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

venture to glance at a third? There is another gloom, besides that of

our skies, that has had its obstructive influence, and still, in _some_

degree, retains it. England, happily for her own comfort, has now left

far behind her those puritanic days wherein all persons who ministered

to the _amusement_ of their fellow-beings were stigmatized as the

“_caterpillars_ of a common-wealth,” and found law and opinion alike

arrayed against them;—but the spirit of Puritanism, once so tyrannically

exclusive, has never since departed wholly from among us—and we have, to

this day, many sincere and well-meaning compatriots, whose peculiar

notions of what constitutes piety, lead them to look with distrust

and suspicion upon all that is beautiful in Nature or in Art, and

so, to consider musical talent rather as a snare to be shunned,

than as a resource to be cherished. These movers-in-a-mist, and

extra-burden-bearers, confounding into _one_ the two ideas of

cultivation and corruption, as if the terms were synonymous, refuse all

countenance to music, as an _art_. Its secular forms, in particular, are

their aversion; for they have a strong impression that music is then,

_only_, in its right place, when directly employed in the service of the

sanctuary. They discover, even in an _Oratorio_, copious matter for

reprobation. They have no sympathy with the practice of the sweetly

majestic Psalmist of Israel, who brought together, to aid in the

solemnities of public worship, all that was _best_ in vocal and

instrumental skill. Vociferated dissonance, exempt from rule, and from

accompaniment, has _their_ approval, far above any tempered and balanced

harmony; because (as _they_ persuade themselves) the one comes from the

heart, and the other does _not_. To such persons, I can only (in the

words of the Archbishop of Granada to Gil Blas) wish all happiness, and

a little more _taste_—regretting that the influence of what I conceive

to be their _mistake_ should have helped, with the other cited causes,

to lessen the diffusion among us of the most delightfully recreative of

all the arts, which, thus discouraged, has been driven to become the

spoiled favourite of the great and rich, instead of being the constant

friend and solace of the whole community.

Adverting now specifically to the English School of the violin, I would

remind the reader of what has been previously observed respecting the

very low estimation in which that instrument was for some time held,

after its first advent to this country. To raise it into favorable

regard, and to stimulate the efforts of our native professors,

successive importations of foreign talent (chiefly from Italy) were

required, and supplied. Our debt of this kind to the Italians has been

larger than that of our continental neighbours, either of France or of

Germany. Indeed the very fact of our possessing a School of our own, in

this branch of art, has, I believe, been commonly overlooked by the

musical writers of the continent: nor is this very surprising, when it

is considered how the great masters from Italy, taking the lead in

concerts and public performances, became “the observed of all

observers,” and the sole marks, or at least the principal ones, for the

pen of the writer. It may be demonstrated, nevertheless, that we, too,

as violinists, have our separate credit to assert for the past, and yet

more for the present, though we may not aspire to an equal amount of

merit, in this sense, with Germany or France. We have certainly not

caught, so effectually as the French, the various dexterities and

felicities of execution; but it is perhaps not too much to say that we

possess more “capability” for the development of the graver and better

sort of _expression_. Your Englishman, with all his lumpish partiality

for beef and pudding, is generally allowed to be a being of profounder

sensibilities than your Frenchman. He is a better recipient of the more

intense emotions that lie within the province of the “king of

instruments,” although its more brilliant characteristics are less

within his reach. The violin is a _shifting Proteus_, which accommodates

itself to almost every kind and shade of emotion that may actuate the

human mind: but then, the lighter emotions more frequently dispose us to

seek the aid of music for their audible sign, than the graver ones:

therefore your Frenchman, “toujours gai,” is oftener impelled to

practise the violin than your Briton; and therefore he becomes, after

his own fashion, a better player. But, after all, those who would

appreciate _all_ the capabilities of the violin as an individual

instrument, should watch its “quick denotements, working from the

heart,” under all manner of hands—Italian, German, French, English,

Dutch, and the rest.

With regard to _compositions_ for the instrument, generally, it must be

admitted that those to which merit, as well as custom, has given the

greatest currency in this country, have been of foreign

production—chiefly Italian or German. Truth requires the acknowledgment,

that in _this_ matter we stand far from high in the scale of national

comparison. It is the remark of Burney, that, for more than half a

century preceding the arrival of Giardini, the compositions of Corelli,

Geminiani, Albinoni, Vivaldi, Tessarini, Veracini, and Tartini, supplied

all our wants on the violin. Though somewhat poor in this point of view,

we are, however, not destitute. Let us advert here to two instances

only, that is to say, Boyce and Purcell. Dr. Boyce’s “Twelve Sonatas, or

Trios, for two Violins and a Bass,” were longer and more generally

purchased, performed, and admired (says Dr. Burney) than any productions

of the kind in this kingdom, except those of Corelli. They were not only

in constant use as chamber-music, in private concerts—for which they

were originally designed—but in our theatres as act-tunes, and at the

public gardens as favourite pieces, for many years.

“Purcell’s Sonatas and Trios (observes Mr. Hogarth, in his ‘Memoirs of

the Musical Drama’) belong to the same school as those of Corelli. The

Trios of the great Italian composer were published in the same year, and

could not have served as a model to Purcell, who, in acknowledging his

obligation to ‘the most famed Italian masters’ in this species of

composition, must have alluded to Torelli and Bassani, the latter of

whom was Corelli’s master. Purcell’s Sonatas, in some respects, are even

superior to those of the great Italian composer; for they contain

movements which, in depth of learning and ingenuity of harmonical

combination, without the least appearance of labour or restraint,

surpass anything to be found in the works of Corelli: but Corelli had

the advantage of being a great Violinist, while Purcell, who was not

only no performer himself, but probably had never heard a great

performer, had no means, except the perusal of Italian scores, of

forming an idea of the genius and powers of the instrument. This

disadvantage prevented Purcell from striking out new and effective

violin passages, and produced mechanical awkwardness, which a master of

the instrument would have avoided: but it did not disable him from

exhibiting taste and fancy; and every admirer of the works of Corelli

will take pleasure in these Sonatas of Purcell.”

The first Englishman who seems to have attained distinction as a

professional Violinist, was JOHN BANISTER, successor of Baltzar, the

Lubecker, in the conduct of Charles the Second’s new band of twenty-four

violins. DAVIS MELL, the clock-maker, should, however, if we are to

“keep time,” be first introduced, since, although but an Amateur, he was

an eminent hand at the violin, and was an agent of some little

importance in the diffusion of a taste for the instrument, ere it had

yet struggled into general notice. The merits of Davis Mell may be best

described in the language of an already familiar friend, honest Anthony

Wood:—

“In the latter end of this yeare (1657), Davis Mell, the most eminent

Violinist of London, being in Oxon, Peter Pett, Will. Bull, Ken. Digby,

and others of Allsowles, as also A. W. (Anthony à Wood) did give him a

very handsome entertainment in the Tavern cal’d The Salutation, in St.

Marie’s Parish, Oxon, own’d by Tho. Wood, son of ———— Wood of Oxon,

sometimes servant to the father of A. W. The company did look upon Mr.

Mell to have a prodigious hand on the Violin, and they thought that no

person (as all in London did) could goe beyond him. But when Tho.

Baltzar, an outlander, came to Oxon in the next yeare, they had other

thoughts of Mr. Mell, who tho’ he play’d farr sweeter than Baltzar, yet

Baltzar’s hand was more quick, and could run it insensibly to the end

of the finger-board.”[54] And in another place, the same writer says,

“After Baltzar came into England, and shew’d his most wonderful parts on

that instrument, Mell was not so admired; yet he play’d sweeter, was a

well-bred gentleman, and not given to excessive drinking, as Baltzar

was.”

It is worthy of notice that in the year of that event (the Restoration)

which proved so favourable to the march of fiddling in this country,

there was published by John Jenkins (who had been a voluminous composer

of _fancies_ for viols) a set of twelve sonatas for two violins and a

bass, professedly in imitation of the Italian style, and the first of

the kind which had ever been produced by an Englishman. “It was at this

time” (observes Burney) “an instance of great condescension for a

musician of _character_ to write expressly for so ribald and vulgar an

instrument as the _violin_ was accounted by the lovers of lutes,

guitars, and all the _fretful_ tribe.” This John Jenkins is designated

by Wood as a little man with a great soul. He died in 1678.

JOHN BANISTER was the son of one of the _waits_ of the parish of St.

Giles; yet, under this humble condition, he was enabled, by obtaining

the rude commencement of a musical education from his father, to work

his entrance into a successful career. He manifested, in a short time,

such ability on the violin, as to gain the marked encouragement of being

sent into France by our vivacious Charles II, for improvement, and of

being appointed, on his return, leader of the royal band. From this

service he was dismissed, for an offence of the tongue, such as the

French partialities of the English King could not brook. He had ventured

to tell Charles that the English performers on the violin were superior

to those of France. Pity that a potentate so expert at a _jest_ could

not (or would not) find one wherewith to excuse the frankness of his

man-in-office! Banister was one of the first who established lucrative

concerts in London. In the announcement of one of these (in 1677), it is

stated that the musical performance will begin “with the parley of

instruments, composed by Mr. Banister, and performed by eminent

masters.” Banister died in 1679, and was interred in the cloister of

Westminster Abbey. A contemporary, of some celebrity for his musical

zeal, the Hon. Mr. North, has made a flattering allusion to this

individual:—“It would be endless to mention all the elegant graces,

vocal and instrumental, which are taught by the Italian Masters, and

perhaps outdone by the English Banister.”

JOHN BANISTER, Jun. son of the preceding artist, and trained, by his

father to his own profession, obtained a post as one of King William’s

band, and also played the first violin at Drury Lane, when operas were

first performed there. In this latter post he continued for a number of

years, and was succeeded in it by Carbonelli. He was the composer of

several _grounds with divisions_, inserted in the publication called the

“Division Violin;” and a collection of music for the instrument, jointly

written by himself and the German, Godfrey Finger, was published by him,

and sold at his house in Brownlow-street, Drury Lane. This Banister died

about the year 1729.

OBADIAH SHUTTLEWORTH, organist of St. Michael’s, Cornhill, and

afterwards of the Temple Church, manifested such powers on the violin as

to be ranked among the first performers of his day. He was the son of a

person who lived in Spitalfields, and who had acquired a small fortune,

partly by teaching the harpsichord, and partly by copying Corelli’s

music for sale, before it was _printed_ in England. Shuttleworth was the

leader at the Swan Concert in Cornhill, from the time of its institution

till his death, about the year 1735. He was likewise a respectable

composer, and produced twelve concertos and several sonatas, for

violins. Of his compositions, however, if any are now extant in print,

they are only two of the concertos, which were formed from the first and

eleventh solos of Corelli.

HENRY ECCLES, an English Violinist of considerable eminence, dedicated

himself to foreign service, owing either to the want of due

encouragement in his native country, or to the disappointment of

expectations too loftily pitched. He went to Paris, and succeeded in

attaching himself to the band of the King of France. His father,

Solomon, had been also a professor of the instrument, and had some hand

in the second part of the “Division Violin,” published in London, 1693.

Henry Eccles was the composer of twelve esteemed Violin Solos, published

at Paris in 1720.

In treating of the progress of the violin in England, let us here again

refer to the great name of PURCELL. The colouring and effects of an

orchestra, as Dr. Burney has remarked, were but little known in

Purcell’s time, yet he employed them more than his predecessors; and, in

his sonatas, he surpassed whatever our country had produced or imported

before. The chief part of his instrumental music for the theatre is

included in a publication which appeared in 1697, two years after his

death, under the title of “A Collection of Ayres composed for the

Theatre, &c.” These airs were in four parts, for two violins, tenor and

bass, and were in continual requisition as overture and act-tunes, till

they were superseded by Handel’s hautbois Concertos, as were those also

by his overtures, while Boyce’s Sonatas and Arne’s compositions served

as act-tunes[55]. Purcell lived, however, somewhat too early, or died

too young, for the attainment, even by _his_ genius, of any very high

success is instrumental composition. Bassani and Torelli, others

inferior to them, formed his models of imitation for violin-music—the

works of Corelli being hardly then known in this country; and indeed he

was so imperfectly acquainted with the extensive powers of the violin,

as to have given occasion to Dr. Burney to remark that he had scarcely

ever seen a becoming passage for that instrument in any of his

(Purcell’s) works. His Sonatas, which contain many ingenious, and, at

the time when they were composed, _new_ traits of melody and modulation,

must yet be admitted to discover no great knowledge of the bow, or of

the peculiar genius of the instrument and, if they are compared with the

productions of his contemporary, Corelli, they will hardly escape being

characterized as barbarous. This, the substance of Burney’s remarks on

this matter, though according somewhat fainter praise to Purcell than is

assigned to him by Mr. Hogarth, does not seem to differ much from the

latter, in the essential points.

The arrival of Geminiani and Veracini, which took place in 1714, formed

the commencement of an important epoch in the progress of the violin in

England. The abilities of those eminent foreign masters established them

as models for the study of our own artists, and confirmed the

sovereignty of the instrument over all others, in our theatres and

concerts. The next English performer to be noticed is—

WILLIAM CORBETT, a member of the King’s band, and a violinist of

celebrity, who was the leader of the first Opera orchestra in the

Haymarket, at the time when “Arsinoe” was performed there. In the year

1710, when the Italian Opera, properly so called, was established (with

“Rinaldo” for its initiatory piece), a set of instrumental performers

were expressly introduced, and Corbett, though in the service of the

King, was permitted to go abroad. Visiting Rome, where he resided many

years, he made a valuable collection of music and musical instruments.

Some persons, professing to be acquainted with his circumstances, and

fidgetting themselves to account for his being able to lay out such sums

as he was observed to do, in the purchase of books and instruments,

asserted pretty roundly that he had an allowance from Government,

besides his salary, with the commission to watch the motions of the

Pretender! This anxiety to construe fiddling into politics, and to find

the heart of a state-mystery in the head of a violinist, is of a piece

with what has been already related as to Rode and Viotti.—Returning from

Italy about the year 1740, Corbett brought over with him a great

quantity of music which he had composed abroad. Full of ambition to

print, and desire to profit, he issued proposals for publishing by

subscription a work entitled “Concertos, or universal _Bizarreries_,

composed on all the new _gustos_, during many years’ residence in

Italy.” This strange medley he dragged into publication; but buyers were

few and shy. It was in three books, containing thirty-five Concertos of

seven parts, in which he professed to have imitated the style of the

various kingdoms in Europe, and of several cities and provinces in

Italy. In his earlier days, before he left England, he published, in a

soberer vein, two or three sets of _Sonatas for Violins and

Flutes_,—twelve _Concertos for all Instruments_, and several sets of

what were called _Tunes for the Plays_. Corbett died, at an advanced

age, in the year 1748, bequeathing by his will the best of his

instruments to Gresham College, with a salary of ten pounds a-year to a

female servant, who was to act in the demonstrative character. Her

expositions of the merits of this collection, are not to be confounded

with the “Gresham Lectures.”

MICHAEL CHRISTIAN FESTING, performer and composer, but coming short of

the summit in either capacity, was, I believe, of German birth, but

nurtured to his art in England, under the direction of Geminiani. He

filled the place of first violin at a musical meeting called the

_Philharmonic Society_, and chiefly composed of noblemen and gentlemen

performers, who met on Wednesday nights, during the winter season, at

the Crown and Anchor Tavern, in the Strand. On the building of the

Rotunda in Ranelagh Gardens, he was appointed sole conductor of the

musical performances there. By his zeal and indefatigable exertion, he

also contributed very essentially to the establishment of the _fund_

instituted for the support of decayed musicians and their families; and

for several years discharged, without any remuneration, the office of

secretary to that excellent institution. Its rise occurred in the year

1738, from the following circumstance. Festing, happening to be seated

one day at the window of the Orange Coffee-House, at the corner of the

Haymarket, observed, in the act of driving an ass, and selling

brick-dust, a boy whose intelligent countenance, contrasting with the

humility of his rags, strongly excited his interest. On enquiry, the lad

was found to be the son of a _musician_, who had fallen under the blight

of adversity. Struck with sorrow and mortification that the object

before him should be the child of a brother-professor, Festing

determined to attempt some plan for his support. In this worthy purpose

he was assisted by Dr. Maurice Greene—and from this germ of benevolence,

sprang eventually the enlarged and estimable charity which has since

flourished from season to season.

Inferior, as a performer on the violin, to several others of his time,

Festing had nevertheless sufficient talent, in association with

gentlemanly manners and conduct, to obtain considerable influence in the

musical profession, and to derive an ample and constant support from the

patrons of the art among the nobility. Though not eminent as a composer,

he has shewn some merit in his _solos_, and a very fair understanding of

the nature and resources of the instrument. These solos are but little

known, having been originally sold only by private subscription. Festing

died in 1752. He was succeeded at Ranelagh, and at some of the Concerts,

by Abraham Brown, a performer who had a clear, sprightly, and loud tone,

but had no sense of expression.

THOMAS PINTO, who attained the honor of dividing with Giardini the

leadership of the band at the King’s Theatre, was born in England, of

Italian parents. His early genius for the Violin was so well directed as

to render his playing, as a boy, a theme of astonishment; and, long

before he was of age, he was employed as the leader of large bands at

Concerts. At this time, however, he fell into a train of idle habits,

and began to affect the fine gentleman rather than the musical

student—keeping a horse, and sporting a special pair of boots, as his

custom of a morning, while a switch in his hand displaced the forgotten

fiddle-stick. From this devious course he was reclaimed by the accident

of the arrival of Giardini, whose superiority to all the performers he

had ever heard, inclined him to think it necessary that he should

himself recur to practice; and this he did, for some time, with great

diligence. A very powerful hand, and a wonderfully quick eye, were the

masterly possessions of Pinto, and enabled him to perform the most

difficult music at sight. He played thus, indeed, with more advantage

than after studying his subject; for then, in his carelessness, he would

trust to his memory, and frequently commit mistakes—missing the

expression of passages, which, if he had thought them worth looking at,

he would have executed with certainty. After leading at the Italian

Opera whenever Giardini’s more extensive avocations caused him to lay

down the truncheon, Pinto was engaged as First Violin at Drury-Lane

Theatre, where he led for, many years. On the death of his first wife,

Sybilla, a German singer, he married another singer, Miss Brent (the

celebrated pupil of Dr. Arne), and settled in Ireland, where he died in

the year 1773.

MATTHEW DUBOURG, recorded to have been one of the most eminent of the

race of English Violinists, was born in the year 1703, and gave very

early evidence of his musical propensities. It does not appear from

whom he derived his first instructions on the instrument; but, when

quite a child, he played his first solo (a sonata of Corelli’s) at one

of the concerts of the eccentric Britton, the musical small-coal man. To

make his infantine person sufficiently visible on that occasion, he was

made to borrow elevation from a joint-stool; and so much was the “tender

juvenal” alarmed at the sight of the splendid audience assembled for

music and coffee in Britton’s dingy apartment, that at first he was near

falling to the ground, from dismay. When about eleven years of age, he

was placed under the tuition of Geminiani, who was then recently arrived

in this country; and, thus tutored, he was enabled fully to confirm the

promise which his first attempts had exhibited. At the age of twelve, he

was again before the public—having a benefit concert at what was called

the Great Room in James Street. Before he had completed his seventeenth

year, he had acquired sufficient power and steadiness to lead at several

of the public concerts; the fulness of his tone, and the spirit of his

execution, being generally noticed. A few years more sufficed to

establish thoroughly his reputation; and, in 1728, he was honoured with

the appointment of Master and Composer of the State-Music in Ireland.

This situation had been previously offered to his late preceptor,

Geminiani, and by him declined on account of its not being tenable, in

those jealously restrictive days, by a member of the Romish Communion.

As the duties of this employment did not require Dubourg’s constant

residence in Ireland, he passed much of his time in England, where he

was chosen instructor in music to the Prince of Wales, the Duke of

Cumberland, and other amateurs, whose names might belong to a

“Dictionary of Etiquette.” On the death of Festing, in 1732, he was

appointed Leader of the King’s Band, which situation, together with his

Irish post, he was so far a musical _pluralist_ as to retain until his

death, which occurred in London in the year 1767. As a member of

society, according to the testimony about him which remains, few men of

his profession have rendered themselves more generally respected than

_he_ did.

A considerable share of originality appears to have marked the style of

this artist, who, if he derived essential aid from the great man that

called him pupil, was any thing but his slavish imitator. “Dubourg’s

performance on the violin,” says Sir John Hawkins, “was very bold and

rapid—greatly different from that of Geminiani, which was tender and

pathetic;-and these qualities, it seems, he was able to communicate; for

Clegg, his disciple, possessed them in as great perfection as himself.”

According to the same authority, the talent of Dubourg won for him many

admirers, and among them a Mrs. Martin, who had become, from a Dutch

widow, an English wife, and, being possessed of a large fortune, came to

reside in London, where, during the winter season, she had frequent

Concerts, resorted to by citizens of the first rank, and at times by

some of the nobility. A picture of Dubourg, painted when he was a boy,

was, it seems, a conspicuous object in Mrs. Martin’s Concert-Room.[56]

As a composer, Dubourg is, or rather was, known by the _odes_ he

officially set to music in Ireland, and by a great number of _solos_ and

_concertos_ for the violin, which he wrote for his own public

performances. Though alleged to have possessed much intrinsic merit,

none of these appear hitherto to have been printed; nor is it likely

that they will ever now meet with that honour, as the change of fashion

in music would hardly admit of their being rescued from “the dreary

_fuimus_ of all things human.” For a long time, however, his works (in

their aforesaid manuscript state) continued in the possession of one of

his pupils; and perhaps they are not yet scattered, but may be at this

moment reposing in some dark old chest, undisturbed, save by the

nibblings of the worms. In the faint hope of yet bringing some of them

to the light, although with no view towards their multiplication, I have

had recourse (but without success) to the friendly aid of that oft-times

efficacious doubt-cleaver and knot-cracker, known by the name of “Notes

and Queries.” As to the _odes_ above referred to, they were _ex-officio_

celebrations of royal virtue, from the now-forgotten hand of Benjamin

Victor, the poet-laureate, who has achieved for himself _no_ realization

of the classic wish, “victorque virûm volitare per ora.” Of several of

these stately effusions, I have the words now before me. They might

serve to provoke the smiles of another and a very different laureate,

the living Tennyson; but, as a stimulus to _music_, I can say nothing

for them—and can only _hope_ that my progenitor’s attempts, in

association with them, may have been worthy of better company.

While in Ireland, Dubourg was honoured with the intimacy of Pope’s

_Giant_, the Briarean Handel; and an anecdote, in which they are both

concerned, serves to shew, amusingly enough, that tendency to

_expatiate_ discursively on their own peculiar instrument, by which most

performers of eminence are distinguished. Handel, in a spirit of

charity that harmonized fortunately with his interest, but is not to be

suspected of being on that account the less sincere, commenced his

career in Ireland by presiding at the performance of the _Messiah_, for

the benefit of the Dublin City-Prison. On a subsequent evening, Dubourg,

as leader of the band, having a _close_ to make _ad libitum_, wandered

about so long, in a fit of abstract modulation, as to seem a little

uncertain about that indispensable postulate, the original key. At

length, however, he accomplished a safe arrival at the _shake_ which was

to terminate this long close, when Handel, to the great delight of the

audience, cried out, loud enough to be heard in the remotest parts of

the theatre—“Welcome home, welcome home, Mr. Dubourg!” One of the

evidences of Handel’s friendship for him, is to be found among his

testamentary arrangements, which included a bequest of £100 in his

favour.

During his location in Ireland, Dubourg was also visited (in 1761) by

his master Geminiani, towards whom he always evinced the utmost regard,

and who died in his house, at the great age of 96.

Garrett, Earl of Mornington, noted for his fine musical taste, no less

than for his lineal antecedence to the Duke of Wellington, took the

interest of a patron in this modest man of art, of whose ability he

shewed a precocious discernment, in his very infancy—as the following

little tale will explain.

The father of the Earl played well, as an amateur, on the violin, so as

to give frequent delight to his child, whilst in the nurse’s arms, and

long before he could speak. Dubourg, happening on some occasion to be at

the family seat, was not permitted by the child to take the violin from

his father nor was the opposition overcome till his little hands were

held. After having heard Dubourg, however, the case was altered, and

there was then much _more_ difficulty in persuading him to let Dubourg

give the instrument back to his father; nor would the infant ever

afterwards permit the father to play, whilst Dubourg was in the house.

It appears that the name of this artist is the first on record in

connection with the performance of a _violin concerto_ on the stage of

an English theatre. At the oratorios given by Handel at Covent Garden in

1741 and 42, Dubourg occupied the ears and eyes of the public, in that

way, for many successive nights. Several other performers took the hint,

and started upon the same footing soon after[57]. This sort of

exhibition, after some years, seems to have grown too common, to satisfy

the public appetency; wherefore a Signor Rossignol, in 1776, undertook

to perform after a mode which we should now style _à la Paganini_:

indeed he seemed to go beyond the modern “miracle of man,” for he

advertised “a concerto on the violin, _without strings_.” Whether the

joke turned on the plural number, in particular, or (as the lawyers say)

how otherwise, it is now impossible to ascertain.

Dubourg—peace to his gentle memory!—was interred in the church-yard of

Paddington, where his calling in life, and his summons to death, were

denoted in the following gracefully reflective epitaph:—

“Though, sweet as Orpheus, thou couldst bring

Soft pleadings from the trembling string,

Uncharmed the King of Terror stands,

Nor owns the magic of thy hands.”

JOHN CLEGG, a name as closely linked to misery as to talent, was, as

already observed, a pupil of the last-named professor. He also

travelled with Lord Ferrers into Italy, and much advanced his taste

during his stay in that special home of the violin.

Castrucci, leader of the Opera-band in London during the early part of

the last century, growing old, and losing much of his former vigour of

execution, Handel, then at the head of the management, was desirous of

placing Clegg in his station: but, knowing Castrucci to be in no exalted

circumstances, and not wishing to wound his feelings, by making the

intended change, without convincing him of his insufficiency, he adopted

the following method for effecting his object:—He composed a violin

concerto, in which the concertino (or second) part was purposely made as

difficult of execution as the first. This piece he gave to Clegg, to be

performed by him, accompanied by Castrucci; when the former executed his

part with grace and facility, while the latter laboured through _his_

portion of the performance, in a lame and imperfect manner. Castrucci,

backward as he had been to admit the rival pretensions of Clegg, was

constrained to yield to him the palm of victory; and Handel obtained his

wish—but nevertheless retained Castrucci in the band, and was otherwise

his friend, in subsequent days.

The beauty of Clegg’s tone, and the graces of his execution, won for him

many admirers as a performer; but, alas! he purchased at far too dear a

sacrifice the fame for which he strove. About the year 1742, he had so

deranged his faculties by intense study and practice, that it became

necessary to confine him in Bedlam. There, during lucid intervals, he

was allowed the use of his instrument; and it was long an _amusement_,

as fashionable as it was inhuman, to visit him, among other lunatics, in

the hope of encountering him at some moment of security from his

“battle of the brain,” in order to be entertained, either by his fiddle,

or his folly! Barbarity like this has now happily ceased to disgrace the

movements of fashion, and only leaves a feeling of _wonder_, to qualify

the indignation which its remembrance excites.

THOMAS COLLET, of eccentric memory, enjoyed the reputation of being one

of our principal native performers about the year 1745, when he led the

orchestra of Vauxhall Gardens; an appointment then more highly

considered than in these days. Possessing very little, however, either

of taste or of musical knowledge, he was always an inelegant player, and

owed his success to his powers of execution alone; yet _these_ must have

been exerted within a very confined compass, for Parke, in his “Musical

Memoirs,” asserts Collet to have had such an aversion to _playing high_,

that he dismissed one of his violin-performers for flourishing on the

_half-shift_! Parke has added an anecdote about him, which must be

confessed to savour not a little of the marvellous. “Although this

gentleman, who was a great pigeon-fancier (continues Parke), did not go

aloft on the _fiddle_, he went every day up to the top of his _house_,

to see his pigeons fly; and on one occasion he was so lost in admiration

of them, that, while clapping his hands and walking backwards, he walked

over the leads of the house, and in the fall must have been dashed to

pieces, had not his clothes been caught by a lamp-iron, to which he

remained suspended (more frightened than hurt) until taken down by the

passers-by.”

FRANCIS HACKWOOD, whose convivial and entertaining qualities assisted

his professional talent, in procuring for him the notice and support of

the most influential among the patrons of music, was born in 1734. He

attained some distinction among violin-performers; but the play of his

wit and humour seems to have outlasted that of his instrument, in the

impression produced—and no wonder, considering how much farther _wit_

can be transmitted, than _sound_. It is one of the anecdotes related of

this artist, that, at the conclusion of an Evening Concert given by Lord

Hampden to a large assemblage of rank and fashion, when the performers

had been taxed to exert themselves till a most unreasonable hour in the

morning, his Lordship addressed to him the question, “Hackwood, will you

stay and _sup_ with us?”—and that the answer was, “No, my Lord, I can’t;

for I think (taking out his watch) my wife must be waiting _breakfast_

for me.”—In another anecdote, Hackwood figures as the _cause_ of a jest,

which is the next good thing to being its utterer. He was intimate with

the late Sir C——r W——e, a Lincolnshire Baronet of large fortune, who,

when not laid up by the gout, was a man of three-bottle capacity. At a

gentlemen’s party given by this free votary of the grape, Hackwood, who

had some pressing business to transact early in the ensuing day, and had

heard the clock strike one, arose to depart. “Where are you going so

soon?” inquired Sir C——r. “Home, Sir,” replied Hackwood; “it has struck

one.”—“_One!_” exclaimed the Baronet; “pooh, pooh! Sit down, sit down!

What’s _one_, among _so many_?”—Parke, the oboist, who gives this story,

spoils the close of it by a bottle of Hollands gin, which he makes the

two interlocutors to have drunk out between them, on the stairs, _pour

prendre congé_. The gin lends no genuine spirit to the anecdote, and had

better have been omitted by the narrator, who, besides, was probably in

error as to its existence at all in the case. The man who, flushed with

generous wine, has succeeded in saying a tolerably good thing, may

fairly be considered as too _happy_, to be in any need of such extra

stimulus as half a bottle of gin. Potation of _that_ character is the

resource of the _dull_. Parke has alluded generally, in no liberal

temper, to the eccentricities of this professor, whose disposition he

has mistaken, when attributing _meanness_ to it. This charge he founds

particularly on the fact of Hackwood’s having once shouldered his own

violoncello (for he played that instrument also) on his way home from

Apsley-House, to save expense of coach or porter, though he was himself

attired “in an elegant suit of blue silk and silver.” Those who knew him

better, could have furnished his detractor with a fairer reason for the

proceeding in question, by suggesting that it arose from that anxious

care for the safety of his instrument, which many a performer is well

known to entertain, and which, in the instance of the individual now

under notice, prevailed to such an extent as even to form one of his

eccentricities. So far, indeed, from being of an illiberal spirit, he

was a considerable loser by the too ready advance of money to the

necessitous.

Hackwood lived till 1821, and was for some years _father_ (as the term

goes) of the Royal Society of Musicians.

It may be incidentally mentioned that a great benefit to our English

performers on bow-stirred instruments in general, was produced by ABEL’S

residence here for about a quarter of a century. That fine musician and

performer, the pupil and friend of Sebastian Bach, though he handled an

instrument (the _viol-da-gamba_) of a species which was not in common

use, and was even about to be completely laid aside, became nevertheless

the model, in adagio-playing, of all our young professors on bowed

instruments, who, taught by his discretion, taste, and pathetic manner

of _expressing a few notes_, became more sparing of notes in a

_cantabile_, and less inclined to attempt such flourishes as have no

higher purpose than to display mechanical readiness. The wonders

achieved by Abel in the extraction of tone from an instrument which,

albeit possessed of some sweetness, was radically so crude and nasal, as

the viol-da-gamba (that remnant of the old “chest of viols”), are

something truly memorable among the triumphs of art. The Robert Lindley

of our own day and country, transcendant in the quality of tone which he

could elicit, stands a minor marvel, as compared in this sense with

Abel,—_his_ instrument being one that is naturally so much more grateful

and practicable.

RICHARD CUDMORE, a native of Chichester, was born in 1787. His success

began with his juvenile days, for he performed a solo in public when

only nine years old; and at eleven, with still higher ambition, he

played a concerto at Chichester, composed by himself! Such a thing is of

course only marvellous with reference to the means which it is possible

for a child to possess: accordingly, on these occasions, there is always

“a liberal discount allowed”—the indulgent auditor forming his estimate

on the Horatian plan of “contentus parvo.” At twelve years of age, young

Cudmore attained the provincial triumph of leading the band at the

Chichester Theatre—played a concerto for the comic actor, Suett, at his

benefit—and performed a _violino primo_ part amongst the “older

strengths” of the Italian Opera-band in London. In the mean time he was

introduced to Salomon, and had the advantage of some training from that

noted Master. After the subsequent enjoyment of some years of country

fame, Cudmore changed the scene of his operations to London, and, giving

scope to the versatility of his talent, became a pupil of Woelfl’s on

the pianoforte, and, in the sequel, a public performer on that

instrument also.—A striking proof of his musical ability is shewn in an

anecdote recorded of him. On one occasion a performance took place at

Rowland Hill’s Chapel, in Blackfriars Road, for which Salomon had

rehearsed, in conjunction with Dr. Crotch and Jacobs. Salomon, however,

being unexpectedly subpœnaed on a trial, requested Cudmore to become

his substitute at the chapel, when he performed the music at sight,

before from two to three thousand persons.—Another extraordinary

instance of his skill in sight-playing, or what the French call

_l’exécution à livre ouvert_, was given in a private concert at Mr. C.

Nicholson’s, where he executed at sight a new and difficult manuscript

concerto, which was accidentally brought thither.

At Liverpool, where he occasionally conducted the public concerts, he

once performed a concerto on the violin by Rode; one on the piano by

Kalkbrenner; and a third, by Cervetto, on the violoncello! At a later

period, he became leader of the band at the establishment called the

Manchester Amateur Concert.

G. F. PINTO, grandson of the performer of that name already noticed

(whose ardent temperament he seems to have inherited, with no

countervailing discretion), affords a remarkable instance of premature

musical genius. He studied the violin under Salomon and Viotti, and, at

fifteen years of age, had attained such accomplishment on that

instrument, that he could lead an orchestra, in the performance of the

symphonies of Haydn, with no very discernible inferiority to Salomon. He

became also a proficient on the pianoforte, and evinced good knowledge

of counterpoint, in several vocal publications of merit and originality,

which he sent forth when about the age of seventeen. The syren voice of

Pleasure, however, lured this promising genius to his destruction.

Possessed of a fine person, and a mischievous store of vanity, he became

a martyr to dissipation about the year 1808, before he had completed his

twenty-first year.

THOMAS LINLEY (Junior), eldest son of the vocal composer of that name,

was born at Bath, in 1756, and displayed, at a very early age,

extraordinary powers on the violin—performing a concerto in public when

but eight years old. To qualify him more effectually for a musical

career, through a due acquaintance with theory, his father placed him

under the able tuition of Dr. Boyce; after which he was sent to

Florence, chiefly to prosecute the study of his favourite instrument,

under the eye of Nardini. Through the kind agency of the Italian

violinist, Linley acquired the advantageous friendship of Mozart, then a

youth of about his own age. On his return from his studies on the

continent, young Linley repaired to Bath, to lead his father’s concerts

and oratorios, which he did with such precision and animation as to gain

high credit. His manner of performing the concertos of Handel and

Geminiani was also much admired; nor did he fail to exhibit marks of

opening excellence as a composer, in his own solos and concertos,

occasionally introduced, as well as in several vocal dramatic

productions, which evinced considerable imagination and spirit. The

brilliant professional hopes founded on these achievements were

destined, however, to be suddenly darkened: for the object of them met

with an untimely death in the year 1778, by the upsetting of a

pleasure-boat.

THOMAS COOKE—who is there, having open ears, that does not know

something of the versatile and ingenious Tom Cooke?—was born in Dublin,

and was ready with his violin, at the age of seven, to play a concerto

in public. Expert with hand, tongue, and pen, he has performed _three

times three_ successive solos, on as many different instruments, in one

night, for his benefit—and, in moments of composure, has _written_ for

all of them. At a very early age, he became director and leader of the

music at the Theatre Royal, Dublin; from which condition he suddenly

transformed himself into that of a singer, and enjoyed a success of

several seasons at the English Opera-House, in London, as vocalist and

composer. His next course of exertion was at Drury Lane, as singer, and

afterwards as musical director, leader, and composer, in which latter

triple capacity he pursued a long and steady career. The violin was

eminently useful in his hands, if it cannot be said to have been, in the

highest degree, brilliant.

“Tom Cooke,” observed a chronicler, some time since, in one of the

magazines, “is certainly the most facetious of fiddlers, and is the only

person at present connected with theatres, who smacks of the olden days

of quips and cranks. Some of his conundrums are most amusing

absurdities.” After assigning to him, by a somewhat venturesome

decision, the authorship of the receipt for getting a _vial-in_ at a

chemist’s[58], the same writer gave two other specimens of Cooke’s

powers of jest, as thus:—

Once, whilst rehearsing a song, Braham said to Cooke, who was leading,

“I drop my voice there, at night”—intimating that he wished the

accompaniment to be more _piano_. “_You_ drop your voice, do you?” said

Cooke; “I should like to be by, and pick it up.”

During the run of the Tragedy of Manfred, he remarked, “How Denvil keeps

_sober_ through the play, I can’t think; for he is _calling for

spirits_, from the first scene to the last!”

Some few years have now elapsed, since this well-remembered professor

was borne to that spot where—instead of the achievements of talent, or

the humours of character—a few meagre words, and a date or two, comprise

usually _all_ that is told to the stray pedestrian, or the passing wind!

NICHOLAS MORI, who, in certain respects, is entitled to rank high among

English Violinists, was born in London, in 1796. The instrument that

became the medium of his success in maturer years, was the object of his

regard even in infancy—for, at three years of age, he was clutching a

contracted specimen of it in his little grasp, and receiving some

initiatory hints from Barthélémon. At eight, prepared and advertised as

a prodigy, he was publicly playing that Professor’s difficult concerto,

styled “The Emperor.” A few years later, his aspiring hand was

conspicuous at the Concerts given by Mr. Heaviside, the Surgeon. To add

the solid to the showy, the aid of Viotti (then almost a seceder from

the profession) was wisely invoked; and nearly six years of his valuable

guidance were obtained. Meanwhile, the active youth, still boyishly

habited in jacket and frill, was careering through an engagement in the

Opera orchestra. There, at the age of twenty, he became leader of the

Ballet, on the retirement of Venus, which post he held until, in 1834,

he succeeded to that of the silvery Spagnoletti.

The _Philharmonic Concerts_, which commenced in 1813, had opened a new

field for the display of high talent in almost every department of the

musical art. The interest and advancement of Mori, in that quarter, were

zealously undertaken by Viotti; and he became one of the Directors of

the Society, for several seasons. In 1819, he married the widow of Mr.

Lavenu—an alliance which made him the successor to a lucrative business.

Another native Establishment, instituted in his time, afforded further

opportunity for the indefatigable exertions of Mori. The _Royal Academy

of Music_ received him within its walls, as one of its principal

teachers of the violin. Among his pupils there, were Oury, Patey,

Richards, Musgrove, and his own younger son, Nicholas. The success of

his Concert-speculations, meanwhile, was attested by the overflowing

audiences they constantly drew together; but such a result was not

accomplished without great attendant labour and anxiety. His Classical

Chamber-Concerts, commenced in 1836, in sequence to those of Blagrove’s

party, kept his name still prominent before the public until his death,

which took place on the 14th June, 1839.

Few professional men have possessed equal influence in our musical

circles, with that which was attained by this distinguished artist; and

few have succeeded in acquiring so large a share of public patronage.

Yet, favourite of the public as he was, from first to last, it must be

regretfully added that he failed to secure the cordial sympathy of his

professional brethren, to whom his irritability of temper, and

_brusquerie_ of manner, rendered his official government no halcyon

reign. For all that was thus unpleasant, however, a cause was

discovered, that left his real character untouched. Physical

disturbance, existing and accumulating for some length of time, before

his sudden decease, had impaired the functions of the brain, and

unsettled the moral impulses. With such ground for acquittal of the

agent, offence was at once forgotten, and sympathy alone entertained.

As to the too eager pursuit of pecuniary advantage, which has been

sometimes charged upon this artist, it may not be quite so easy to award

entire absolution. It is very possible, however, that what seemed the

love of money, was really the love of family, urging to provident

collection. Should this plea be deemed inconclusive, there would still

remain much excuse for the individual, in a certain bias, or tendency,

that is notoriously far too prevalent among us. I mean that inveterate

habit of referring all things to the _commercial principle_, which,

causing the musical art, in this country, to be regarded mainly as an

object of _gain_—is bitterly unfavourable to the growth of a kindly

feeling among its members (each of whom too often learns to consider his

neighbour as a rival to be repressed, rather than a friend to be

assisted)—and wears down the enthusiasm for high art, by a vexatiously

incessant attrition with common arithmetic.

“Non bene conveniunt, nec in unâ sede morantur,

_Plutus et Euterpe_!”

In Germany, on the contrary, where art is loved chiefly for itself, and

where moderate desires attend its exercise, the social feeling among

musical men—a thing delightful to witness—is as beneficial in its

influence on the character of the individual professor, as in its

effect on the general interests of the art. The same remark applies, in

a lesser degree, to the credit of the musical profession in France. It

is not too much to hope that the now obviously increasing diffusion of

musical taste and intelligence among ourselves, will bring, as its

ultimate consequences, a diminished care for emolument, and a closer

fraternal feeling among our artists.

To advert more minutely to Mori’s powers as a Violinist—since he was not

great in _all_ the requisites, it follows that he can scarcely be

regarded as an artist of the very highest order. That mechanical command

over the executive difficulties of the instrument, for which he was so

remarkable, and which enabled him, when yet a boy, to delight the lovers

of the surprising—was his chief merit—“the pith and marrow of his

attribute.” The tuition he received from Viotti, that most vigorous of

Violinists, was of great importance in directing and maturing his great

manual capacity; but, though he derived from him, and from his own

assiduous study, a full, free tone, a dashing execution, and the most

accurate neatness,—his temperament, somewhat hard and ungenial, seems to

have been too little in accordance with Viotti’s, to admit of his fully

acquiring _all_ the advantages which that great preceptor was fitted to

impart. He caught most felicitously the art of triumphing over difficult

passages—the perfection of mere fiddling—but he had not the soul

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

to awaken, through the magic of expression, those deeper sensibilities

in which music finds the truest source of its empire. Mori’s playing,

with its powers and its deficiencies, was admirably suited to the

apprehension and desires of a fashionable audience. It was showy, but

not profound; striking, but not moving; full of artificial neatness,

with little of natural grace. His hand wrought to more purpose than his

mind. He was (before the malady that finally subdued him) a man of rigid

nerve, and had all the advantages that confidence could bestow,—and

these, especially in solo playing, are far from inconsiderable—but then,

for want of the sensitiveness pertaining to a more delicate

organization, he lost the finest part of what _might_ have been

accomplished. He has occupied a very marked place amongst English

instrumentalists; but, for the reasons here alleged, the impression he

produced seems not likely to prove of a very durable character, so as to

secure to him any considerable future importance in musical annals. As a

composer for his instrument, he possessed very slender pretensions. His

performance itself, admirable as it was in some points, sufficiently

shewed why he could not hope to distinguish himself in composition. The

few manifestations he made in that way have given no cause for

regretting his general habit of trusting to the works of others, for the

musical ideas which he had to convey[59].

Mr. LODER, of Bath, long prominent among provincials, and not unknown in

the metropolis, was justly esteemed for his knowledge of the orchestra,

and his utility as an able leader.

Mr. HENRY GATTIE, welcomed in his youthful days as a charming

solo-player, in which capacity he ran for a time a pretty close race

with Mori, has since contented himself, for the most part, with the less

ambitious employment of orchestral playing; but his finished taste, and

true musical feeling, ensured him a very favourable attention, when, on

the memorable occasion of the experiment at Quartett performances (to be

presently referred to), he took the Second Violin part among the

confraternity at the Hanover Square Rooms.

ANTONIO JAMES OURY was born in London, in the year 1800. His father, a

native of Nice, of noble descent, left home to follow the early

campaigns of the then General Buonaparte—was taken prisoner by the

English, and lodged near Southampton, at which place he married, in

1799, the daughter of a Mr. Hughes, not unknown in literary circles—and

then followed the joint profession of musician and dancing-master,

possessing, at the same time, great natural capacity for several

branches of the fine arts.

The subject of our present sketch, at the age of three years, commenced

his infantine attentions to the violin, under the tuition of his own

father, and of the father of our talented composer, George Macfarren. In

1812, young Oury became the pupil of three eminent professors—Mori,

Spagnoletti, and Kiesewetter. In 1820, he heard Spohr for the first

time: as a result of the impression then received, his perseverance

became so great, that, for the space of seven months, he practised no

less than fourteen hours a-day! In the same year, he went to Paris, to

study under those magnates of the modern French School of the

Violin—Baillot, Kreutzer, and Lafont. From each of these masters (and

without the knowledge of the others) our young artist managed to take

two lessons a week, for several successive winters, at the same time

studying composition under Monsieur Fétis. He then made his _début_ at

the London Philharmonic Society, at the Concert given for the widow and

family of his late master, Kiesewetter. He also became a member of the

“Ancient Concerts,” Philharmonic, and Opera orchestras, and joint leader

with François Cramer, at the Birmingham, York, Leicester, and Derby

Musical Festivals—and also made several operatic tours in Ireland and

elsewhere.

In 1826, Oury was engaged as Leader of the Ballet, Sub-Leader of the

Opera, and Solo-Violin, at the King’s Theatre; and, as successor of Mori

and Lacy, he held this tripartite post for five years—displaying,

whensoever the occasion permitted, the graces of a light and free

execution.

In 1831, Mr. Oury married the distinguished pianiste, Madˡˡᵉ· Belleville,

whose father had also been an officer of Napoleon’s, and was afterwards

French Tutor to the Princesses of Bavaria. His first trip with Madame

Oury was to Liverpool, as Leader of De Begnis’ Italian Opera, where they

gave, conjointly with Paganini, a grand Concert at the Theatre Royal, in

behalf of the local poor. In 1832, they left England for Hamburgh,

Berlin, St. Petersburgh, and Moscow, giving (in all) twenty-three

Concerts, during a residence of two years, in Russia, and returning

(after playing at the Imperial Court) to Berlin. They next visited

Leipzig, Dresden, Prague, and Vienna—making a brilliant sojourn of two

years in the Austrian capital. Mr. Oury visited Pesth and Buda, alone

and gave seven Concerts, with great success and profit; played in

presence of the Imperial Court, at the Bourge Theatre, Vienna, and

returned to Munich. Again (accompanied by Madame Oury) he gave Concerts

in all the principal towns of the Rhine, till they arrived in Holland,

where Madame Oury was attacked by a serious illness, which interrupted a

number of professional engagements. After a successful tour, however, to

all the chief towns of Holland, they returned to Dusseldorf, on the

occasion of the first performance of Mendelssohn’s Oratorio of “Paulus.”

At Aix-la-Chapelle, they gave Concerts in conjunction with their friends

Malibran and De Beriot—visited Belgium—played at the Court—and then

resided two years in Paris, with Paganini, at the _Neotherme_. During

this period, Mr. Oury entered the orchestra of “Les Italiens” (then

performing at the _Odéon_), and made himself conversant with the operas

of Donizetti, under the author’s own conducting. Subsequently, he

returned to England, after an absence of nine years.

In 1846 and 47, again visiting Italy, Mr. Oury and his accomplished

partner gave Concerts at Rome, Naples, Venice and Milan, and returned to

England in 1848. Mr. Oury next accepted the post of Leader of the

Seconds, on the notable occasion of Mr. Balfe’s forming a new orchestra

(to meet the opposition of the Royal Italian Opera), at Covent Garden.

Before taking leave of the subject of this notice, a few particulars

remain to be added. Mr. Oury, with his accomplished wife, has composed a

number of brilliant Drawing-Room Duetts Concertante, for piano and

violin, which have procured their _entrée_ to most of the musical

saloons and Courts of Europe. Mr. Oury has had no scanty share of

honours bestowed on him—such as the being appointed one of the

Professors at the Royal Academy of Music in London, at the time of its

foundation—a member of several Continental Philharmonic Societies—and an

honorary member of the Academy and Congregation of St. Cecilia, at Rome.

By these distinctions, it is sufficiently denoted that he has secured to

himself a reputation through a large part of musical Europe.

It has been said, that a sense of injustice during the encounter with

professional jealousies in the home field of exertion, first drove this

clever artist to take a wider range, and visit continental cities. If

so, he has no reason to regret the event, having abundantly “seen the

world,” and gathered of its laurels to any reasonable heart’s content.

Among the professional pupils whom Mr. Oury has had the honour of aiding

in their early practice, may be mentioned the well-known composers,

George Macfarren and Sterndale Bennett, and (of amateurs) that

distinguished dilettante and classical violinist, the present Earl

Falmouth.

JOSEPH HAYDON BOURNE DANDO, well-entitled to honourable mention among

English violin-players, was born at Somers Town, in the year 1806. At an

early age he had developed a taste for music, and, under the guidance of

his uncle, Signor Brandi, attained to considerable facility of execution

on his instrument.

In 1819, he was placed under the tuition of Mori with whom he continued

his studies (off and on) for about seven years, although no great

cordiality appears to have been established between them. They were, in

fact, of essentially different temperaments. After some years of

practical training, during which he had mastered most of the

difficulties written as _concertos_ and _studies_ for the

violin—finding the influence, as well as the disposition, of his master,

opposed to the display of his acquirements in what may be termed musical

gymnastics, our young artist wisely (and, for the advancement of musical

taste in this country, fortunately) turned his genius and talents to

useful account, in studying and illustrating the higher order of

beauties contained in those charming works which had been written, by

some of the great masters in composition, for “chamber-performance;”

more especially the _quartetts_ of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Spohr, &c.

Although opportunities for exhibiting his proficiency, as a solo-player,

were restricted, they could not be entirely suppressed. Enough has

transpired to warrant us in the conclusion, that, with a fair field, Mr.

Dando might, in that branch of his art, at the present day, have stood

second to none. As a _quartett-player_, he has achieved a reputation

which places him in the front rank of contemporary violinists.

Any notice of Mr. Dando’s professional career, which should pretend to

throw a light on his progress and present position as an artist, must

necessarily include much that properly belongs to a history of the rise

and progress of Quartett-performances in England. It is to him,

probably, that we are indebted, not only for the first public

introduction of the Quartett in London, but also, in a great degree, for

our present familiar acquaintance with those elegant works, which have

of late years so largely contributed to the increase of our musical

enjoyment. A license may therefore be reasonably solicited for diverging

into matter which, under other circumstances, might appear foreign to

the purpose of a mere biographical sketch. It is presumed, however, that

no apology will be required for crossing the strict boundary line, by

stating some of the following particulars; seeing that they, in reality,

are quite _apropos_ of the general design of this work, and come with

propriety under the present section of it.

From his youth upwards, Mr. Dando’s society appears to have been

courted, and his talents appreciated, by most of the amateurs of music

in that part of our metropolis designated as the City, where more

intimately he was known, owing to early introduction; and where his

agreeable manners, added to his professional merits, contributed to the

formation of some lasting friendships, as well as valuable connexions.

Of these gentlemen, some were well skilled in the performance of the

favourite works of the great quartett writers; and a larger number were

qualified to form an accurate estimate of their merits. The charm of Mr.

Dando’s style, as a quartett-player, had in due time (about the year

1834-5) rendered the fact apparent to his friends, that the choice works

of those masters, which were the delight of the initiated, still

remained “a sealed book,” not only to the general public, but even to

the ordinary _habitué_ of the concert-room; and it was thought that they

only required a fair introduction, to secure to them that favour in

public, which they so largely attracted in those private musical circles

where they were familiarly known. Accordingly, in the year 1835, a

subscription was opened amongst the amateurs—Mr. Dando’s more immediate

admirers—for the purpose of submitting some of these works to more open

notice. An occasion of distress was selected as an excuse for an

evening’s public performance of quartetts, trios, &c. the profits of

which were to be presented to a worthy individual who had fallen into

pecuniary difficulties, and was about to quit our shores, to better his

fortunes in America. A party was formed, with Mr. Dando at its head, and

the First (as far as we have been able to ascertain) Public Quartett

Concert in this country, was given on the 23rd September, 1835, at the

Horn Tavern, Doctors’-Commons. This presentation was the commencement of

an epoch in the musical history of this country. On the occasion, the

amateurs mastered in force, and brought their friends, to support the

two-fold object they had espoused. The evening passed away in raptures.

A second public trial was immediately undertaken, and announced for the

12th October, in the same year; and then a third (on the 26th October),

each, in succession, proving more widely attractive than its

predecessors. So unequivocal was the success of these experiments on

public taste, and such was the _furore_ excited in the musical world by

them, that from these performances may be dated the _establishment_ of

Quartett Concerts in this country.

As might be expected, the first blow so effectively struck, led, by its

own impulse, to a regular series, which followed at rapid intervals

(first at the same rooms, and afterwards at the London Tavern), between

the 13th January, 1836, and the 31st January, 1838, two consecutive

seasons.

In the mean time, an early spark had fired the train, and the idea

extended to the west end of the town, where a company of talented

professors combined to set on foot a sequence of similar attractions;

and four had been quickly announced under the title of “Concerti da

Camera,” at the Hanover Square Rooms, for the 7th and 21st of November,

5th and 19th of December, 1835. At the fourth of these meetings, Mr.

Dando was engaged to play the principal _viola_ part in Spohr’s Third

Double Quartett. The effect of his performance of the part was notable;

inasmuch as it led to an immediate invitation from Messrs. H. G.

Blagrove and Lucas (the principal Violin and Violoncello on that

occasion) to join _them_ in the formation of a select party, for the

more perfect study and presentation of Quartetts and other chamber

instrumental compositions, which, by this time, were beginning to

attract universal attention. Mr. Dando acceded to the proposition, and

enrolled himself as the tenor-player of a party which was completed by

the subsequent adhesion of Mr. Henry Gattie, as second violinist. The

party, thus constituted, brought before the public the first of their

“Quartett Concerts” at the Hanover Square Rooms, on the evening of the

17th March, 1836, with a completeness of effect in the _ensemble_, that

threw all prior performances of their kind into the shade.

Under the impression produced by an audience of these interesting

confederates, was penned the piece of panegyric that here-under asks the

indulgent attention of such of my readers as are tolerant of verse:—

Happy the man of taste that’s led

Hither, to have his cravings fed!

He who this dainty circle nears,

Takes in _ambrosia_ at the ears,

Through a new sense, revives a fable,

And finds a feast that needs no table!

When thus _as one_ are met these _four_,

What treat can Music yield us more?

Ye birds, that haunt by night or day grove,

Yield, yield in _dulcetry_ to _Blagrove_!

Say, is he not, while warbling now,

Well worthy of a _topmost bough_?

And do not these, that add their claim,

Put all your “sylvan choirs” to shame?

What think ye, feathered ones! of notes

So ravishing—and _not_ from _throats_?

How sweet, and exquisitely _natty_,

Those trills ancillary, from _Gattie_!

And list! t’ enhance our joy what _can_ do

The “even tenor” of smooth _Dando_.

Then, in the stream of sound to hook us

“Deeper, and deeper still,” comes _Lucas_.

Felicity, with clearest voice,

Calls here on Echo to rejoice!

Desire may here, with resting feet,

Sit still—nor care to shift her seat.

—Who-e’er thou art, that long’st to _feel_,

Psha! Twitch no more “the electric eel!”

Nor dream thy languor to dispel

By bathos of “the diving bell!”

If in thy brain one corner yet

To dozing dulness be unlet—

If ’scape thou would’st from stupor’s net,

And, like a man just free from debt,

Thy load of lumpishness forget—

Come! for one hour be Pleasure’s pet!

Oh, come, and hear a choice _Quartett_

_Diffused_[60] by this consummate set!

About the time that gave birth to the intentions of this party,

Mori—then at the zenith of his powers—finding that his juniors in the

profession were taking steps in advance of him[61], and determining upon

the maintenance of his position, organized a party in which Messrs.

Watts, Moralt, and Lindley were his coadjutors. Without much prelude,

they commenced operations on the growingly attractive Quartett, by

giving three “Classical Chamber Concerts” at Willis’s Rooms, on the 6th

and 20th January, and 3rd February, 1836.

The flood-tide of public favor had now set in. We find no less than four

distinct parties of leading professors embarked in serial

quartett-performances; with others, occasionally launching on the

swelling current, just for a little cruize. “Chamber Concerts” became

the fashion; “Musical Réunions,” “Soirées Musicales,” and “Classical

Instrumental Concerts,” multiplied almost _ad infinitum_. “The Beethoven

Society” was formed, and a host of others followed suit—their names

“legion”—_all_ under favour of the absorbing interest in the Quartett.

In short, since the season of 1836, these deserving works have become

recognized and claimed as Public Property—witness the advertising

columns of the diurnal and periodical press, which teem with

announcements, in every form of allurement, inviting support.

Of all these associated parties, none has attained such distinguished

popularity, and secured such unqualified approbation, as that of Messrs.

Blagrove, Gattie, Dando, and Lucas. At an early stage of their career

(the 23rd May, 1836), they were invited to perform at the

“Philharmonic,” where they produced a sensation which at once

established them on the pinnacle of public favour. From that date up to

the 29th April, 1842 (the close of their seventh season), they continued

their combined operations, with unabated _éclat_, at the Hanover Square

Rooms. About that period, Mr. Blagrove, being desirous of investing his

interest in a private undertaking of his own, withdrew from the

association. The retirement of Mr. Blagrove did not, however, affect the

stability of the “Quartett Concerts.” The veteran Loder, of Bath,

recruited the party, undertaking to perform the _viola_ part; Mr. Dando

resumed the principal violin; Messrs. Gattie and Lucas retained their

original appointments. Thus remodelled, the party removed its

attractions to Crosby Hall, in the City, where, with Mr. Dando at its

head, “The Quartett Concerts” continue to be carried on up to the

present day.

It has been less the purpose, in this retrospect, to eulogize

individuals, or to make comparisons between parties, than to set forth

premises wherefrom we may reasonably conclude that the _modus operandi_

adopted by that party to which we have more particularly pointed

attention, must have been the best, if not the only, road to true

excellence. The Quartett demands, not only individual efficiency in its

execution, but collective agreement in the expression of its parts; the

nicest discrimination in delineating its delicacies; and an _ensemble_

animated, as it were, by _one mind_. To produce this unity of parts in

one completeness, it is not sufficient that parties should merely play

together;—they absolutely must meet for frequent _practice_ together,

and (according to the light that is in them) fixing upon the best

interpretation of the author’s meaning, proceed to its exemplification

with simultaneous feeling and decision.

We have it from undoubted authority—and record the fact for the benefit

of all aspirants to public applause—that the Quartett-party, which has

run the most brilliant and extended course, has devoted to the object

which called it into existence the largest amount of industry and

energy, in private preparation for its public exhibitions—these

qualities being by them considered necessary additions to a

well-digested experience, which, as the ground to begin upon, they

previously possessed. Instead of rushing into public the moment they had

formed their compact with each other, and trusting to the novelty of

their introduction, or relying on a name already inscribed in capitals,

indicative of honours achieved in another branch of the art, more

dependent on manual dexterity than on mental cultivation—we find these

(then young) professors patiently submitting themselves to the drudgery

of preparation. There is the best authority for stating that they did

not think six or eight rehearsals, previous to the production of a work

in public, too much trouble, or time and application thrown away, or

even unnecessarily bestowed. The success of their undertakings has been

commensurate with the pains which they underwent to secure it. This

accounts for their having achieved the vantage-ground in the general

competition for distinction, while others, of more matured reputation as

individual performers, failed to attain the preference which they were

equally in quest of, by _apparently_ the same path. How otherwise, it

might be asked, could ... But lest some should consider the digression

to be growing tedious, let us at once resume the object with which we

started, and complete our biographical sketch—leaving the facts and

hints that have been incidentally recorded, to the further (private)

meditation of such as are more particularly interested in them.

Mr. Dando first appeared as a member of the Philharmonic orchestra, in

1831: since which time he has held an uninterrupted engagement in its

front rank of violins. As an orchestral leader, himself, he has had a

long and honourable career, as well in the provinces as in London and

its suburban offshoots. In the City, he has almost exclusively occupied

that post. At the great concerts given by the amateurs at the London

Tavern; at those of the “Classical” and “Choral Harmonists” Societies;

also at others brought out on a less extensive scale, at the “Horn

Tavern,” Doctors’ Commons, the “Albion,” and “London” Tavern, his

qualifications have been fully admitted, and the highest credit awarded.

As to his peculiar manner, or style, it may doubtless be averred that,

as a pupil, he must have profited largely by the example of his master,

Mori; although, finally, his talents have become conspicuous in a very

distinct school. Fire and vigour, more than feeling, were the

characteristics of style in the one, while the other has become

remarkable for the elegance of his expression, and the neatness of his

execution—a neatness which is by no means unattended by the amount of

vigour occasionally requisite to express the passion of an inspired

author. In his hands, the violin has oftentimes become almost vocal, and

his performance on that most expressive of instruments has been very

characteristically described by an accomplished public critic, as

“soul-satisfying in the extreme.”

HENRY C. COOPER, a fine solo-player, indoctrinated by Spagnoletti, holds

a distinguished place among our Violinists. In the absence of materials

for treating of him _in extenso_, his laurels, green and vigorous as

they are, can at present only be recognized—not displayed—in these

ministering pages.

EDWARD WILLIAM THOMAS, of Welsh parentage, was born in 1814. His

commencement with the Violin was under Mr. W. Thomas, formerly Leader of

Covent Garden Theatre. It was said that he was too old to “do any good”

(being then twelve years of age), but the prediction—like many other

such familiar croakings—came happily to nothing.

Leaving Mr. W. Thomas, his young name-sake was placed at the Royal

Academy of Music, under Oury, Cramer, Mori, and Spagnoletti; the result

of which multiplication of masters was, that he no sooner began to feel

the good effects of the endeavours of _one_, than he lost them under the

different system pursued by _another_. To remedy this, he became a

resident pupil in the house of the kind-hearted Spagnoletti, to whom, as

well as to his first master (Thomas), he always evinced a feeling of

grateful attachment.

His first appearance, as a Solo-player, was at “Russian Field’s”

Concert, at Her Majesty’s Theatre, in 1832, when he played Spohr’s

Dramatic Concerto: this was also the year of his first engagement (by

Mr. Monck Mason) at Her Majesty’s Theatre, where he remained until the

establishment of the Royal Italian Opera, which he left in 1850, to

become the Leader of the Liverpool Philharmonic.

BREAM THOM, a native of Portsmouth, dating his days from 1817, made his

first approaches to the Violin at eight years of age, having from

infancy evinced a predilection for music, although no other member of

his family was that way inclined. He studied hard, and, at seventeen,

was appointed Leader of the Orchestra at the Portsmouth Theatre. He

appeared, in 1838, at the Hanover Square Concert-Room, in London, and

was favourably received. Shortly afterwards (by the advice of Mr. Oury),

he went to Paris, and placed himself under Monsieur Robretch, a

professor to whom belongs the credit of having had some share in the

tuition of De Beriot, and of Artot. Returning to England, he settled

eventually at Brighton, where he has for some time officiated as Leader

at the Theatre, Amateur Concerts, &c.

CHARLES FREDERICK HALL, five years a member of Her Majesty’s Theatre,

and the present Musical Director of the Royal Marionette Theatre,

London, was born at Norwich, in 1820.

When a mere child, his melodious voice attracted the attention of the

Norwich denizens; but his early predilection for the stage induced his

family to accept an engagement for him from Elliston, in 1829, for the

purpose of bringing him out in juvenile operas (at the Surrey Theatre,

London), in which Master Burke, Miss Coveney, Miss Vincent, and Master

Henry Russell, &c. shared with our youthful vocalist the favours of the

public. Eighteen months after this period, his friends recalled him to

his birth-place, and articled him to Mr. Noverre, a dancing-master in

high repute, by whose advice he immediately commenced the study of the

Violin—upon which instrument he made such rapid progress, that his

friends were urged to cancel their agreement with Noverre, and destine

the youth exclusively for the musical profession.

Although his attainments in singing, as well as on the piano and violin,

seemed to point with sufficient clearness to his proper path, a passion

for the stage developed itself in 1833, when he appeared on the boards

of the Norwich Theatre, in the character of “Little Pickle,” in the

farce of the _Spoiled Child_; by which personation he attracted such

notice, that the manager of the Theatre engaged him to appear in that

character at all the theatres belonging to the Norwich Circuit.

The family of our youthful musician, being anxious to wean him from a

theatrical career, usually so trying to the principles of a young mind,

placed him with a German Violinist (Herr Müller), of whose experience he

availed himself to such extent as to become, in 1835, (when only 15

years of age) the Leader of the Norwich Theatre.

While on a tour with the Norwich Company, our young Violinist made

acquaintance with Edmund Kean; and, but for the sudden demise of that

rare but very rambling genius, would, in all probability, have been so

fascinated by his society, as to have relinquished the steady pursuit of

music. Soon after this event, however (in 1837), we find him residing at

Norwich, as a Professor of the Violin, Piano, Guitar, and Singing, in

which accomplishments he had the honour of instructing several families

of distinction. He was also appointed Organist of one of the churches,

and became the most eminent solo violinist of his own county, and its

neighbourhood. The Rev. R. F. Elwin (for many years sole manager of the

Norwich Festivals, and a great admirer of musical talent), was

influential in placing the youthful Violinist at the head of the musical

department in his native city.

Anxious to emulate the best musicians of the capital, Charles Hall, much

against the wish of his family, repaired to London, in 1840, and became

a student at the Royal Academy of Music, in which establishment he

availed himself of the valuable instruction of the best masters

belonging to the institution.

The late Mr. T. Cooke, when Musical Director of Drury Lane Theatre,

induced Mr. Hall to accept an engagement there as Leader of the Ballets

and Pantomimes, in which position he continued for the space of five

years.

In 1844, this enterprising artist wrote and delivered some entertaining

Musical Lectures at the Holborn Literary Institution, under the title of

“Poesy and Minstrelsy.”

Mr. Balfe, the Composer and Musical Director of Her Majesty’s Theatre,

being much pleased with Mr. Hall’s performance on the violin during the

Jenny Lind Concerts, took great notice of him, and engaged him for five

years at that large and fashionable establishment. In the first year of

this engagement, Mr. Hall offered the “Swedish Nightingale” the sum of

£1000 to sing at two Concerts in Norwich. That enchanting warbler

accepted the offer—the Concerts were given, upon the most liberal

scale—and our adventurous artist cleared nearly £800 by the speculation.

The Lord Bishop of Norwich appropriated his palace to the use of the

Queen of Song, and the whole city was a scene of excitement and

rejoicing, during the lady’s sojourn. After recording Mr. Hall’s

well-deserved profits on this occasion, it must be added, with regret,

that a large musical speculation, in 1848, deprived him of the chief

portion of what he had so acquired.

With an undaunted spirit, our persevering artist wrote another musical

entertainment, entitled “The Romance of Village Life,” which he gave, in

1850, at various London Literary Institutions, and which was warmly

applauded on each occasion. Mr. Hall is the author of an amusing

burlesque description of the well-known opera of _The Bohemian Girl_. He

is also the author and composer of several favourite ballads: and some

of the finest musicians of the day, among whom are Mr. Balfe and Mr.

Wallace, have wedded his verse to music. His last production, now in

course of publication, is entitled “Sacred Lays on the Ten

Commandments.”

* * * * *

To attempt a notice in detail of _all_ the English Professors of the

Violin who are yet pursuing their career, and seeking occasions to make,

or to confirm, a reputation, is alike beyond my power, and beside my

purpose. A few general remarks that here occur, shall be subjoined.

So little had instrumental chamber-music (until within the last sixteen

years) been cultivated among us, that the Solo-player and the orchestral

Leader were those to whom the public attention had been almost

exclusively confined. To fill these two offices to the extent of all

possible occasion, requires but a small number of individuals. Some

musicians, possessing talents which, directed by an assiduous singleness

of purpose, might qualify them to shine in either of these two

capacities, were unwilling to encounter the toil of a competition, in

which so very few of the candidates can meet with the recompense of

election. Others, gifted with fine musical feeling and taste, and having

sound notions of the art generally, but not fully possessed of the

strength of nerve which gives confidence, or the manual suppleness

essential for brilliant execution, were naturally still less willing to

court the rarely accorded honours of prominent employ. Of these two

classes, principally, were the men who filled the ranks of our best

orchestras. In the Opera Band were found the names of WATTS, ELLA

(well-known also for his taste and resources, as a caterer for the

delight of our higher musical circles), REEVE, and PIGOTT,—in the

Philharmonic, WAGSTAFF, DANDO, GRIESBACH, and MORALT—good violinists,

accomplished musicians, and forming an invaluable acquisition in an

orchestra. It was one of the consequences to be anticipated from the

_Chamber Concerts_ at length introduced (and to which Fashion soon began

to lend the stamp of her currency), that a clearer and higher

appreciation of such men as these should be formed. That expectation has

been partly realized; and, with its fuller accomplishment, we shall be

sure to have good orchestras in goodly number.

—For its connection with the state and prospects of the Violin School

in England, the institution of the “Royal Academy of Music” calls for a

few words of notice in this place. The vocal art, through some

unexplained defects in the system pursued there—certainly not from the

want of fine voices in the country—has hitherto derived no very

conspicuous advantage from the establishment in question; but the

instruction communicated to instrumentalists must have been of a better

kind, for results of some importance have been manifested. Of several of

the students who have cultivated the powers of the violin with marked

success, the most distinguishable, perhaps, in point of genius, is

MAWKES, a performer of very great promise, who had the benefit of aid

from the master-hand of Spohr. Suddenly, however, and much to the regret

of those who were watching with interest the development of his fine

capacity, he seceded from playing in public, and is now living in

seclusion. To this strange sequestration of a valuable gift, he is said

to have been induced by scruples of a religious nature. _Why_ any branch

whatsoever of the refined arts may not be followed, as a profession, in

perfect compatibility with the higher and ulterior purposes of life, it

is difficult to discover. A man does not, commonly, take his principles

_from_ his worldly calling: he brings them _to_ it, and finds in it a

field for their due employment and exercise. Objections, however, that

refer us to the conscience, as their seat and source, must ever be

respected, even when (as in this case) their essential force is not

apparent.

BLAGROVE is another name that claims especial mention, among the

trophies of the Academy. This professor, also, has fortunately enjoyed

the highest means of accomplishment in his art, having superadded to his

noviciate at the Academy, a later prosecution of his studies under the

direction of Spohr, of the purity and refinement of whose style he

exhibited delightful traces in the quartett-performances at the head of

which he figured, when the merits of that delightful class of

compositions were as yet but imperfectly known. Mr. Blagrove enjoys the

unquestioned reputation of being one of the best of our living

artists.—SEYMOUR is another of the Academy pupils whose talent has

become favourably known to the public. As leader of the “younger

strengths” forming the Academy orchestra, he has shewn much steadiness

and ability.

When it is remembered how large an amount of instrumental talent in

France has owed its development to the fostering care and excellent

system of the _Conservatoire_, a very happy augury may be drawn from the

results in this kind that have as yet followed the institution of the

English Royal Academy of Music. Supposing this establishment to be

rightly and effectively conducted, one of its beneficial consequences as

regards the Violin-Students (and that by no means the smallest) will be

found in the harmonious unity of feeling and execution that will pervade

our orchestras, supplied as they will then mainly be, from the same

source. As a general fact, it has been remarked with regret by Spohr,

the great German master, that the Violinists of an orchestra never

originate from the same School;—the exceptions to this being in the

Conservatories of Paris, Prague, and Naples, where the orchestras have

been enabled to produce surprising effects, through this unity among the

Violinists.

* * * * *

By way of _tail-piece_ to this chapter, I am tempted to present a brief

sketch of an individual in whose hands the Violin, as respects its

_lower_ range of capabilities, was long, and most conspicuously,

illustrated. Having devoted our attention at some length to the

instrument, under its _English_ aspect, shall we refuse a passing glance

at the _Scotch_ Fiddle, in the person of one of its most restless and

remarkable expositors?

NEIL GOW—the head of a race of north-country instrumentalists, and one

of the most zealous in the line where Music is the special handmaid of

the Dance—was born in Strathband, Perthshire, in the year 1727, of

humble parentage. His first efforts were made at the age of nine; but he

had no instructor till, at thirteen, he was taken in hand by one John

Cameron. Whilst yet a youth, he carried off the prize at a trial of

skill among the best performers in that rather out-of-the-way

district—on which occasion, one of the minstrels who was the umpire (a

blind man) declared that he could distinguish _the stroke of Neil’s bow_

among a hundred players! In process of time, while thus vigorously

engaged in working his way, Neil obtained the patronage of the Athol

family, and the Duchess of Gordon, whereby he became noticed and sought

after in the fashionable world. He was eminent in one department of

Scotch national music—the livelier airs belonging to the class of what

are called the strathspey and the reel. The characteristic expression of

the Highland reel depends materially on the _power of the bow_, and

particularly on the upward (or returning) stroke; and herein Neil was

truly great—“un homme marquant,” in a two-fold sense. His mode of

bowing, indeed, by which he imparted the native Highland _gout_ to

certain Highland tunes (such as “Tulloch Gorum” for instance), was never

fully attained by any other player. He was accustomed to throw in a

_sudden shout_, as an addendum in the quick tunes, so as to electrify

the dancers! In short, his fiddling—for its communication of saltatory

fury to the heels of his countrymen—was like the bite of a tarantula.

This active promoter of activity was also a compiler of national airs

and tunes, and dabbled occasionally in composition—his son Nathaniel

arranging and preparing the whole for publication. Forcible humour,

strong sense, knowledge of the world, propriety of general conduct, and

simplicity in carriage, dress, and manners, were combined

recommendations of Neil Gow, who has figured on the canvas of Raeburn

and of Allan. His brother Donald, a “fidus Achates,” was of good service

to him as his steady and constant _Violoncello_. Neil died in 1807, at

Inver, near Dunkeld.

CHAPTER VII.

AMATEURS.

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

It is as plain to the understanding, as it is palpable to the ear, that

Amateurs, or dilettante performers, on an instrument like the violin, so

rich in its capabilities, but so exacting in its demands, are in a very

trying situation. The amount of mere mechanical labour—the simple

manipulation—which it is essential to employ, before the very finest

mental disposition can express itself even passably on the violin, is a

thing to startle the coolest enquirer. Giardini, when asked how long it

would take to learn to play on the fiddle, answered, “twelve hours a

day, for twenty years together.” There may be hyperbole in this—but it

is only truth in too swelling a garb. There is the strongest meaning and

reality in the sentiment of difficulty which the reply was intended to

convey.[62] It has been said of a professor of some eminence, who was

current some years ago in London, that he has devoted himself for a

month together, during the whole disposable hours of each day, to the

practice of the passages contained in one single page of music; and many

remarkable instances might be adduced (were the point sufficiently

doubtful to require it) in proof of the prodigious exertions in private,

that have indispensably preceded those public displays by which the

excellence of great performers has been established. “Nocturnâ versate

manu, versate diurnâ,” is indeed that precept whose spirit is the guide

of the destined Violinist.

Ilium non rutilis veniens Aurora capillis

Cessantem vidit, non Hesperus!

His fiddle must be his inseparable companion, cultivated before all

other society, beloved before all other worldly objects—the means and

the end, the cause and the reward, of his assiduous toils. Such are the

conditions on which the _mastery_ of this “so potent art” depends.

Through this road must they travel, who aspire to real excellence. Alas!

what sort of compliance with such discipline are we to expect from the

miscellaneous, fitful gentleman whom we designate too roundly by the

term Amateur! What full conquest can we anticipate for him, who is the

volatile lover of a mistress so jealous that she was never yet

_entirely_ won, save by the most refined arts of study, and by

attentions the most persevering and the most delicate? No—there is no

sane hope of consummate swam upon _easy terms_; and accordingly we find

that, although Amateurs are sufficiently abundant, good players among

them are not _very_ numerous—and accomplished ones, positively few.

The Duke of Buckingham, Charles the Second’s rattling favourite, so

noted for the versatility of his acquirements, is characterized, in one

of Pope’s summary lines, as

Chemist, _Fiddler_, Statesman, and Buffoon;

and the amount of his qualification in the two _latter_ respects has

been pretty nicely weighed and exhibited; but what kind of a _fiddler_

was he? History is ashamed to say—but her silence is well understood by

philosophy to signify contempt: it is a silence more expressive than

words—than even those memorable words, “So much for Buckingham!”

Dr. Johnson, whose habit of sound judgment has marked itself on almost

every subject that came within the grasp of his comprehensive mind,

appears to have duly appreciated the exemplary labours which distinguish

the Violinist by _profession_. We all know how little _music_ there was

in the great Doctor’s soul; but, even as regards the mechanical part of

musical practice, few of us have given him credit for such a readiness

to estimate fairly, as he has been really recorded to have shewn. The

fact is, that he was a prodigiously hard-working man himself, and had an

honest admiration for hard work, in whatever career manifested. “There

is nothing, I think” (quoth he) “in which the power of art is shewn so

much as in playing on the fiddle. In all other things, we can do

something _at first_. Any man will forge a bar of iron, if you give him

a hammer; not so well as a smith, but tolerably. A man will saw a piece

of wood, and make a box, though a clumsy one; but—_give him a fiddle and

a fiddle-stick, and he can do nothing_.”

If a _learned man_ can thus calculate the value of professional

application, a _child_ can feel its results, and, feeling, can discern

between the practised player and the deficient dilettante—as we have

already seen in the little story which had for its hero the infant Earl

of Mornington.

From the very marked disparity subsisting, of necessity, between the

Professor and the Amateur—a disparity greater as respects the Violin,

than is observable as to any other instrument—it should follow that

modesty was a general characteristic of the non-professional class. Yet,

as if to confirm the truth of the current axiom, that “a little

knowledge is a dangerous thing,” it occurs too often that the deference

due to laborious attainment is withheld, and that the Amateur, content

with a mode of playing as noisy as it is shallow, assumes a prominence

which exposes him to ridicule, and gives pain to his friends, on _his_

account, if not on their own. If he do not err after this fashion, he

will perhaps affect to hold cheap the talent which he finds it were

_dear_ to imitate. It has been found, in the matter of hand-writing,

that lordly personages have sometimes scrawled illegibly, rather than

write in such fairer characters as might make them seem to possess a

knowledge in common with clerks and schoolmasters. In like manner,

certain dandy dilettanti, so far from regarding the interval of merit

between themselves and the accomplished professor as a “hiatus valde

deflendus,” or at least as a reason for becoming diffidence on their own

part, have curled the lip of disdain, while hinting that _their_ style

of playing was not that of people who _played to live_;—as if, by a

strange contrariety of ideas, it were _de_preciation to perform for a

price! There is something to our purpose on this head in the first

volume of Anecdotes, &c. by Miss Hawkins: and here is the passage:—

“Dr. Cooke, the composer, was giving lessons on the violin to a young

man of a noble family. The young man was beginning to play; but, in the

common impetuosity of a novice, he passed over all the _rests_. He

therefore soon left his master far behind him. ‘Stop, stop, Sir!’ said

the Doctor, ‘just take me with you!’ This was a very unpleasant check to

one who fancied he was going on famously; and it required to be more

than once enforced; till at length it was necessary to argue the point,

which the Doctor did with his usual candour, representing the

_necessity_ of these observances. The pupil, instead of shewing any sign

of conviction, replied rather coarsely, ‘Ay, ay, it may be necessary for

_you_, who get your living by it, to mind these trifles; but _I_ don’t

want to be so exact!’”

The strong contrast afforded by the glare of pretension, against the

opaqueness of incapacity, may often furnish forth a diverting picture.

Michael Kelly, in his “Reminiscences,” has drawn such a one, from an

original who _flourished_ about sixty years since. “The Apollo, the

Orpheus, of the age,” says he, “was the redoubted and renowned Baron

Bach, who came to Vienna to be heard by the Emperor. He, in his own

conceit, surpassed Tartini, Nardini, &c. This _fanatico per la musica_

had just arrived from Petersburg, where he went to make his

extraordinary talents known to the Royal Family and Court. Now, I have

often heard this man play, and I positively declare that his performance

was as bad as any blind fiddler’s at a wake in a country-town in

Ireland: but he was a man of immense fortune, and kept open house. In

every city which he passed through, he gave grand dinners, to which all

the musical professors were invited: at Vienna, myself among the rest.

One day, having a mind to put his vanity to the test, I told him that he

reminded me of the elder Cramer. He seemed rather disappointed than

pleased with my praise;—he acknowledged Cramer had some merit, adding

that he had played with him out of the _same book_ at Mannheim, when

Cramer was First Violin at that Court; but that the Elector said _his_

tone was far beyond Cramer’s, for Cramer was tame and slothful, and _he_

was all fire and spirit—and that, to make a comparison between them,

would be to compare a dove to a game cock! In my life, I never knew any

man who snuffed up the air of praise like this discordant idiot. After

he had been heard by the Emperor (who laughed heartily at him), he set

off for London, in order that the King of England might have an

opportunity of hearing his dulcet strains!”

Another curious story is that related elsewhere of an Amateur in Paris,

who began each day of his existence by studying practically a sonata,

but, in doing so, did not give himself the trouble to _quit his bed_, or

to lay aside his cotton night-cap and its pertaining yellow ribbon,

which might seem to represent on his brow the laurels and crown of the

Cynthian Apollo!

The more clumsy and hard-going sort of those who play _pour se

distraire_, ought not to distract their _friends_ with their playing;

but, when an Amateur is so _bad_ as to be insensible of the fact, he is

only the more apt to appeal to his acquaintance—not for advice, of

course, but approval. If, in that state, he have any _discernment_

connected with the object of his grand mistake, it is just of that kind

and degree which enables him to select, for auditors, those of his

friends who happen to be the most distinguished for patience and

mildness of character. They, poor souls! at each preparatory screw of

the fiddle-pegs, conscious of coming torture, wince and draw in their

breath; at every saw of the sharp-set bow, they sigh with fear, or

perspire with agony; for well do they know that

Some are _sometimes_ correct, through chances boon,

But Ruffman never _deviates into_ tune!

Their sufferings, however, are silent; until peradventure, when ‘the

operation’ is at length over, they do such discredit to their conscience

as to stammer out a tremulous “bravo!” or a “very well!” in accents of

courtesy that seem to sicken at their own import. Your _very_ bad

player, be it remarked, is hardly ever content with plain toleration—he

must have the sugared comfits of praise[63].

Admitting, as a reluctant principle, that we should lend our ears _at

all_ to those fanciers of the instrument who are so bad as to be out of

sight of mediocrity, and below the point where improvement _begins_, it

is clearly of urgent consequence that we should demand (or beseech) to

be indulged with the _shortest_ infliction that may be—an air _without_

the variations, or a quick movement _without_ the prefatory adagio. The

Horatian precept, ‘Esto brevis,’ was never more applicable than here;

but, alas! in no case is it less heeded. “As you are strong, be

merciful,” says Charity; but the spirit of this fine recommendation is

reversed by the Amateur belonging to “le genre ennuyeux”—reversed in

conformity with his own predicament. As he is weak, he is cruel. He will

not abate one minim, nor afford a single bar’s rest. He goes on and on,

with no other limit, oftentimes, than that which is eventually imposed

by the laws of physics, in the shape of personal fatigue. Such, in his

_worst_ state, is the Young Pretender!

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

exercise of a

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

_what_ are the sufferings which may be produced by a _combination_ of

such barbarous bowmen—_all_ eager and emulous, _all_ rough and

ready?—The multiplication of discord _thus_ generated, who shall

calculate? It is past all understanding: it is the Babel of the tongues

of instruments! _This_ species of compound misery is too painful to

dwell upon, unless in mollified association with the ludicrous. Under

this impression, I will proceed to give a sketch of an affair of Amateur

Chamber-Music—being the description of a _Quartett-Party_, freely drawn

from the French of an eminent living writer, whose lively and graphic

powers in the delineation of familiar scenes have procured him very

extensive admiration among his own countrymen, and some share of credit

_parmi nous autres Anglais_. Here then is the exposition: but let

imagination first draw up the curtain, and place us in view of the

convened guests at a musical _soirée_, given by some people of middling

condition, but somewhat ambitious pretensions, in a private apartment

somewhere in Paris:—

“After several hours of the evening had worn away in lengthened

expectation, till the assembled party, tired of speculating and talking,

began to _yawn_, the old gentleman who usually undertook the _bass_

instrument, was seen to look at his watch, and was heard to murmur

between his teeth, ‘What a bore is this! How am I to get home by eleven,

if the time goes on in this do-nothing way—and I here since seven

o’clock, too! So much for your early invitations;—but they sha’nt catch

_me_ again.’

“At length, the host, who had been passing the evening in running about

to borrow instruments, and collect the ‘disjecta membra’ of the music,

reappears, with a scarlet countenance, and in the last state of

perspiring exhaustion—his small and feeble figure tottering beneath the

weight of sundry large music-books and a tenor fiddle. ‘Here I am

again,’ exclaims he, with an air that is rendered perfectly wild by his

exertions: ‘I’ve had a world of trouble to get the _parts_ together; but

I’ve managed the business. Gentlemen, you may commence the quartett.’

“‘Ay, ay,’ said Mons. Pattier, the bass-fiddle man, ‘let us begin at

once, for we’ve no time to lose—but where’s _my_ part?’

“‘There, there, on the music-desk.’—

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

“The constituent Amateurs proceed accordingly to the labour of getting

into mutual agreement; during which process, the auditory shuffle about,

and insert themselves into seats as they can. Already are yawning

symptoms of impatience visible among the ladies, to whom the very

mention of a quartett furnishes a pretence for the vapours, and who make

no scruple to _talk_, for diversion’s sake, with the loungers behind

their chairs. Whispering, laughing, quizzing, are freely indulged in,

and chiefly at the special expense of the musical _executioners_

themselves.

“The enterprising _four_, at length brought into unison, plant

themselves severally before their desks. The elderly _basso_ has stuck

his circlet of green paper round the top of his candle, for optical

protection from the glare: the tenor has mounted his spectacles: the

second violin has roughened his bow with a whole ounce of rosin; and the

_premier_ has adjusted his cravat so as to save his neck from too hard

an encounter with his instrument.

“These preliminaries being arranged, and the host having obtained

something of a ‘lull’ among the assembly, by dint of loud and repeated

exclamations of _hush!_—the First Violin elevates his ambitious bow-arm,

directs a look of command to his colleagues, and stamps with his foot.

‘Are we _ready_?’ he enquires, with a determined air.—

“‘_I_ have been ready any time these two hours,’ replies Mons. Pattier,

with a malcontent shrug of his shoulders.—

“‘Stay a moment, gentlemen,’ cries the Second Fiddle; ‘my treble string

is down. ’Tis a new string—just let me bring it up to pitch again.’

“The Tenor takes advantage of this interval, to _study_ a passage that

he fears is likely to ‘give him pause;’ and the Bass takes a consolatory

pinch of snuff.

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

“‘That’s well, then; attention again, gentlemen, if you please! Let us

play the _allegro_ very moderately, and the _adagio_ rather fast—it

improves the effect.’—

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

“The signal is given; the First Violin starts off, the rest follow,

after their peculiar fashion. It becomes presently evident that, instead

of combination, all is contest; notwithstanding which evidence of

honorable rivalry, somebody has the malice to whisper, pretty audibly,

‘The rogues are in a conspiracy to flay our ears!’

“Presently, the First Violin makes a dead halt—‘There’s some mistake:

we’re all wrong.’

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

“‘No, no, we’re out _somewhere_.’—

“‘Where is it then?’

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

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

“‘Nor I either.’—

“‘Nor I.’—

“‘Well, gentlemen, we must try back.’

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

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

“‘As for _that_,’ exclaims the hostess, ‘the person who lodges below has

already talked about complaining to the landlord.’

“The business is now resumed, but with no improved success, although the

First Violin works away in an agitation not very dissimilar to that of a

maniac. The company relax into laughter—and the performers come to a

stand-still!

“‘This is decidedly _not_ the thing,’ says the conducting violinist,

Monsieur Longuet,—‘There is doubtless some error—let us look at the bass

part.—Why, here’s a pretty affair!—_you_ are playing in B flat, and we

are in D.’

“‘I only know that I’ve been playing what you told me—the first quartett

in the first book’—replies old Monsieur Pattier, florid with rage.

“‘_How_ on earth _is_ it then? let us see the title-page. Why, how is

this? a quartett of _Mozart’s_, and _we_ are playing one of _Pleyels_!

Now really that is too good!’

“Renewed laughter is the result of this discovery, and the abortive

attempt ends with a general merriment, the contagion of which, however,

fails to touch old Monsieur Pattier, who can by no means turn into a

_joke_ his indignation at a mistake that has effectually put a stop to

the performance of _the Quartett_.”

* * * * *

For the credit of English Amateurs, it is to be hoped that so elaborate

a display of incompetence—so complete a _fiasco_—as is presented in the

foregoing sketch, has very rarely its parallel among ourselves.

The Violin Some Account of That Leading Instrument and Its Most Eminent Professors, from Its Earliest Date to the Present Time; with Hints to Amateurs, Anecdotes, etc. · 第 14 / 16 章

In addition to the two sources of impediment just noticed, may we