addressed to Dr. Burney respecting him were therefore

made but a few weeks after Haydn's first arrival in England. Between

the months of January and May much had been seen and heard of Haydn,

information of which Dr. Burney gave to his friend, as seen in the

following letter:--

"COLCHESTER, _May_ 4, 1791.

"To DR. BURNEY,--

"How good it was of you to gratify me with another canto of the

'Haydniad'! It is all most interesting to me. I don't know

anything--any musical thing--that would delight me so much as to meet

him in a snug quartett party, and hear his manner of playing his own

music. If you can bring about such a thing while I am in town, either

at Chelsea, or at Mr. Burney's, or at Mr. Salomon's, or I care not

where--if it were even in the Black Hole at Calcutta (if it is a good

hole for music)--I say, if by hook or crook you could manage such a

thing, you should be my Magnus Apollo for the rest of your life. I

mention Salomon because we are a little acquainted. He has twice asked

me to call upon him, and I certainly will do it when I come to town. I

want to hear more of his playing; and I seem, from the little I have

seen of him, to like the man. I know not how it is, but I really

receive more musical pleasure from such private _cameranious_

Fiddlings and singings, and keyed instrument playings, than from all

the _appret_ of public and crowded performances.

"I have lately had a sort of Fiddle mania upon me, brought on by

trying and comparing different Stainers and Cremonas, &c. I believe I

have got possession of a sweet Stradivari, which I play upon with much

more pleasure than my Stainer, partly because the tone is sweeter,

mellower, rounder, and partly because the stop is longer. My Stainer

is undersized, and on that account less valuable, though the tone is

as bright, piercing, and full, as of any Stainer I ever heard. Yet,

when I take it up after the Stradivari it sets my teeth on edge. The

tone comes out plump, all at once. There is a comfortable reserve of

tone in the Stradivari, and it bears pressure; and you may draw upon

it for almost as much tone as you please. I think I shall bring it to

town with me, and then you shall hear it. 'Tis a battered, shattered,

cracky, resinous old blackguard; but if every bow that ever crossed

its strings from its birth had been sugared instead of resined, more

sweetness could not come out of its belly. Addio, and ever pardon my

sins of infirmity.

"Yours truly,

"T. T."

GAINSBOROUGH AS A MUSICIAN.

William Jackson, organist of Exeter Cathedral, was intimate with

Gainsborough, and besides being a thorough musician, painted with

ability. He was also the author of many essays. In one of these he

makes us acquainted with the character of Gainsborough's musical

abilities. He says, "In the early part of my life I became acquainted

with Thomas Gainsborough, the painter, and as his character was

perhaps better known to me than to any other person, I will endeavour

to divest myself of every partiality, and speak of him as he really

was. Gainsborough's profession was painting, and music was his

amusement--yet, there were times when music seemed to be his

employment, and painting his diversion.

"When I first knew him he lived at Bath, where Giardini had been

exhibiting his then unrivalled powers on the Violin. His excellent

performance made Gainsborough enamoured of that instrument; and

conceiving, like the servant-maid in the _Spectator_, that the music

lay in the Fiddle, he was frantic until he possessed the very

instrument which had given him so much pleasure--but seemed much

surprised that the music of it remained behind with Giardini. He had

scarcely recovered this shock (for it was a great one to _him_) when

he heard Abel on the Viol da Gamba. The Violin was hung on the willow;

Abel's Viol da Gamba was purchased, and the house resounded with

melodious thirds and fifths from 'morn to dewy eve!' Many an Adagio

and many a Minuet were begun, but none completed; this was wonderful,

as it was Abel's _own_ instrument, and, therefore, _ought_ to have

produced Abel's own music!

"Fortunately my friend's passion had now a fresh object--Fischer's

Hautboy[11]--but I do not recollect that he deprived Fischer of his

instrument; and though he procured a Hautboy, I never heard him make

the least attempt on it. The next time I saw Gainsborough it was in

the character of King David. He had heard a Harper at Bath--the

performer was soon Harpless--and now Fischer, Abel, and Giardini were

all forgotten--there was nothing like chords and arpeggios! He really

stuck to the Harp long enough to play several airs with variations,

and would nearly have exhausted all the pieces usually performed on an

instrument incapable of modulation (this was not a pedal Harp), when

another visit from Abel brought him back to the Viol da Gamba. He now

saw the imperfection of sudden sounds that instantly die away--if you

wanted staccato, it was to be had by a proper management of the bow,

and you might also have notes as long as you please. The Viol da Gamba

is the only instrument, and Abel the prince of musicians! This, and

occasionally a little flirtation with the Fiddle, continued some

years; when, as ill-luck would have it, he heard Crosdill, but by some

irregularity of conduct he neither took up nor bought the Violoncello.

All his passion for the Bass was vented in descriptions of Crosdill's

tone and bowing."

[Footnote 11: Fischer was a celebrated Oboe-player. He made his first

appearance in London in 1768. Gainsborough painted two portraits of

him, one of which is at Hampton Court.]

Gainsborough's fondness for fresh instruments is alluded to by Philip

Thicknesse, who says that during his residence at Bath, Gainsborough

offered him one hundred guineas for a Viol da Gamba, dated 1612. His

offer was declined, but it was ultimately agreed that he should paint

a full-length portrait of Mr. Thicknesse for the Viol da Gamba.

Gainsborough was delighted with the arrangement, and said "Keep me

hungry; keep me hungry! and do not send the instrument until I have

finished the picture." The Viol da Gamba was, however, sent the next

morning, and the same day the artist stretched a canvas. He received a

sitting, finished the head, rubbed in the dead colouring, &c., and

then it was laid aside--no more was said of it or done to it, and he

eventually returned the Viol da Gamba.

Jackson tells us that Gainsborough "disliked singing, particularly in

parts. He detested reading; but was so like Sterne in his letters,

that, if it were not for an originality that could be copied from no

one, it might be supposed that he had formed his style upon a close

imitation of that author. He had as much pleasure in looking at a

Violin as in hearing it. I have seen him for many minutes surveying,

in silence, the perfections of an instrument, from the just proportion

of the model and beauty of workmanship. His conversation was

sprightly; his favourite subjects were music and painting, which he

treated in a manner peculiarly his own. He died with this

expression--'We are all going to heaven, and Vandyke is of the

party.'"

GARRICK AND CERVETTO.

Cervetto, the famous Violoncello-player, occupied the post of

principal Violoncello at Drury Lane for many years. His fame as a

performer was almost matched by the celebrity of his nasal organ, the

tuberosity of which often caused the audience in the gallery to

exclaim, "Play up, Nosey!" In Dibdin's "Musical Tour," 1788, we are

told that "When Garrick returned from Italy, he prepared an address to

the audience, which he delivered previous to the play he first

appeared in. When he came upon the stage he was welcomed with three

loud plaudits, each finishing with a huzza. As soon as this

unprecedented applause had subsided, he used every art, of which he

was so completely master, to lull the tumult into a profound silence;

and just as all was hushed as death, and anxious expectation sat on

every face, old Cervetto, who was better known by the name of 'Nosey,'

anticipated the very first line of the address by--aw----a tremendous

yawn. A convulsion of laughter ensued, and it was some minutes before

the wished-for silence could be again restored. That, however,

obtained, Garrick delivered his address in that happy, irresistible

manner in which he was always sure to captivate his audience; and he

retired with applause, such as was never better given, nor ever more

deserved. But the matter did not rest here; the moment he came off the

stage, he flew like lightning to the music-room, where he encountered

Cervetto, and began to abuse him vociferously. 'Wha--why--you old

scoundrel. You must be the most----' At length poor Cervetto said,

'Oh, Mr. Garrick! vat is the matter--vat I haf do? Oh! vat is it?'

'The matter! Why you senseless idiot--with no more brains than your

Bass-Viol--just at the--a--very moment I had played with the

audience--tickled them like a trout, and brought them to the most

accommodating silence--so pat to my purpose--so perfect--that it was,

as one may say, a companion for Milton's visible darkness.' 'Indeed,

Mr. Garrick, it vas no darkness.' 'Darkness! stupid fool--but how

should a man of my reading make himself understood by--a---- Answer

me--was not the house very still?' 'Yes, sir, indeed--still as a

mouse.' 'Well, then, just at that very moment did you not--with your

jaws extended wide enough to swallow a sixpenny loaf--yawn?' 'Sare,

Mr. Garrick--only if you please hear me von vord. It is alvay the

vay--it is, indeed, Mr. Garrick--alvay the vay I go ven I haf the

greatest _rapture_, Mr. Garrick.' The little great man's anger

instantly cooled. The readiness of this Italian flattery operated

exactly contrary to the last line of an epigram--the honey was tasted,

and the sting forgot."

THE KING AND THE PLAYER.

George the Third was frequently at Weymouth, and often strolled about

the town unattended. On the day of Elliston's benefit (at which His

Majesty had expressed his intention of being present) he had been

enjoying one of his afternoon wanderings, when a shower of rain came

on. Happening to be passing the theatre door, in he went. Finding no

one about, he entered the Royal box, and seated himself in his chair.

The dim daylight of the theatre and slight fatigue occasioned by his

walk, induced drowsiness: His Majesty, in fact, fell into a doze,

which ultimately resolved itself into a sound sleep. In the meantime

Lord Townsend met Elliston, of whom he inquired if he had seen the

King, as His Majesty had not been at the palace since his three

o'clock dinner, it being then nearly five. Elliston being unable to

give his lordship any information, Lord Townsend sought His Majesty in

another direction, and the comedian made his way to the theatre, in

order to superintend the necessary arrangements for the reception of

his Royal patrons. Upon reaching the theatre, Elliston went at once to

the King's box, and seeing a man fast asleep in His Majesty's chair,

was about recalling him to his senses somewhat roughly, when, happily,

he discovered who it was that had so unexpectedly taken possession of

the Royal chair. What was to be done? Elliston could not presume to

wake His Majesty--to approach him--speak to him--touch

him--impossible! and yet something was necessary to be done, as it was

time to light the theatre, and, what was of still more importance, to

relieve the anxiety of the Queen and family. Elliston hit on the

following expedient: Taking up a Violin from the orchestra he stepped

into the pit, and placing himself beneath his exalted guest, struck up

_dolcemente_--

[Illustration: God save our no-ble King! Long live our gra-cious

King!]

The expedient produced the desired effect. The sleeper was loosened

from the spell which bound him. Awakened, His Majesty stared at the

comedian full in the face, ejaculated, "Hey, hey, hey!--what,

what--oh, yes! I see--Elliston--ha, ha! Rain came on--took a

seat--took a nap. What's o'clock?" "Nearly six, your Majesty." "Say

I'm here. Stay, stay! This wig won't do--eh, eh! Don't keep the people

waiting--light up; light up; let them in--fast asleep. Play well

to-night, Elliston." The theatre was illuminated; messengers were

despatched to the Royal party, which, having arrived in due course,

Elliston quitted the side of the affable Monarch, and prepared himself

for his part in the performance.

SIR WALTER SCOTT ON MUSIC AND FIDDLES.

"I do not know and cannot utter," said Sir Walter, "a note of music;

and complicated harmony seems to me a babble of confused, though

pleasing sounds; yet simple melodies, especially if connected with

words and ideas, have as much effect on me as on most people. I cannot

bear a voice that has no more life in it than a pianoforte or

bugle-horn. There is in almost all the fine arts a something of soul

and spirit, which, like the vital principle in man, defies the

research of the most critical anatomist. You feel where it is not, yet

you cannot describe what it is you want." Sir Joshua, or some other

great painter, was looking at a picture on which much pains had been

bestowed. "Why--yes," he said, in a hesitating manner; "it is very

clever--very well done. Can't find fault, but it wants something--it

wants--it wants--d--n me, it wants that!" throwing his hand over his

head, and snapping his fingers. In talking of his ignorance of music,

Scott said he had once been employed in a case where a purchaser of a

Fiddle had been imposed on as to its value. He found it necessary to

prepare himself by reading all about Fiddles in the encyclopaedias,

&c., and having got the names of Stradivari, Amati, &c., glibly on his

tongue, got swimmingly through his case. Not long after this, dining

at the Duke of Hamilton's, he found himself left alone after dinner

with the Duke, who had but two subjects he could talk of--hunting and

music. Having exhausted hunting, Scott thought he would bring forward

his lately acquired learning in Fiddles, upon which the Duke grew

quite animated, and immediately whispered some orders to the butler,

in consequence of which there soon entered the room about half-a-dozen

tall servants, all in red, each bearing a Fiddle case, and Scott found

his knowledge brought to no less a test than that of telling by the

tones of each Fiddle, as the Duke played it, by what artist it was

made. "By guessing and management," said he, "I got on pretty well,

till we were, to my great relief, summoned to coffee."[12]

[Footnote 12: Lockhart's "Life of Sir Walter Scott."]

I have frequently heard of the Duke's passion for Violins, and also

that he had a great number of them at Hamilton Palace. Among these

instruments there appears to have been a singularly perfect Tenor by

the brothers Amati. Signor Piatti has often spoken to me of having

seen this instrument several years since in the possession of the

family. The Hamilton collection of Fiddles was doubtless dispersed

long before the rare MSS., the Beckford Library, the inlaid cabinets,

and other treasures which served to make Hamilton Palace renowned

throughout the world of art and letters.

Returning to the subject of Sir Walter Scott's references to music, it

will be seen that his barristers possess among their gentlemanly

embellishments a knowledge of stringed instruments. Who can forget

that the young Templar, Master Lowestoffe ("Fortunes of Nigel," chap.

xvi. 138) "performed sundry tunes on the Fiddle and French Horn" in

Alsatia; and that Counsellor Pleydell, on the eventful night, in "Guy

Mannering" (chap. xlix. 255), being a "member of the gentlemen's

concert in Edinburgh," was performing some of Scarlatti's sonatas with

great brilliancy upon the Violoncello to Julia's accompaniment upon

the harpsichord?

A CINDERELLA VIOLONCELLO.

A somewhat curious change in the ownership of a Violoncello occurred

many years since. My father (Mr. John Hart) was walking along Oxford

Street, when he heard the sounds of a Violoncello, a Violin, and a

Cornet, which were being played in a side street. His curiosity being

excited, he became one of the group of listeners. The appearance of

the Violoncello greatly pleased him; it was covered with a thick coat

of resin and dirt, but its author was clearly defined nevertheless.

When the players had concluded their performance, Mr. Hart asked the

wandering Violoncellist if he was disposed to sell his instrument. "I

have no objection, if I can get enough to buy another and something

over," was the answer. The terms not being insurmountable, a bargain

was struck, and the dealer in Fiddles walked away, taking his

newly-acquired purchase under his arm. The itinerant trio, having

become a duet, gave up work for that day.

Reaching home with his charge, Mr. Hart was in the act of removing the

accumulated dirt of many a hard day's work from the Violoncello, when

Robert Lindley entered, and asked what might be the parentage of the

instrument about which so much pains were being taken. "A Forster,"

was the reply; and at the same time the circumstances of the purchase

were related. Lindley was much amused, and expressed a wish to possess

the rescued instrument, though it had been much injured. The price was

agreed upon, and the Violoncello thus passed from the most humble to

the most exalted player in _one_ day.

A STOLEN "STRAD."

It has often been remarked that to steal a valuable Violin is as

hazardous as to steal a child; its identity is equally impregnable, in

fact, cannot be disguised, save at the price of entire demolition. To

use a paradox, Violins, like people, are all alike, yet none are

alike. The indelible personality of the best Violins has been a

powerful agent in the cause of morality, and has deterred many from

attempting to steal them. We have, however, instances of undiscovered

robberies of valuable instruments, and notably that of the fine

Stradivari which belonged to a well-known amateur, an attache at the

British Embassy at St. Petersburg. The Violin in question was numbered

with the Plowden collection. I disposed of it to the amateur above

mentioned in 1868; it was a magnificent Violin, date 1709, in the

highest state of preservation. In the year 1869 the owner of it was

appointed to the Embassy at St. Petersburg, and removed thither. He

was a passionate lover of the Violin, and an excellent player. One

evening he was playing at a musical party. After he had finished he

placed his "Strad" in its case as usual, which he closed, without

locking it. The next day he was amusing himself with a parrot, which

bit him on the lip; the wound appeared very unimportant, but exposure

to the cold brought on malignant abscess, and he sank and died. In due

course his representatives arrived in St. Petersburg, and took charge

of his property, which was brought to England. Some twelve months

afterwards a relative (Mr. Andrew Fountaine, of Narford), who took

much interest in valuable Violins, was visiting the family of the

deceased gentleman and asked to be allowed to see the Stradivari,

1709. The case was sent for and duly opened. When the Violin was

handed to the visitor he remarked there must be some mistake, and

suggested that the wrong case had been brought, the instrument he held

having no resemblance whatever to the Stradivari, and not being worth

a sovereign. Inquiries were set on foot, and it was satisfactorily

proved that the case had never been opened since it had been brought

to England; neither had it left the custody of the late owner's

nearest relative, who had kept it secured in a chest. The next day

after the occurrence of the event related above, I was communicated

with, and asked if I could recognise the Stradivari in question. It is

unnecessary to record my answer. I might, with an equivalent amount of

reason, have been asked if I should know my own child. The double case

was formally opened, and the Violin described above was taken out. "Is

that the Stradivari?" I scarcely knew for the moment whether my

interrogator was in earnest, so ridiculous was the question. It

remains only to be said that the Russian authorities were memorialised

and furnished by me with a full description of the instrument; but to

this moment its whereabouts has never been discovered.

THE MISSING SCROLL.

It has often happened that portions of valuable instruments, detached

from the original whole, have been once more recovered and reinstated

in their proper place. The following is an amusing instance of this.

A well-known amateur, belonging to the generation now fast passing

away, was the fortunate possessor of a Stradivari Violin, which he had

occasion to take to the Fiddle doctor for an operation quite unknown

to the students of the Royal College of Surgeons, but well understood

by the members of the fraternity to which I have the honour to belong,

namely, _decapitation_. This, in the Fiddle language, means the

removal of the old neck, and the splicing of a brand-new one in its

place. It is an operation wholly unattended with the horrors of human

surgery. Again and again a time was appointed for the completion of

this delicate insertion, but in vain--it was a case of hope deferred.

The owner of the Stradivari becoming wearied with this state of

things, determined to carry off his cherished instrument in its

dismembered condition. Placing the several portions in paper, he left

the Fiddle doctor's establishment, considerably annoyed and excited.

Upon reaching his home his recent ebullition of temper had entirely

passed away, and he calmly set himself to open the parcel containing

his dissected "Strad," when, to his utter dismay, he failed to find

its scroll. The anguish he suffered may be readily conceived by the

lover of Fiddles. Away he started in search of his Fiddle's head, dead

to all around him but the sense of his loss; he demanded of every one

he met whether they had by chance picked up the head of a Fiddle. The

answers were all in the negative; and many were the looks of

astonishment caused by the strange nature of the question and the

bewildered appearance of the questioner. At length he arrived at the

house of the Fiddle doctor, whose want of punctuality had brought

about the misfortune. Here was his forlorn hope! He might possibly

have forgotten to put the scroll into the parcel. His doubts were soon

at rest; the scroll had been taken with the other parts of the

instrument. Completely overcome with sorrow and vexation, he knew not

how to endeavour to recover his loss. He ultimately decided to offer a

reward of five pounds and to await the result as contentedly as he

could.

A few hours after the dejected owner of the Violin had left the shop

of the Fiddle doctor, an old woman, the keeper of an apple stall in

the neighbourhood, entered and offered for sale a Fiddle-head. The

healer of Violins, taking it into his hands, was agreeably astonished

to recognise in it the missing headpiece, and eagerly demanded of the

seller whence she had obtained it, and what might be its price.

"Picked it up in the gutter," she answered; and two shillings was the

modest value she set upon her find. Without a moment's hesitation the

money was handed to the vendor of Ribston pippins, and away she

trudged in high glee at the result of her good luck. The Fiddle

AEsculapius, equally gleeful at the course of events, resolved to

avail himself of the opportunity afforded him of gratifying a little

harmless revenge upon the fidgety amateur's haste in removing the

"Strad" before the alterations had been completed. He therefore

determined to keep the fact of the discovery to himself for a short

time. Advertisements multiplied, and the reward rapidly rose to twenty

guineas. Having satisfied his revengeful feelings, the repairer duly

made known the discovery of the missing scroll, to the intense

gratification of its owner. Finally, the repairer refused to accept

any portion of the reward upon one condition, viz., that he was

allowed to complete his work--a condition readily conceded.

ANOTHER WANDERING SCROLL.

Among the collection of valuable Violins belonging to the late Mr.

James Goding, was a Stradivari Violin, dated 1710, which had been

deprived of its original scroll, and bore a supposititious figure-head

by David Tecchler, owing to a piece of vandalism perpetrated by an

eccentric amateur. The original scroll had found its way to an Italian

Violin of some merit, the value of which was considerably enhanced by

the newly-acquired headpiece, which gave to the whole instrument an

air of importance to which it could lay no claim till it carried on

its shoulders a head belonging to the aristocracy of Fiddles. During a

period of about twenty years this mongrel Fiddle became the property

of as many owners, and ultimately fell into my hands. Leaving this

instrument, we will follow the history of the Stradivari, date 1710.

At the dispersion of Mr. Goding's collection by Messrs. Christie and

Manson, in the year 1857, a well-known amateur purchased the Violin

for the sum of seventy pounds, the loss of its scroll preventing the

realisation of a higher figure. Sixteen years after this event the

purchaser applied to me for a Stradivari scroll, that he might make

his instrument complete. The mongrel Violin described above being in

my possession, decapitation was duly performed, and the Stradivari

received its head again. Here was a fortuitous course of

circumstances! This exchange of heads took place without my being at

all aware that the "Strad" scroll had returned to its original body;

but on my mentioning the circumstance to my father, he informed me, to

my astonishment and delight, that if the head of the mongrel Fiddle

had been placed on the Stradivari, date 1710, from the Goding

collection, it was now, as the effect of recent transmigration, on its

own legitimate body.

A MONTAGNANA INSTRUMENT SHOT THROUGH THE BODY IN THE REVOLUTION OF

1848.

An enthusiastic amateur was playing the Violin in a house in one of

the leading thoroughfares in Paris at the outbreak of the Revolution

in 1848. His ardour was so great that the cannonading failed to

interrupt him in his pleasurable pursuit; he fiddled on, regardless of

all about him, as Nero is said to have done when his capital was in

flames, and even left the window of his apartment open. Presently a

whizzing noise, terminating in a thud above his head, arrested his

attention. Upon his looking up he saw the mark of a bullet in the

ceiling. Aroused to a sense of his danger, he closed the windows.

Being about to put his Montagnana into its case, his astonishment may

be imagined when he discovered a hole through the upper side, and a

corresponding chink in the belly, both as sharply cut as though a

centre-bit had done the work. His Violin bore witness to his

miraculous escape; the bullet lodged in the ceiling had taken his

Montagnana in its course. The instrument referred to in this anecdote

has been in my possession more than once.

FIDDLE MARKS AND THE CREDULOUS DABBLERS.

It is said that a drowning man will clutch at a straw; the truth of

the remark applies to the half-informed in Fiddle connoisseurship. It

is very amusing to note the pile of nothings that these persons heap

up under the name of "guiding points" in relation to Fiddles. I will

endeavour to call to mind a few of these. I will begin with those

little pegs seen on the backs of Violins near the button, and at the

bottom; the position of these airy nothings without habitation or name

"is deemed indisputable evidence of certain makers' handicraft." One

is supposed to have put his pegs to the right, another to the left;

another used three, four, and so on. I have frequently heard this

remark--"Oh, it cannot be a Stradivari, because the pegs are wrong!"

The purfling also forms an important item in the collection of

landmarks; certain makers are supposed to have invariably used one

kind of purfling, no variation being allowed for width or material

adopted. Original instruments are pronounced spurious and spurious

original by this test. All Fiddles purfled with whalebone are dubbed

"Jacobs," and no other maker is credited with using such purfling.

The back of a Violin is another very important item with these

individuals. Particular makers are supposed to have only made whole

backs, others double backs; others again are thought to be known only

by the markings of the wood. There is another crotchet to be

mentioned: some will tell you they will inform you who made your

Violin by taking the belly off, and examining the shape of the blocks

and linings. Rest assured if the maker cannot be seen outside, he will

never reveal himself in the _inner consciousness_ of a Fiddle.

Measurement is another certain guiding point with these dabblers; the

measuring tape is produced and the instrument condemned if it does not

tally with their erroneous theory.

"GUARNERI" AT A DISCOUNT.

With what tenacity do persons often cling to the fond belief that

undoubted Raffaeles, Cinque Cento bronzes, dainty bits of Josiah

Wedgwood's ware, and old Cremonas, are exposed for sale in the windows

of dealers in unredeemed pledges, brokers' shops, and divers other

emporiums! It is the firm conviction of these amiable persons that

scores of gems unknown are awaiting in such cosy lurking-places the

recognition of the educated eye for their immediate deliverance to the

light of day.

The quasi bric-a-brac portion of the general dealer's stock is

dexterously arrayed in his window, and not allowed to take up a

prominent position among the wares displayed. To expose treasures

would be a glaring act of indiscretion, inasmuch as it would tend to

the belief that the proprietor was perfectly cognisant of the value of

his goods, whereas he is imagined by the hypothesis to be profoundly

ignorant on the subject. Pictures, bronzes, china, and Fiddles, with

their extremely modest prices attached, lie half hidden behind a

mountain of goods of a diametrically opposite nature. There they may

rest for days, nay, weeks, before the individual with the educated

eye, for the good of all men, detects them. Sooner or later, however,

he makes his appearance, and peers into every nook of the window,

shading his eyes with his hands. Something within arrests his

attention; his nose gets flattened against the glass in his eagerness

to get near the object. He enters the establishment, and asks to be

allowed to look at an article quite different from the one he has been

so intent upon; his object being that the dealer may not awaken to a

sense of the coveted article's value by a stranger seeming to be

interested in it. After examining the decoy bird, he returns it, and

carelessly asks to look at _the_ article. Whatever the value set upon

it may be, he tenders exactly the half, the matter being usually

settled by what is technically known as "splitting the difference."

Delighted with his purchase, he carries it home, and persuades his

friends he has got to the blind side of the dealer, and is in

possession of the real thing for the fiftieth part of what others give

for it. He proceeds to enlighten his friends on the subject, telling

them to follow his example, which they invariably do.

Scarcely a day passes without my hearing of a Cremona having been

secured in the manner I have attempted to describe. My experience,

however, teaches me that the whole thing is a delusion, and that the

thoroughbred Cremona does not fall away from the companionship of its

equals, once in the space of a lifetime, and that when this does

happen, the instrument rarely falls to the bargain-hunter.

The following exceptional incident will, I hope, not be found wanting

in interest as bearing on this theme. A votary of the Violin purchased

an old Fiddle for some two or three pounds from a general dealer in

musical instruments in his neighbourhood. He was well satisfied with

his acquisition; and after subjecting it to a course of judicious

regulation, so great were the improvements effected that the vendor

regretted having sold it for such a trifling sum, and the more so when

it was whispered about that the instrument was a veritable Amati--a

report, by the way, very far wide of the mark, as it was simply an old

Tyrolean copy.

Some little time after the occurrence related, the lover of Violins

heard that the same instrument-seller from whom he purchased the

imagined Amati, had secured a job lot of some half-dozen old Fiddles,

the remnant of an old London music-seller's stock, and that he was

offering them for sale. Our hero decided to pay another visit, and

judge of the merits of the new wares, with a view to a second

investment. Upon presenting himself to the local seller of Violins, he

was at once informed that if he selected _any_ instrument from the

lot, he must be prepared to pay 10 pounds, the dealer having no

intention of again committing his former error in selling a Cremona

for some forty shillings. Upon this understanding the visitor

proceeded to examine the little stock, which he found in a very

disordered condition--bridgeless, stringless, and dusty. Among the

whole tribe, however, was a Violin which seemed to elbow its way to

the front of the group, and clamour for the attention of which it

appeared to deem itself worthy. Unable to resist its seeming appeal,

the intending purchaser decided to remove it from the atmosphere of

its companions, and begged that he might be permitted to take the

importuning Fiddle and string it in order to test its qualities. His

request being acceded to, he carried it away. Upon reaching home, he

took it from its case, and gently removed the dust of years. The

varnish appeared to him as something very different from any he had

ever seen before on a Violin; and being an artist by profession,

qualities of colours were pretty well understood by him. With the

Violin poised on his knee, somewhat after the manner seen in the

well-known picture of Stradivari in his workshop, he thus communed

with himself: "I have never seen the much-spoken-of Cremonese varnish,

but if this instrument has it not, its lustre must indeed be more

wondrous than my imagination has painted." After again and again

examining the Violin, he retired to rest, but not to sleep. The Fiddle

persisted in dodging him whichever way he turned on his couch. At the

dawn of day--five o'clock--he was up, with the Fiddle again on his

knee, thinking he might have been labouring under some infatuation the

night before which the light of day might dispel. Convinced he was

under no such delusion, he soon made for the music-seller's

establishment, whom he delighted by paying the price demanded for the

Violin. It was now time, he felt, to obtain professional advice on the

matter; in due course he paid me a visit. Upon his opening the case I

was unable to restrain my feelings of surprise, and demanded if he had

any idea of the value of the Violin. "None whatever," he answered.

Without troubling the reader further, I informed him that his Violin

was an undoubted Giuseppe Guarneri, of considerable value. He then

recounted the circumstances attending its purchase, with which the

reader is familiar.

DOMENICO DRAGONETTI--HIS GASPARO DA SALO.

Signor Dragonetti succeeded Berini as _primo basso_ in the orchestra

of the chapel belonging to the monastery of San Marco, Venice, in his

eighteenth year. The procurators of the monastery, wishing to show

their high appreciation of his worth, presented the youthful player

with a magnificent Contra-Bass, by Gasparo da Salo, which had been

made expressly for the chapel orchestra of the convent of St. Peter,

by the famous Brescian maker.

Upon an eventful night, the inmates of the monastery retired to rest,

when they were awakened by deep rumbling and surging sounds. Unable to

find repose while these noises rent the air, they decided to visit the

chapel; and the nearer they got to it the louder the sounds became.

Regarding each other with looks of mingled fear and curiosity, they

reached the chapel, opened the door, and there stood the innocent

cause of their fright, Domenico Dragonetti, immersed in the

performance of some gigantic passage, of a range extending from the

nut to the bridge, on his newly-acquired Gasparo. The monks stood

regarding the performer in amazement, possibly mistaking him for a

second appearance of the original of Tartini's "Sonata del Diavolo,"

his Satanic Majesty having substituted the Contra-Basso for the

Violin. Upon this instrument Dragonetti played at his chief concert

engagements, and though frequently importuned to sell it by his

numerous admirers, declined to do so; in fact, though for the last few

years of his life he gave up public performance, he resolutely refused

most tempting offers for his treasure--800 pounds, to use an

auctioneer's phrase, "having been offered in two places," and

respectfully declined. In his youthful days he decided that his

cherished Gasparo should return to the place from whence he obtained

it, the Monastery of San Marco, and this wish was accordingly

fulfilled by his executors in the year 1846. The occasion was one of

much interest; it was felt by Dragonetti's friends and admirers that

to consign the instrument upon which he had so often astonished and

delighted them with the magic tones he drew from it, to the care of

those who possibly knew nothing of its merits, was matter for regret.

Being desirous of furnishing the reader with all the information

possible relative to Signor Dragonetti's instrument I communicated

with Mr. Samuel Appleby, who was his legal adviser, and probably

better acquainted with him than any other person in this country. He

very kindly sent me the following particulars, which are

interesting:--

"BRIGHTON, _July_ 2, 1875.

"MY DEAR SIR,--

"Your letter of yesterday needs no apology, as it will afford me

pleasure at any time to give you any information in my power

respecting the late Signor Dragonetti, having known him well from 1796

to his death.

"His celebrated Gasparo da Salo instrument, or Contra-Basso, was left

by his will to the Fabbricieri (or churchwardens) for the time being

of the Church of St. Mark's, at Venice, to be played upon only on

festivals and grand occasions. I was present on one of such festivals,

which lasted three days, in July, 1852. I then saw the Basso, which

was played on in Orchestra No. 1, there having been two bands for

which music had been composed expressly.

"In April, 1875, being again in Venice, I inquired from the Verger of

St. Mark's if Dragonetti's _Violone_ was in the church, and I could

see it. The reply was in the affirmative, but as the Fabbricieri had

the care of the instrument, under lock and key, it would be necessary

to see them and get their consent for its production. As this would

cause me some little trouble, I left Venice without carrying out my

intention.

"Dragonetti by his will left me his Amati Double-Bass, which is now in

this house, and I believe the only one of that make in England, and

consequently highly prized by

"Yours truly,

"SAMUEL APPLEBY.

"Mr. Hart."

THE BETTS STRADIVARI.

The Bibliophile tells us of Caxton, Aldine, and Baskerville editions

having been exposed for sale by itinerant booksellers, men who in

opening their umbrellas opened their shops. Collectors of pictures,

china, and Fiddles, have each their wondrous tales to tell of bygone

bargains, which are but the echoes of that of the Bibliophile. It is

doubtful, however, were we to search throughout the curiosities of art

sales, whether we should discover such a bargain as Mr. Betts secured,

when he purchased the magnificent Stradivari which bears his name, for

twenty shillings. About half a century since, this instrument was

taken to the shop of Messrs. Betts, the well-known English

Violin-makers in the old Royal Exchange, and disposed of for the

trivial sum above-mentioned. Doubtless its owner believed he was

selling a brand-new copy, instead of a "Stradivari" made in 1704, in a

state of perfection. Frequently importuned to sell the instrument, Mr.

Betts persistently declined, though it is recorded in Sandys and

Foster's work on the Violin, that five hundred guineas were tendered

more than once, which in those days must have been a tempting offer

indeed! Under the will of Mr. Betts it passed to his family, who for

years retained possession of it.

About the year 1858 it became the property of M. Vuillaume, of Paris,

from whom it was purchased by M. Wilmotte, of Antwerp. Several years

later it passed to Mr. C. G. Meier, who had waited patiently for years

to become its owner. The loving care which this admirer of Cremonese

Violins bestowed upon it was such, that he would scarcely permit any

person to handle it. From Mr. Meier it passed into my possession in

the year 1878, which change of ownership brought forth the following

interesting particulars from the pen of the late Charles Reade, the

novelist and lover of Fiddles:--

"THE BETTS STRADIVARI.

"_To the Editor of the 'Globe.'_

"SIR,--As you have devoted a paragraph to this Violin, which it well

deserves, permit me to add a fact which may be interesting to

amateurs, and to Mr. George Hart, the late purchaser. M. Vuillaume,

who could not speak English, was always assisted in his London

purchases by the late John Lott, an excellent workman, and a good

judge of old Violins.[13] The day after this particular purchase, Lott

came to Vuillaume, by order, to open the Violin. He did so in the

sitting-room whilst Vuillaume was dressing. Lott's first words were,

'Why, it has never been opened!' His next, 'Here's the original

bass-bar.' Thereupon out went M. Vuillaume, half-dressed, and the pair

gloated over a rare sight, a Stradivari Violin, the interior of which

was intact from the maker's hands. Mr. Lott described the bass-bar to

me. It was very low and very short, and quite unequal to support the

tension of the strings at our concert pitch, so that the true tone of

this Violin can never have been heard in England before it fell into

Vuillaume's hands. I have known this Violin forty years. It is

wonderfully preserved. There is no wear on the belly except the

chin-mark; in the centre of the back a very little, just enough to

give light and shade. The corners appear long for the epoch, but only

because they have not been worn down. As far as the work goes, you may

know from this instrument how a brand-new Stradivari Violin looked.

Eight hundred guineas seems a long price for a dealer to give: but

after all, here is a Violin, a picture, and a miracle all in one; and

big diamonds increase in number; but these spoils of time are limited

for ever now, and, indeed, can only decrease by shipwreck, accident,

and the tooth of time.--I am, your obedient servant,

"CHARLES READE.

"19, ALBERT GATE, _May 9, 1878_."

[Footnote 13: The hero of Mr. Read's "Jack of All Trades, a

Matter-of-fact Romance."]

LEIGH HUNT ON PAGANINI.

"'I projected,' says Leigh Hunt, 'a poem to be called "A Day with the

Reader." I proposed to invite the reader to breakfast, dine and sup

with me, partly at home, and partly at a country inn, to vary the

circumstances. It was to be written both gravely and gaily; in an

exalted, or in a lowly strain, according to the topics of which it

treated. The fragment on Paganini was a part of the exordium:--

"So played of late to every passing thought,

With finest change (might I but half as well

So write!) the pale magician of the bow," &c.

I wished to write in the same manner, because Paganini with his Violin

could move both the tears and the laughter of his audience, and (as I

have described him doing in the verses) would now give you the notes

of birds in trees, and even hens feeding in a farmyard (which was a

corner into which I meant to take my companion), and now melt you into

grief and pity, or mystify you with witchcraft, or put you into a

state of lofty triumph like a conqueror. The phrase of _smiting_ the

chord--

"He _smote_; and clinging to the serious chords

With godlike ravishment," &c.

was no classical commonplace; nor, in respect to impression on the

mind, was it exaggeration to say, that from a single chord he would

fetch out--

"The voice of quires, and weight

Of the built organ."

Paganini, the first time I saw and heard him, and the first time he

struck a note, seemed literally to _strike_ it--to give it a blow. The

house was so crammed, that being among the squeezers in the

standing-room at the side of the pit, I happened to catch the first

glance of his face through the arm a-kimbo of a man who was perched up

before me, which made a kind of frame for it; and there on the stage,

in that frame, as through a perspective glass, were the face, bust,

and the raised hand of the wonderful musician, with the instrument at

his chin, just going to commence, and looking exactly as I have

described him.

"His hand

Loading the air with dumb expectancy

Suspended, ere it fell, a nation's breath.

He _smote_; and clinging to the serious chords

With godlike ravishment, drew forth a breath

So deep, so strong, so fervid, thick with love--

Blissful, yet laden as with twenty prayers,

That Juno yearned with no diviner soul,

To the first burthen of the lips of Jove.

Th' exceeding mystery of the loveliness

Sadden'd delight; and with his mournful look

Dreary and gaunt, hanging his pallid face

'Twixt his dark flowing locks, he almost seemed

Too feeble, or, to melancholy eyes,

One that has parted with his soul for pride,

And in the sable secret lived forlorn."

"'To show the depth and identicalness of the impression which he made

upon everybody, foreign or native, an Italian who stood near me said

to himself, after a sigh, "O Dio!" and this had not been said long

when another person, in the same manner, uttered "O Christ!" Musicians

pressed forward from behind the scenes to get as close to him as

possible; and they could not sleep at night for thinking of

him.'"--_Timbs's Anecdote Biography_.

THACKERAY ON ORCHESTRAL MUSIC.

"I wish I were a poet; you should have a description of all this in

verse, and welcome. But if I were a musician! Let us see what we

should do as musicians. First, you should hear the distant sound of a

bugle, which sound should float away; that is one of the heralds of

the morning, flying southward. Then another should issue from the

eastern gates; and now the grand _reveille_ should grow, sweep past

your ears (like the wind aforesaid), go on, dying as it goes. When, as

it dies, my stringed instruments come in. These to the left of the

orchestra break into a soft slow movement, the music swaying drowsily

from side to side, as it were, with a noise like the rustling of

boughs. It must not be much of a noise, however, for my stringed

instruments to the right have begun the very song of the morning. The

bows tremble upon the strings, like the limbs of a dancer, who,

a-tiptoe, prepares to bound into her ecstasy of motion. Away! The song

soars into the air as if it had the wings of a kite. Here swooping,

there swooping, wheeling upward, falling suddenly, checked, poised for

a moment on quivering wings, and again away. It is waltz-time, and you

hear the Hours dancing to it. Then the horns. Their melody overflows

into the air richly, like honey of Hybla; it wafts down in lazy gusts,

like the scent of the thyme from that hill. So my stringed instruments

to the left cease rustling; listen a little while; catch the music of

those others, and follow it. Now for the rising of the lark!

Henceforward it is a chorus, and he is the leader thereof. Heaven and

earth agree to follow him. I have a part for the brooks--their notes

drop, drop, drop, like his: for the woods--they sob like him. At

length, nothing remains but to blow the Hautboys; and just as the

chorus arrives at its fulness, they come maundering in. They have a

sweet old blundering 'cow song' to themselves--a silly thing, made of

the echoes of all pastoral sounds. There's a warbling waggoner in it,

and his team jingling their bells. There's a shepherd driving his

flock from the fold, bleating; and the lowing of cattle. Down falls

the lark like a stone; it is time he looked for grubs. Then the

Hautboys go out, gradually; for the waggoner is far on his road to

market; sheep cease to bleat and cattle to low, one by one; they are

on their grazing ground, and the business of the day is begun. Last of

all, the heavenly music sweeps away to waken more westering lands,

over the Atlantic and its whitening sails."--"_An Essay without End_."

ADDISON ON THE PERSONIFICATION OF THE LEADING INSTRUMENT.

In the pages of the _Tatler_ (April, 1710), Addison with much

ingenuity and humour personifies certain musical instruments. He says:

"I have often imagined to myself that different talents in discourse

might be shadowed out after the same manner by different kinds of

music; and that the several conversable parts of mankind in this great

city might be cast into proper characters and divisions, as they

resemble several instruments that are in use among the masters of

harmony. Of these, therefore, in their order; and first of the Drum.

"Your Drums are the blusterers in conversation, that with a loud

laugh, unnatural mirth, and a torrent of noise, domineer in public

assemblies; overbear men of sense; stun their companions; and fill the

place they are in with a rattling sound, that hath seldom any wit,

humour, or good breeding in it. I need not observe that the emptiness

of the Drum very much contributes to its noise.

"The Lute is a character directly opposite to the Drum, that sounds

very finely by itself. A Lute is seldom heard in a company of more

than five, whereas a Drum will show itself to advantage in an assembly

of five hundred. The Lutenists, therefore, are men of a fine genius,

uncommon reflection, great affability, and esteemed chiefly by persons

of a good taste, who are the only proper judges of so delightful and

soft a melody.

"Violins are the lively, forward, importunate wits, that distinguish

themselves by the flourishes of imagination, sharpness of repartee,

glances of satire, and bear away the upper part in every _consort_. I

cannot but observe, that when a man is not disposed to hear music,

there is not a more disagreeable sound in harmony than that of a

Violin.

"There is another musical instrument, which is more frequent in this

nation than any other; I mean your Bass-Viol, which grumbles in the

bottom of the _consort_, and with a surly masculine sound strengthens

the harmony and tempers the sweetness of the several instruments that

play along with it. The Bass-Viol is an instrument of a quite

different nature to the Trumpet, and may signify men of rough sense

and unpolished parts, who do not love to hear themselves talk, but

sometimes break out with an agreeable bluntness, unexpected wit, and

surly pleasantries, to the no small diversion of their friends and

companions. In short, I look upon every sensible, true-born Briton to

be naturally a Bass-Viol."

WASHINGTON IRVING ON REALISTIC MUSIC AND THE VIOLIN.

"_Demi-Semiquaver to Launcelot Langstaff, Esq._

"SIR,--I felt myself hurt and offended by Mr. Evergreen's terrible

philippic against modern music in No. 11 of your work, and was under

serious apprehension that his strictures might bring the art, which I

have the honour to profess, into contempt. So far, sir, from agreeing

with Mr. Evergreen in thinking that all modern music is but the mere

dregs and drainings of the ancient, I trust before this letter is

concluded I shall convince you and him that some of the late

professors of this enchanting art have completely distanced the paltry

efforts of the ancients; and that I, in particular, have at length

brought it almost to absolute perfection.

"The Greeks, simple souls, were astonished at the powers of Orpheus,

who made the woods and rocks dance to his lyre--of Amphion, who

converted crotchets into bricks, and quavers into mortar--and of

Arion, who won upon the compassion of the fishes. In the fervency of

admiration, their poets fabled that Apollo had lent them his lyre, and

inspired them with his own spirit of harmony. What then would they

have said had they witnessed the wonderful effects of my skill?--had

they heard me, in the compass of a single piece, describe in glowing

notes one of the most sublime operations of nature, and not only make

inanimate objects dance, but even speak; and not only speak, but speak

in strains of exquisite harmony?

"I think, sir, I may venture to say there is not a sound in the whole

compass of nature which I cannot imitate, and even improve upon;--nay,

what I consider the perfection of my art, I have discovered a method

of expressing, in the most striking manner, that indefinable,

indescribable silence which accompanies the falling of snow."

[Our author describes in detail the different movements of a grand

piece, which he names the "Breaking up of the ice in the North River,"

and tells us that the "ice running against Polopay's Island with a

terrible crash," is represented by a fierce fellow travelling with his

Fiddle-stick over a huge Bass-Viol at the rate of 150 bars a minute,

and tearing the music to rags--this being what is called execution.]

"Thus, sir, you perceive what wonderful powers of expression have

hitherto been locked up in this enchanting art. A whole history is

here told without the aid of speech or writing; and provided the

hearer is in the least acquainted with music, he cannot mistake a

single note. As to the blowing up of the powder-bank, I look upon it

as a _chef d'oeuvre_ which I am confident will delight all modern

amateurs, who very properly estimate music in proportion to the noise

it makes, and delight in thundering cannon and earthquakes.

"In my warm anticipations of future improvement, I have sometimes

almost convinced myself that music will in time be brought to such a

climax of perfection as to supersede the necessity of speech and

writing, and every kind of social intercourse be conducted by the

Flute and Fiddle. The immense benefits that will result from this

improvement, must be plain to every man of the least consideration. In

the present unhappy situation of mortals a man has but one way of

making himself understood: if he loses his speech he must inevitably

be dumb all the rest of his life; but having once learned this new

musical language, the loss of speech will be a mere trifle, not worth

a moment's uneasiness. This manner of discussing may also, I think, be

introduced with great effect into our National Assemblies, where every

man, instead of wagging his tongue, should be obliged to flourish a

Fiddle-stick; by which means, if he said nothing to the purpose, he

would at all events 'discourse most eloquent music,' which is more

than can be said of them at present.

"But the most important result of this discovery is, that it may be

applied to the establishment of that great desideratum in the learned

world--a universal language. Wherever this science of music is

cultivated, nothing more will be necessary than a knowledge of its

alphabet, which, being almost the same everywhere, will amount to a

universal medium of communication. A man may thus--with his Violin

under his arm, a piece of resin, and a few bundles of catgut--fiddle

his way through the world, and never be at a loss to make himself

understood.--I am, &c.,

"DEMI-SEMIQUAVER."

SPOHR AND HIS GUARNERI.

"Shortly before my leaving Brunswick I had a case made worthy of the

splendid Violin I had brought from Russia, viz., a very elegant one;

and in order to protect this from injury, I had packed it up in my

trunk, between my linen and clothes. I therefore took care that this,

which contained my whole estate, should be carefully fastened behind

the carriage with cords. But, notwithstanding, I thought it necessary

to look out frequently, particularly as the driver told me several

trunks had been cut down from behind carriages. As the carriage had no

window at the back, this continual looking out was a very troublesome

business, and I was therefore very glad when, towards evening, we

arrived between the gardens of Gottingen, and I had convinced myself

for the last time that the trunk was still in its place. Delighted

that I had brought it so far in safety, I remarked to my

fellow-traveller: 'My first care shall now be to procure a good strong

chain and padlock, for the better security of the trunk.'

"In this manner we arrived at the town gate, just as they were

lighting the lamps. The carriage drew up before the guard-house. While

Beneke gave our names to the sergeant, I anxiously asked one of the

soldiers who stood round the carriage, 'Is the trunk still secured?'

'There is no trunk there,' was the reply. With one bound I was out of

the carriage, and rushed out through the gate with a drawn

hunting-knife. Had I with more reflection listened awhile, I might

perhaps have been fortunate enough to hear and overtake the thieves

running off by some side-path. But in my blind rage I had far overshot

the place where I had last seen the trunk, and only discovered my

over-haste when I found myself in the open field. Inconsolable for my

loss, I turned back. While my fellow-traveller looked for the inn, I

hastened to the police-office and requested that an immediate search

might be made in the garden houses outside the gate. To my

astonishment and vexation I was informed that the jurisdiction outside

the gate belonged to Weende, and that I must address my request there.

As Weende was half a league from Gottingen, I was compelled to abandon

for that evening all further steps for the recovery of my Guarneri. I

passed a sleepless night, in a state of mind such as, in my hitherto

fortunate career, had been wholly unknown to me. Had I not lost my

splendid Guarneri, the exponent of all the artistic excellence I had

till then attained, I could have lightly borne the loss of the rest.

On the following morning the police sent to inform me that an empty

trunk and a Violin-case had been found in the fields behind the

gardens. Full of joy I hastened thither, in the hope that the thieves

might have left the Violin in the case, as an object of no value to

them; but, unfortunately, it did not prove so. The bow of the Violin,

a genuine Tourte, secured in the lid of the case, had remained

undiscovered."--_Spohr's Autobiography_.

SPOHR AND THE COLLECTOR.

When Louis Spohr was in London in 1820, he tells us, in his

Autobiography, he received a letter couched in the following terms:

"Mr. Spohr is requested to call upon Dr. ---- to-day at four o'clock."

"As I did not know the name of the writer," he proceeds to relate,

"nor could ascertain from the servant the purpose for which my

attendance was requested, I replied, in the same laconic tone, 'At the

hour named I am engaged, and cannot come.' The next morning the

servant reappeared, bearing a second and more polite note: 'Mr. Spohr

is requested to favour Dr. ---- with a visit, and to appoint the hour

when it will be convenient for him to call.' The servant had been

instructed to offer me the use of his master's carriage, and having in

the meantime discovered that the gentleman was a celebrated physician,

a patron of music, and a lover of Violins, I drove to his house. A

courteous old gentleman with grey hair met me on the stairs.

Unfortunately he neither understood French nor German, consequently we

were unable to converse together. We stood for a moment somewhat

embarrassed, when he took my arm and led me into a large room, on the

walls of which hung a great number of Violins. Other Violins had been

removed from their cases and placed on the tables. The Doctor gave me

a Violin-bow, and pointed to the instruments. I now perceived that he

was desirous of having my opinion of the instruments. I, therefore,

played upon them, and placed them in order, according to my idea of

their merit. When I had selected the six most valuable ones, I played

upon them alternately in order to discover the best of the half-dozen.

Perceiving that the doctor cast upon one instrument glances especially

tender whenever I played upon it, I gladly afforded the good old man

pleasure by declaring it to be the best Violin. When I took my hat to

leave, the old gentleman, with a kind smile, slipped a five-pound note

into my hand. Astonished, I looked at it, and also at the Doctor, not

knowing at first what he meant; but suddenly it occurred to me that it

was intended as a fee for having examined his Violins. I smilingly

shook my head, laid the note on the table, pressed the Doctor's hand,

and descended the stairs. Some months later, upon the occasion of my

benefit concert, the Doctor procured a ticket, for which he sent a

ten-pound note."

THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD AND THE VIOLIN.

"But the pleasantest part of our fellowship is yet to describe. At a

certain period of the night, our entertainer (the renowned Timothy

Tickler) knew by the longing looks which I cast to a beloved corner of

the dining-room what was wanting. Then with, 'Oh, I beg your pardon,

Hogg, I was forgetting,' he would take out a small gold key that hung

by a chain of the same precious metal to a particular button-hole, and

stalk away as tall as the life, open two splendid Fiddle-cases, and

produce their contents, first the one, and then the other; but always

keeping the best to himself; I'll never forget with what elated

dignity. There was a twist of the lip, and an upward beam of the eye,

that were truly sublime. Then down we sat, side by side, and began--at

first gently, and with easy motion, like skilful grooms, keeping

ourselves up for the final heat, which was slowly but surely

approaching. At the end of every tune we took a glass, and still our

enthusiastic admiration of the Scottish tunes increased--our energies

of execution redoubled, till ultimately it became not only a complete

and well-contested race, but a trial of strength, to determine which

should drown the other. The only feeling short of ecstasy that came

across us in these enraptured moments were caused by hearing the laugh

and joke going on with our friends, as if no such thrilling strains

had been flowing. But if Tim's eye chanced to fall on them, it

instantly retreated upwards again in mild indignation. To his honour

be it mentioned, he has left me a legacy of that inestimable Violin,

provided that I outlive him. But not for a thousand such would I part

with my old friend."--_Altrine Tales_.--_Hogg's Reminiscences of

Former Days_.

THE FIDDLE TRADE.

"There is, for instance, Old Borax, whom those who want to know

whereabouts to look for--within the shadow of St. Martin's Church.

"Borax makes but little demonstration of his wealth in the dingy hole

that serves him for a shop, where a Double-Bass, a couple of

Violoncellos, a Tenor or two hanging on the walls, and half-a-dozen

Fiddles lying among a random collection of bows, bridges, coils of

catgut, packets of purified resin, and tangled horsehair in skeins,

serve for the insignia of his profession. But Borax never does

business in his shop, which is a dusty desert from one week's end to

another. His warehouse is a private sanctum on the first floor, where

you will find him in his easy chair reading the morning paper, if he

does not happen to be engaged with a client. Go to him for a Fiddle,

or carry him a Fiddle for his opinion, and you will hardly fail to

acknowledge that you stand in the presence of a first-rate judge. The

truth is, that Fiddles of all nations, disguised and sophisticated as

they may be to deceive common observers, are naked and self-confessed

in his hands. Dust, dirt, varnish, and bees'-wax are thrown away upon

him; he knows the work of every man, of note or of no note, whether

English, French, Dutch, German, Spaniard, or Italian, who ever sent a

Fiddle into the market, for the last two hundred years; and he will

tell you who is the fabricator of your treasure, and the rank he holds

in the Fiddle-making world, with the utmost readiness and urbanity--on

payment of his fee of one guinea.

"Borax is the pink of politeness, though a bit of a martinet after an

ancient and punctilious model. If you go to select a Fiddle from his

stock, you may escape a lecture of a quarter of an hour by _calling_

it a Fiddle, and not a Violin, which is a word he detests, and is apt

to excite his wrath. He is never in a hurry to sell, and will by no

means allow you to conclude a bargain until he has put you in complete

possession of the virtues, and failings, if it have any, of the

instrument for which you are to pay a round sum. As his Fiddles lie

packed in sarcophagi, like mummies in an Egyptian catacomb, your

choice is not perplexed by any _embarras de richesses_; you see but

one masterpiece at a time, and Borax will take care that you _do_ see

that, and know all about it, before he shows you another. First

unlocking the case, he draws the instrument tenderly from its bed,

grasps it in the true critical style with the fingers and thumbs of

both hands a little above the bridge, turning the scroll towards you.

Now and then he twangs, with the thumb of his left hand, the third or

fourth string, by way of emphasis to the observations which he feels

bound to make--instinctively avoiding, however, that part of the

strings subject to the action of the bow. Giving you the name of the

maker, he proceeds to enlighten you on the peculiar characteristics of

his work; then he will dilate upon the remarkable features of the

specimen he holds in his hand--its build, its model, the closeness and

regularity of the grain of the wood of which the belly was fashioned:

the neatness, or, wanting that, the original style of the

purfling--the exquisite mottling of the back, which is wrought, he

tells you, 'by the cunning hand of nature in the primal growth of the

tree'--_twang_. Then he will break out in placid exclamations of

delight upon the gracefulness of the swell--_twang_--and the noble

rise in the centre--_twang_--and make you pass your hand over it to

convince yourself; after which, he carefully wipes it down with a silk

handkerchief. This process superinduces another favourite theme of

eulogium--namely, the unparalleled hue and tone (of colour) imparted

by the old Italian varnish--a hue, he is sure to inform you, which it

is impossible to imitate by any modern nostrums--_twang_. Then he

reverts to the subject of a Fiddle's indispensables and fittings;

discourses learnedly on the carving of scrolls, and the absurd

substitution, by some of the German makers, of lions' heads in lieu of

them; hinting, by the way, that said makers are asses, and that their

instruments bray when they should speak--_twang_. Then touching

briefly on the pegs, which he prefers unornamented, he will hang

lingeringly upon the neck, pronounce authoritatively upon the right

degree of elevation of the finger-board, and the effects of its due

adjustment upon the vibration of the whole body-harmonic, and,

consequently, upon the tone. Then, jumping over the bridge, he will

animadvert on the tail-piece; after which, entering at the

_f_-holes--not without a fervent encomium upon their graceful drawing

and neatness of cut--_twang_--he will introduce you to the _arcanum

mysterii_, the interior of the marvellous fabric--point out to you, as

plainly as though you were gifted with clairvoyance, the position and

adaptation of the various linings, the bearings of the bass-bar, that

essential adjunct to quality of tone--_twang_--and the proper position

of the sound-post. Lastly, he will show you, by means of a small

hand-mirror throwing a gleam of light into its entrails, the identical

autograph of the immortal maker--Albani, Guarneri, or Amati, as the

case may happen--with the date printed in the lean old type and now

scarcely visible through the dust of a couple of centuries, '_Amati_

Cremonae fecit 1645,' followed by a manuscript signature in faded ink,

which you must take for granted.

"Borax has but one price; and if you do not choose to pay it, you must

do without the article. The old fellow is a true believer, and is

accounted the first judge in Europe; Fiddles travel to him from all

parts of the Continent for his opinion, bringing their fees with them;

and for every instrument he sells, it is likely he pronounces judgment

upon a hundred. It is rumoured that the greatest masterpieces in being

are in his possession.

"A dealer of a different stamp is Michael Schnapps, well known in the

trade, and the profession too, as a ravenous Fiddle-ogre, who buys and

sells everything that bears the Fiddle shape, from a Double-Bass to a

dancing-master's pocketable Kit. His house is one vast warehouse, with

Fiddles on the walls, Fiddles on the staircases, and Fiddles hanging

like stalactites from the ceilings. To him the tyros resort when they

first begin to scrape; he will set them up for ten shillings, and swop

them up afterwards, step by step, to ten or twenty guineas, and to ten

times that amount if they are rich enough and green enough to continue

the experiment. Schnapps imports Fiddles in the rough, under the

designation of toys, most of which are the production of his

peasant-countrymen bordering on the Black Forest; and with these he

supplies the English provinces and the London toy and stationers'

shops. He is, further, a master of the Fiddle-making craft himself,

and so consummate an adept in repairing that nothing short of

consuming fire can defeat his art. When Pinker, of Norwich, had his

Cremona smashed all to atoms in a railway collision, Schnapps rushed

down to the scene of the accident, bought the lot of splintered

fragments for a couple of pounds, and in a fortnight had restored the

magnificent Stradivari to its original integrity, and cleared 150

guineas by its sale. But Schnapps is a humbug at bottom--an

everlasting copyist and manufacturer of dead masters, Italian, German,

and English. He has sold more Amatis in his time than Amati himself

ever made. He knows the secret of the old varnish; he has hidden

stores of old wood--planks of cherry-tree and mountain-ash centuries

old, and worm-eaten sounding-boards of defunct Harpsichords, and

reserves of the close-grained pine hoarded for ages. He has a

miniature printing press, and a fount of the lean-faced,

long-forgotten type, and a stock of the old ribbed paper torn from the

fly-leaves of antique folios; and, of course, he has always on hand a

collection of the most wonderful instruments at the most wonderful

prices, for the professional man or the connoisseur.

"'You vant to py a Pfeedel,' says Schnapps. 'I sall sell you de

pest--dat ish, de pest for the mowny. Vat you sall gif for him?'

"'Well, I can go as far as ten guineas,' says the customer.

"'Ten kinnis is good for von goot Pfeedel; bote besser is tventy,

tirty, feefty kinnis, or von hunder, look you; bote ten kinnis is

goot--you sall see.'

"Schnapps is all simplicity and candour in his dealings. The

probability is, however, that his ten-guinea Fiddle would be fairly

purchased at five, and that you might have been treated to the same

article had you named thirty or forty guineas instead of ten.

"I once asked Schnapps if he knew wherein lay the excellence of the

old Italian instruments.

"'Mein Gott!--if I don't, who de teifil does?'

"Then he went on to inform me that it did not lie in any peculiarity

in the model, though there was something in that; nor in the wood of

the back, though there was something in that; nor in the fine and

regular grain of the pine which formed the belly, though there was

something in that; nor in the position of the grain running precisely

parallel with the strings, though there was something in that; nor in

the sides, nor in the finger-board, nor in the linings, nor in the

bridge, nor in the strings, nor in the waist, though there was

something in all of them; nor yet in the putting together, though

there was much in that.

"'Where does it lie, then, Mr. Schnapps?'

"'Ah, der henker! hang if I know.'

"'Has age much to do with it, think you?'

"'Not mosche. Dere is pad Pfeedels two hunder years ole as vell as

goot vons; and dere is goot Pfeedels of pad models, vitch is made fery

pad, and pad Pfeedels of de fery pest models, and peautiful made as

you sall vish to see.'

"This is the sum total of the information to be got out of Schnapps on

that mysterious subject. On other matters he can pronounce with

greater exactness. He knows every Cremona in private or professional

hands in the whole kingdom; and where the owner bought it, if he did

buy it; and what he gave for it, or from whom he inherited it, if it

came to him as heir-loom. Of those of them which have passed through

his hands, he has got fac-similes taken in plaster, which serve as

exemplars for his own manufactures. Upon the death of the owner of one

of these rarities, Schnapps takes care to learn particulars; and if

the effects of the deceased come under the hammer, he starts off to

the sale, however distant, where, unless some of his metropolitan

rivals in trade have likewise caught the scent, he has the bidding all

his own way, and carries off the prize.

"The inundation of German Fiddles, which may be bought new for a few

shillings, has swamped English makers of cheap instruments, of which

there are by this time five times as many in the market as there is

any occasion for. Hence it is that Fiddles meet us everywhere; they

cumber the toy-shop; they house with the furniture dealer; they swarm

by thousands in the pawnbrokers' stores, and block out the light from

his windows; they hang on the tobacconists' walls; they are raffled at

public-houses; and they form an item in every auctioneer's catalogue.

"Meanwhile the multiplication of rubbish only enhances the value of

gold; and a Fiddle worthy of an applauding verdict from old Borax is

more difficult of acquisition than ever. So I shall keep my Cremona."

THE PRINCE AND THE FUGAL VORTEX.

A Royal amateur and British Admiral, a lover of the Violin and patron

of music, happened whilst at Malta to be leading Mozart's charming

Quartet in G major--

[Illustration: _Allegro vivace assai_.]

The opening movement, together with the Minuet, Trio, and Andante

having been rendered with pleasure and satisfaction, the Finale was

entered upon with due determination.

Its fugal subject--

[Illustration: _Molto Allegro_.]

was well under way, and speedily in full sail. Ere long an evident

indecision of purpose manifested itself, the motive or subject failing

to elicit other than dubious answers to its calls; it was emphasised

with loudness, not without signs of impatience, but to no purpose; all

became hopelessly involved and incoherent, until at length, like the

ice described by the "Ancient Mariner"--

"The _fugue_ was here, the _fugue_ was there,

The _fugue_ was all around;

It cracked and growled and roared and howled

Like noises in a swound."

The second Violin, overcome by the surging counterpoint, ceased

playing, and with the adroitness of a Raleigh turned to the Prince and

said, "Pardon me, your Royal Highness, I fear we have been carried

away by the vortex of the melody." The execution of chamber

compositions belonging to the higher walks of counterpoint is

frequently disappointing, but seldom or never is the failure so

gracefully and agreeably accounted for.

SALE OF CREMONESE INSTRUMENTS AT MILAN, AT THE END OF THE LAST

CENTURY.

(_Extracted from the "Gazetta di Firenze," 1790_.)

The following instruments were offered for sale at Milan, by Signor

Francesco Albinoni, in March, 1790:--

1. Violin by Antonio and Girolamo Amati, Cremona 1616

2. " " Niccolo Amati . . . . . . . . . . . 1647

3. " " ditto . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1667

4. " " Andrea Guarneri . . . . . . . . . . 1657

5. " " Giuseppe Guarneri, figlio . . . . . 1705

6. " " Antonio Stradivari . . . . . . . . 1708

7. " " ditto . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1719

8. " " Giovanni Ruggeri . . . . . . . . . 1653

9. " " Francesco Ruggeri . . . . . . . . . 1670

10. Tenor by Antonio and Girolamo Amati . . . . . 1617

11. " " ditto ditto . . . . . . . . 1618

12. " " Francesco Ruggeri . . . . . . . . . 1619

13. Violoncello by Amati, Cremona . . . . . . . . 1622

14. " " Andrea Guarneri . . . . . . . 1692

The above announcement cannot fail to make one reflect on the

different degree of interest excited by a sale of Cremonas a century

ago and one at the present time. The sale conducted by Signor

Albinoni, in 1790, at Milan, doubtless passed with but little, if any,

display of enthusiasm, and were it now possible to learn the prices

realised, they would certainly give occasion for surprise when

compared with those now obtained. As regards the increased interest

taken in rare Violins, the sale of the Gillott collection, in 1872,

furnishes an instance of comparatively recent date. The announcement

of Messrs. Christie and Manson served to bring together in King

Street, St. James's, a legion of Violin votaries. So unusual was the

excitement that the _Graphic_ had one of its pages occupied by an

excellent representation of "Viewing the Violins." In Paris, in the

year 1878, the sale of a Stradivari Violin, at the Hotel Drouot, gave

rise to an unusual display of interest. The first bid was for ten

thousand francs, and the Stradivari, dated 1709, was knocked down for

the large sum of twenty-two thousand one hundred francs. When the

biddings at the Hotel des Ventes had reached eighteen thousand francs,

a casualty, which might have led to unpleasant results, lent

additional zest to the proceedings. There was a great pressure among

the crowd to obtain a sight of the Stradivari. Two or three of the

more adventurous spirits clambered on to a table to gain a clear

prospect of the precious Fiddle, causing the legs of the table to give

way and the enthusiasts to be precipitated to the ground. A cry of

terror--less for the fallen than for the Fiddle--arose from the

throng; but soon the voice of the auctioneer was heard proclaiming, in

reassuring accents, "Do not be alarmed, gentlemen; the Stradivari is

safe!"

AN INDEFATIGABLE VIOLINIST.

"Puppo, the Violinist, being in Paris in 1793, was summoned before the

Committee of Public Safety on suspicion, when the following

interrogatories were put to him: 'Your name?' 'Puppo.' 'What were you

doing during the time of the tyrant?' 'I played the Violin.' 'What do

you do now?' 'I play the Violin.' 'And what will you do for the

nation?' 'I will play the Violin.'"

A WISH.

"Busts, cameos, gems--such things as these

Which others often show for pride,

I value for their power to please

And selfish churls deride;

_One_ Stradivari, I confess.

_Two_ meerschaums, I would fain possess."

--_Extract from Oliver Wendell Holmes' Lines on Contentment_.

LIVING STRADIVARIS.

A passionate lover of Fiddles, being in Milan, made the acquaintance

of an Italian who, like himself, was a lover of the bow. They had not

long met before the theme of their mutual delight was broached; the

beautiful features in the works of the great masters were dwelt upon,

their respective points of genius discriminated, until the freemasonry

of Fiddle-connoisseurship was exhausted. Inquiries were exchanged as

to the whereabouts of remarkable specimens, when suddenly the

Italian's face brightened, and gave indication that a happy thought

had crossed his mind. "By the way, I can introduce you to a friend who

has in his possession some choice Stradivaris, of various dates, and

having heads of a very marked character." His companion was on his

feet before he finished speaking, eagerly demanding where these choice

"Strads" were to be seen. The distance being but a few streets off, it

was agreed that they should start at once. On arriving at a house in

the Via Meravigli, the Italian inquired of the servant if his master

was at home. Being assured of this, the Fiddler-connoisseurs were

shown into an apartment, where they anxiously awaited the host.

Presently he entered, and the usual exchange of courtesies having been

gone through, the Italian, with the utmost gravity, inquired after the

Stradivaris, and received answer that they never were better; his

companion, who was burning to feast his eyes on them, begged that he

might have the pleasure of seeing them. The host, flattered by the

interest taken in his "Strads" by his visitor, acquiesced, left the

room, and brought in his collection, which, if not unique, was in

every way original. It consisted of five _Stradivaris_--three boys and

two girls. Unable longer to restrain his laughter, the Italian broke

forth into one of those hearty peals which terminate only when the

risible faculties are completely exhausted. Signor Stradivari, the

happy parent of the collection just ushered into the room, regarded

his visitor with astonishment, in which he was joined by the specimens

of various dates. Ultimately the countenance of Signor Stradivari

began to assume anything but a pleased appearance, as he had failed to

comprehend what there was about his cherished ones to excite such

ungovernable mirth. When the joke was explained, it is needless to say

that the wit's friend, the connoisseur, suffered some disappointment,

but soon heartily joined in the laugh raised at his expense. Signor

Stradivari and his family were not long kept behind the curtain, and

soon added their laugh to that of the rest of the company.

PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.

A lady belonging to Covent Garden Theatre, who had never heard

Paganini, requested leave to be present at one of the rehearsals of

his concerts. It happened that Paganini did not bring his Violin with

him, but borrowed one from a member of the orchestra, and, instead of

playing, made a kind of _pizzicato obbligato_. After the rehearsal was

finished, the lady addressed Mr. Cooke: "Oh, dear, Mr. Cooke, what a

wonderful man he is! I declare, I may say, that till this morning I

never knew what music was capable of." Cooke replied, "Indeed, madam,

he is truly wonderful; but allow me to observe that on this occasion

you are indebted rather to your imagination than your ears for the

delight you have experienced." "How, Mr. Cooke?" "Why, madam, this

morning Paganini has not played at all--he has not even touched a

bow." "Extraordinary!" exclaimed the lady; "I am more than ever

confirmed in my opinion of him; for if _without_ playing he can affect

one in such a manner, how much more wonderful are the sensations he

must produce when he _does_ play!"

A ROYAL AMATEUR.

"Francis the First, Emperor of Austria, was a passionate lover of

music, and played admirably on the flute. His greatest pleasure was to

perform the Trios and Quartetts of the old masters. One of the

household physicians of the court excelled on the Tenor. As imperial

etiquette did not permit a simple physician to accompany the Emperor

in his pieces unless he had the _entree_ at court, Francis first

created his doctor a baron, and then a privy councillor, thus giving

him his _petites_ and _grandes entrees_. By the help of his

Tenor-playing our medical musician insinuated himself so successfully

into the good graces of the Emperor, that he became almost the rival

of Metternich, and all the other ministers courted his friendship.

Such was the rise of the celebrated Baron Still. But for his Tenor,

this all-powerful favourite of Francis the First would have lived and

died an obscure physician."--_Critique Musicale_.

POPE PIUS IX. AND THE MUSICIAN.

"An Italian composer, named Peregrini, was a fellow-student of Mastai

Ferretti, now the occupant of the Papal chair. Since their quitting

college, Fortune abandoned the _maestro_, whilst she smiled upon the

priest. One day Pius IX. received the following letter:--'Most Holy

Father,--I know not if you recollect that I had the honour of being

your fellow-student at College, and that your Holiness has done me the

honour of playing duos with me on the Violin; and that the execution

of them was not always irreproachable, at least on my part, which so

displeased your Holiness at the time that you deigned to apply certain

corrections to my fingers. I have taken the liberty of revealing

myself to your recollection, and to pray you to take under your

protection one who can never cease to remember the happy moments he

has passed with him whose apostolic virtues have raised him to the

throne of St. Peter.' The Pope replied, 'I have never forgotten your

name, my son; come to me at Rome, and we will again play duets

together, and if you have not progressed in your studies, I shall know

how again to correct you.'"--_Hogarth's Musical Herald_.

OLE BULL AND FIDDLE VARNISH.

"A man who had a patent varnish for Violins, brought his invention to

Ole Bull, and begged him to try it. He said that it gave ordinary

instruments the sweet quality of a Cremona Fiddle. Ole Bull tried it,

and found that it improved the tone, and promised to use a Violin

prepared with it at a concert he had to give at the house of the Duke

of Riario. There was a great deal of fashionable company at this

concert, and the heat of the room melted this famous varnish, which

was really a preparation of asafoetida. The smell which it exuded was

so maddening that an ordinary man would have stopped and excused

himself; but Ole Bull merely closed his eyes, turned his face away,

and played with an energy which became more frenzied the more

intolerable the stink became. He enjoyed an overwhelming success, and

the Duke rushed forward to seize his hand in congratulation. The

appalling odour of asafoetida struck him in the face, and Ole Bull had

to explain in what agony he had been performing."--_Ole Bull's_

"_Breve i Uddrag_," _by Jonas Lie, Copenhagen_, 1881.

ON THE TREATMENT OF THE VIOLIN.

_In a Letter from the celebrated Tartini_.

The letter here presented to my readers was translated and published

by Dr. Burney, in 1779, under the following title: "A Letter from the

late Signor Tartini to Signora Maddalena Lombardini (afterwards

Signora Sirmen). Published as an important lesson to performers on the

Violin.

"'PADUA, _March_ 5, 1760.

"'MY VERY MUCH ESTEEMED SIGNORA MADDALENA,

"'Finding myself at length disengaged from the weighty business which

has so long prevented me from performing my promise to you, a promise

which was made with too much sincerity for my want of punctuality not

to afflict me, I shall begin the instructions you wish from me by

letter; and if I should not explain myself with sufficient clearness,

I entreat you to tell me your doubts and difficulties, in writing,

which I shall not fail to remove in a future letter.

"'Your principal practice and study should, at present be confined to

the use and power of the bow, in order to make yourself entirely

mistress in the execution and expression of whatever can be played or

sung, within the compass and ability of your instrument. Your first

study, therefore, should be the true manner of holding, balancing, and

pressing the bow lightly but steadily upon the strings; in such a

manner as it shall seem to breathe the first tone it gives, which must

proceed from the friction of the string, and not from percussion, as

by a blow given with a hammer upon it. This depends on laying the bow

lightly upon the strings at the first contact, and on gently pressing

it afterwards, which, if done gradually, can scarcely have too much

force given to it, because, if the tone is begun with delicacy, there

is little danger of rendering it afterwards either coarse or harsh.

"'Of this first contact and delicate manner of beginning a tone you

should make yourself a perfect mistress in every situation and part of

the bow, as well in the middle as at the extremities; and in moving it

up as well as in drawing it down. To unite all these laborious

particulars into one lesson, my advice is, that you first exercise

yourself in a swell upon an open string--for example, upon the second

string; that you begin _pianissimo_, and increase the tone by slow

degrees to its _fortissimo_; and this study should be equally made

with the motion of the bow up and down, in which exercise you should

spend at least an hour every day, though at different times, a little

in the morning and a little in the evening; having constantly in mind,

that this is, of all others, the most difficult and the most essential

to playing on the Violin. When you are a perfect mistress of this part

of a good performer, a swell will be very easy to you; beginning with

the most minute softness, increasing the tone to its loudest degree,

and diminishing it to the same point of softness with which you began,

and all this in the same stroke of the bow. Every degree of pressure

upon the string which the expression of a note or passage shall

require will by this means be easy and certain; and you will be able

to execute with your bow whatever you please. After this, in order to

acquire that light pulsation and play of the wrist, from whence

velocity in bowing arises, it will be best for you to practise every

day one of the _Allegros_, of which there are three in Corelli's

Solos, which entirely move in semiquavers. The first is in D, in

playing which you should accelerate the motion a little each time,

till you arrive at the quickest degree of swiftness possible; but two

precautions are necessary in this exercise--the first is, that you

play the notes _staccato_, that is, separate and detached, with a

little space between every two, for though they are written thus--

[Illustration]

they should be played as if there was a rest after every note, in this

manner--

[Illustration]

The second precaution is, that you first play with the point of the

bow; and when that becomes easy to you, that you use that part of it

which is between that part and the middle; and when you are likewise

mistress of this part of the bow, that you practise in the same manner

with the middle of the bow; and, above all, you must remember in these

studies to begin the _Allegros_ or flights sometimes with an up-bow;

and sometimes with a down-bow, carefully avoiding the habit of

constantly practising one way. In order to acquire a greater facility

of executing swift passages in a light and neat manner, it will be of

great use to you if you accustom yourself to skip over a string

between two quick notes in divisions, like these--

[Illustration]

Of such divisions you may play extempore as many as possible, and in

every key, which will be both useful and necessary.

"'With regard to the finger-board, or carriage of the left hand, I

have one thing strongly to recommend to you, which will suffice for

all; and that is, the taking a Violin part, either the first or second

of a concerto, sonata, or song--anything will serve the purpose--and

playing it upon the half-shift, that is, with the first finger upon G

on the first string, and constantly keeping upon this shift, playing

the whole piece without moving the hand from this situation, unless A

on the fourth string be wanted, or D upon the first; but in that case,

you should afterwards return again to the half-shift, without ever

moving the hand down to the natural position. This practice should be

continued till you can execute with facility upon the half-shift any

Violin part not intended as a solo, at sight. After this, advance the

hand on the finger-board to the whole-shift, with the first finger

upon A on the first string, and accustom yourself to this position

till you can execute everything upon the whole-shift with as much ease

as when the hand is in its natural situation; and when certain of

this, advance to the double-shift, with the first finger upon B, on

the first string; and when sure of that likewise, pass to the fourth

position of the hand, making C with the first finger upon the first

string; and indeed this is a scale in which, when you are firm, you

may be said to be mistress of the finger-board. This study is so

necessary, that I most earnestly recommend it to your attention.

"'I now pass to the third essential part of a good performer on the

Violin, which is the making of a good shake, and I would have you

practise it slow, moderately fast, and quick; that is, with the two

notes succeeding each other in these three degrees of _adagio_,

_andante_, and, _presto_; and in practice you have great occasion for

these different kinds of shakes; for the same shake will not serve

with equal propriety for a slow movement as for a quick one; but to

acquire both at once with the same trouble, begin with an open string,

either the first or second, it will be equally useful; sustain the

note in a swell, and begin the shake very slow, increasing in

quickness, by insensible degrees, till it becomes rapid, in the manner

following:--

[Illustration]

But you must not vigorously move immediately from semiquavers to

demisemiquavers, as in this example, or from these to the next in

degree--that would be doubling the velocity of the shake all at once,

which would be a skip, not a graduation; but you can imagine between a

semiquaver and a demisemiquaver intermediate degrees of rapidity,

quicker than the one, and slower than the other of these characters;

you are therefore to increase in velocity by the same degrees in

practising the shake, as in loudness when you make a swell. You must

attentively and assiduously persevere in the practice of this

embellishment, and begin at first with an open string, upon which if

you are once able to make a good shake with the first finger, you will

with the greater facility acquire one with the second, the third, and

the fourth, or little finger, with which you must practise in a

particular manner, as more feeble than the rest of its brethren. I

shall, at present, propose no other studies to your application: what

I have already said is more than sufficient, if your zeal is equal to

my wishes for your improvement. I hope you will sincerely inform me

whether I have explained myself clearly thus far; that you will accept

of my respects, which I likewise beg of you to present to the

Prioress, to Signora Teresa, and to Signora Chiara, for all whom I

have a sincere regard; and believe me to be with great affection,

"'Your obedient and most humble servant,

"'GIUSEPPE TARTINI.'"

INDEX

A PAGE

Absam, Thomas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293

Acevo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77

Adam, as a Violist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3

Adams . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293

Addison, William . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293

Aireton, Edmund, good work, Amatese model . . . . . . . . . . . 293

Alard, M., composer and Professor at the Conservatoire . . . . . 395

Albanesi, Sebastiano . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77

Albani . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259

Albani, Mathias (2); Italian style, good model and workmanship . 259

Albani, Paolo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260

Albani, Mathias, Stainer form, good varnish . . . . . . . . . . 259

Aldred . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293

Aldric, copier of Stradivari; dealings with Luigi Tarisio . . . 231

Aletzie, Paolo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260

Allar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231

Alvani . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78

Amati, Andrea, his Violins mostly "Three-quarter"; founder of

the School of Cremona; character of his Varnish; his method of

cutting; his "Charles IX. Set," in the Chapel Royal,

Versailles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78-81

Amati, the Brothers Antonio and Girolamo, character of their

work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81

Amati, Girolamo, son of Niccolo, his instruments described;

character of his varnish . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92

Amati, Niccolo, the greatest of his family; special

characteristics of his work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84-92

Amelot . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231

Anecdotes and Miscellanea connected with the Violin . . . . . . 410

Apollo and Orpheus, in Fiddle History . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3

Appleby, Mr. Samuel, letter from, on the Gasparo da Salo

Double-Bass of Signor Dragonetti . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 465

Arabian Origin of the Ribeca, alleged . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7

Arabians, Inventors of the Monochord . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7

Ariberti, Bartolommeo, Marquis, his letter to Stradivari . . . . 193

Arisi, Desiderio on Stradivari . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185

Artmann, copier of Amati . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260

Asiatic Origin of the Violin, alleged . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4

Askey, Samuel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293