INSTRUMENTAL COMBINATIONS
VIOLIN, VIOLONCELLO, HARP, PIANO
Dickens' orchestras are limited, both in resources and in the
number of performers; in fact, it would be more correct to
call them combinations of instruments. Some of them are of
a kind not found in modern works on instrumentation, as, for
instance, at the party at Trotty Veck's (_Ch._) when a 'band of
music' burst into the good man's room, consisting of a drum,
marrow-bones and cleavers, and bells, 'not _the_ bells but a
portable collection on a frame.' We gather from Leech's picture
that other instrumentalists were also present. Sad to relate,
the drummer was not quite sober, an unfortunate state of things,
certainly, but not always confined to the drumming fraternity,
since in the account of the Party at Minerva House (_S.B.T._)
we read that amongst the numerous arrivals were 'the pianoforte
player and the violins: the harp in a state of intoxication.'
We have an occasional mention of a theatre orchestra, as,
for instance, when the Phenomenon was performing at Portsmouth
(_N.N._):
'Ring in the orchestra, Grudden.'
That useful lady did as she was requested, and shortly
afterwards the tuning of three fiddles was heard,
which process, having been protracted as long as it
was supposed that the patience of the orchestra could
possibly bear it, was put a stop to by another jerk of
the bell, which, being the signal to begin in earnest,
set the orchestra playing a variety of popular airs
with involuntary variations.
On one occasion Dickens visited Vauxhall Gardens by day, where
'a small party of dismal men in cocked hats were "executing"
the overture to _Tancredi_,' but he does not, unfortunately,
give us any details about the number or kind of instruments
employed. This would be in 1836, when the experiment of day
entertainments was given a trial, and a series of balloon
ascents became the principal attraction. Forster tells us
that Dickens was a frequent visitor at the numerous gardens
and places of entertainment which abounded in London, and
which he knew better than any other man. References will
be found elsewhere to the music at the Eagle (p. 47) and the
White Conduit Gardens (p. 93).
_Violin and Kit._
We meet with but few players on the violin, and it is usually
mentioned in connexion with other instruments, though it was to
the strains of a solitary fiddle that Simon Tappertit danced a
hornpipe for the delectation of his followers, while the same
instrument supplied the music at the Fezziwig's ball.
In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to
the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned
like fifty stomach-aches.
The orchestra at the 'singing-house' provided for Jack's
amusement when ashore (_U.T._ 5) consisted of a fiddle and
tambourine; while at dances the instruments were fiddles
and harps. It was the harps that first aroused Mr. Jingle's
curiosity, as he met them being carried up the staircase
of The Bull at Rochester, while, shortly after, the tuning
of both harps and fiddles inspired Mr. Tupman with a strong
desire to go to the ball. Sometimes the orchestra is a little
more varied. At the private theatricals which took place at
Mrs. Gattleton's (_S.B.T._ 9), the selected instruments were
a piano, flute, and violoncello, but there seems to have been
a want of proper rehearsal.
Ting, ting, ting! went the prompter's bell at eight
o'clock precisely, and dash went the orchestra into
the overture to the _Men of Prometheus_. The pianoforte
player hammered away with laudable perseverance, and the
violoncello, which struck in at intervals, sounded very
well, considering. The unfortunate individual, however,
who had undertaken to play the flute accompaniment
'at sight' found, from fatal experience, the perfect
truth of the old adage, 'Out of sight, out of mind';
for being very near-sighted, and being placed at
a considerable distance from his music-book, all he
had an opportunity of doing was to play a bar now and
then in the wrong place, and put the other performers
out. It is, however, but justice to Mr. Brown to
say that he did this to admiration. The overture,
in fact, was not unlike a race between the different
instruments; the piano came in first by several bars,
and the violoncello next, quite distancing the poor
flute; for the deaf gentleman _too-too'd_ away, quite
unconscious that he was at all wrong, until apprised,
by the applause of the audience, that the overture
was concluded.
It was probably after this that the pianoforte player fainted
away, owing to the heat, and left the music of _Masaniello_ to
the other two. There were differences between these remaining
musicians and Mr. Harleigh, who played the title rôle, the
orchestra complaining that 'Mr. Harleigh put them out, while the
hero declared that the orchestra prevented his singing a note.'
It was to the strains of a wandering harp and fiddle that Marion
and Grace Jeddler danced 'a trifle in the Spanish style,'
much to their father's astonishment as he came bustling out
to see who 'played music on his property before breakfast.'
The little fiddle commonly known as a 'kit' that dancing-masters
used to carry in their capacious tail coat pockets was much more
in evidence in the middle of last century than it is now. Caddy
Jellyby (_B.H._), after her marriage to a dancing-master,
found a knowledge of the piano and the kit essential, and so
she used to practise them assiduously. When Sampson Brass
hears Kit's name for the first time he says to Swiveller:
'Strange name--name of a dancing-master's fiddle,
eh, Mr. Richard?'
We must not forget the story of a fine young Irish gentleman,
as told by the one-eyed bagman to Mr. Pickwick and his friends,
who,
being asked if he could play the fiddle, replied he
had no doubt he could, but he couldn't exactly say
for certain, because he had never tried.
_Violoncello_
Mr. Morfin (_D. & S._), 'a cheerful-looking, hazel-eyed elderly
bachelor,' was
a great musical amateur--in his way--after business,
and had a paternal affection for his violoncello, which
was once in every week transported from Islington,
his place of abode, to a certain club-room hard by
the Bank, where quartets of the most tormenting and
excruciating nature were executed every Wednesday
evening by a private party.
His habit of humming his musical recollections of these
evenings was a source of great annoyance to Mr. James Carker,
who devoutly wished 'that he would make a bonfire of his
violoncello, and burn his books with it.' There was only a thin
partition between the rooms which these two gentlemen occupied,
and on another occasion Mr. Morfin performed an extraordinary
feat in order to warn the manager of his presence.
I have whistled, hummed tunes, gone accurately through
the whole of Beethoven's Sonata in B, to let him know
that I was within hearing, but he never heeded me.
This particular sonata has not hitherto been identified.
It is comforting to know that the fall of the House of Dombey
made no difference to Mr. Morfin, who continued to solace
himself by producing 'the most dismal and forlorn sounds
out of his violoncello before going to bed,' a proceeding
which had no effect on his deaf landlady, beyond producing
'a sensation of something rumbling in her bones.'
Nor were the quartet parties interfered with. They came round
regularly, his violoncello was in good tune, and there was
nothing wrong in _his_ world. Happy Mr. Morfin!
Another 'cellist was the Rev. Charles Timson, who, when
practising his instrument in his bedroom, used to give strict
orders that he was on no account to be disturbed.
It was under the pretence of buying 'a second-hand wiolinceller'
that Bucket visited the house of the dealer in musical instruments
in order to effect the arrest of Mr. George (_B.H._).
_Harp_
The harp was a fashionable drawing-room instrument in the
early Victorian period, although the re-introduction of
the guitar temporarily detracted from its glory. It was
also indispensable in providing music for dancing-parties
and concerts. When Esther Summerson went to call on the
Turveydrops (_B.H._) she found the hall blocked up with a
grand piano, a harp, and various other instruments which had
been used at a concert. As already stated, it was the sight
of these instruments being carried up the stairs at The Bull
in Rochester that aroused Mr. Jingle's curiosity (_P.P._)
and led to the discovery that a ball was in prospect.
We must not forget the eldest Miss Larkins, one of David
Copperfield's early, fleeting loves. He used to wander up and
down outside the home of his beloved and watch the officers
going in to hear Miss L. play the harp. On hearing of her
engagement to one of these he mourned for a very brief period,
and then went forth and gloriously defeated his old enemy
the butcher boy. What a contrast between this humour and the
strange scene in the drawing-room at James Steerforth's home
after Rosa Dartle had sung the strange weird Irish song to
the accompaniment of her harp! And how different, again, the
scene in the home of Scrooge's nephew (_C.C._) when, after tea,
'they had some music.'
Scrooge's niece played well upon the harp; and played,
among other things, a simple little air.
It reminded Scrooge of a time long past.
He softened more and more; and thought that if he
could have listened to it often, years ago, he might
have cultivated the kindnesses of life for his own
happiness with his own hand.
Little Paul Dombey told Lady Skettles at the breaking-up party
that he was very fond of music, and he was very, very proud of
his sister's accomplishments both as player and singer. Did they
inherit this love from their father? 'You are fond of music,'
said the Hon. Mrs. Skewton to Mr. Dombey during an interval
in a game of picquet. 'Eminently so,' was the reply. But the
reader must not take him at his word. When Edith (the future
Mrs. Dombey) entered the room and sat down to her harp,
Mr. Dombey rose and stood beside her, listening. He
had little taste for music, and no knowledge of the
strain she played; but he saw her bending over it,
and perhaps he heard among the sounding strings some
distant music of his own.
Yet when she went to the piano and commenced to sing Mr. Dombey
did not know that it was 'the air that his neglected daughter
sang to his dead son'!
_Piano_
Lady musicians are numerous, and of very varied degrees of
excellence. Amongst the pianists is Miss Teresa Malderton, who
nearly fell a prey to that gay deceiver Mr. Horatio Sparkins
(_S.B.T._ 5). Her contribution to a musical evening was
'The Fall of Paris,' played, as Mr. Sparkins declared, in a
masterly manner.
There was a song called 'The Fall of Paris,' but it is most
probable that Dickens was thinking of a very popular piece
which he must have often heard in his young days, of which
the full title was
THE SURRENDER OF PARIS. A characteristic Divertimento
for the Pianoforte, including the events from the Duke
of Wellington and Prince Blucher's marching to that
capital to the evacuation by the French troops and
taking possession by the Allies, composed by Louis
Jansen, 1816.
Not the least curious section of this piece of early programme
music is a _moderato_ recording the various articles of the
capitulation. These are eighteen in number, and each has
its own 'theme.' The interspersion of some discords seems to
imply serious differences of opinion between the parties to
the treaty.
There was also a song called 'The Downfall of Paris,' the
first verse of which was
Great news I have to tell you all,
Of Bonaparte and a' that;
How Paris it has got a fall,
He's lost his plans and a' that.
_Chorus._
Rise up, John Bull, rise up and sing,
Your chanter loudly blaw that;
Lang live our auld and worthy king,
Success to Britain, a' that.
The instrument beloved of Miss Tox (_D. & S._) was the
harpsichord, and her favourite piece was the 'Bird Waltz,' while
the 'Copenhagen Waltz' was also in her repertoire. Two notes of
the instrument were dumb from disuse, but their silence did not
impoverish the rendering. Caddy Jellyby found it necessary to
know something of the piano, in order that she might instruct
the 'apprentices' at her husband's dancing-school. Another
performer was Mrs. Namby, who entertained Mr. Pickwick with
solos on a square piano while breakfast was being prepared. When
questioned by David Copperfield as to the gifts of Miss Sophy
Crewler, Traddles explained that she knew enough of the piano
to teach it to her little sisters, and she also sang ballads to
freshen up her family a little when they were out of spirits,
but 'nothing scientific.' The guitar was quite beyond her. David
noted with much satisfaction (though he did not say so) that
his Dora was much more gifted musically.
When Dickens wrote his earlier works it was not considered
the correct thing for a gentleman to play the piano, though
it might be all very well for the lower classes and the music
teacher. Consequently we read of few male performers on the
instrument. Mr. Skimpole could play the piano, and of course
Jasper had a 'grand' in his room at Cloisterham.
At one time, if we may believe the turnkey at the Marshalsea
prison, William Dorrit had been a pianist, a fact which raised
him greatly in the turnkey's opinion.
Brought up as a gentleman, he was, if ever a man was.
Educated at no end of expense. Went into the Marshal's
house once to try a new piano for him. Played it,
I understand, like one o'clock--beautiful.
In the _Collected Papers_ we have a picture of the 'throwing
off young gentleman,' who strikes a note or two upon the piano,
and accompanies it correctly (by dint of laborious practice)
with his voice. He assures
a circle of wondering listeners that so acute was his
ear that he was wholly unable to sing out of tune,
let him try as he would.
Mr. Weller senior laid a deep plot in which a piano was to
take a prominent part. His object was to effect Mr. Pickwick's
escape from the Fleet.
Me and a cab'net-maker has dewised a plan for
gettin' him out. 'A pianner, Samivel, a pianner,'
said Mr. Weller, striking his son on the chest with
the back of his hand, and falling back a step or two.
'Wot do you mean?' said Sam.
'A pianner-forty, Samivel,' rejoined Mr. Weller, in a
still more mysterious manner, 'as he can have on hire;
vun as von't play, Sammy.'
'And wot 'ud be the good of that?' said Sam.
'There ain't no vurks in it,' whispered his father. 'It
'ull hold him easy, vith his hat and shoes on; and
breathe through the legs, vich is holler.'
But the usually dutiful Sam showed so little enthusiasm for
his father's scheme that nothing more was heard of it.