Payne Knight, the collection of Sir Robert Ainslie, for eight thousand pounds, besides sharing with the same collector the famous Sicilian coins belonging to the Prince Torremuzza. The Gillott collection of Fiddles had its origin in a picture deal. Mr. Gillott happened to be making terms in his gallery at Edgbaston relative to an exchange of pictures with Edwin Atherstone,[5] poet and novelist, who collected both Violins and pictures. A difficulty arose in adjusting the balance, when Mr. Atherstone suggested throwing a Fiddle in as a counterpoise. "That would be to no purpose," remarked Mr. Gillott, "for I have neither knowledge of music nor of the Fiddle." "I am aware of that," rejoined his friend; "but Violins are often of extraordinary value as works of art." Mr. Gillott, becoming interested in the subject, agreed to accept the Fiddle as a make-weight, and the business was settled. A few months later the floor of his picture gallery on all sides was lined with cases, single and double, containing Violins in seemingly endless profusion. It was about the year 1848 he conceived the notion of bringing together this mammoth collection; and in about four years he had made himself master of the largest number of Italian instruments ever owned by a single individual. He suddenly relinquished the pursuit he had followed with such persistency; he disposed of a great number, and laid the remainder aside in his steel-pen works at Birmingham, where they slumbered for upwards of twenty years. The time at last arrived when this pile of Fiddles was to be dispersed. It fell to my lot to classify them, and never shall I forget the scene I witnessed. Here, amid the din of countless machines busy shaping magnum-bonums, swan-bills, and divers other writing implements, I was about to feast my eyes on some of the choicest works of the old Italian Fiddle-makers. Passing through offices, warehouses, and workshops, I found myself at a door which my conductor set himself to unlock—an act not often performed, I felt assured, from the sound which accompanied his deed. To adequately describe what met my eyes when the door swung back on its hinges, is beyond my powers of description. Fiddles here!—Fiddles there!—Fiddles everywhere, in wild disorder! I interrogated my friend as to the cause of their being in such an unseemly condition, and received answer that he had instructions to remove most of the instruments from their cases and arrange them, that I might better judge of their merits. I was at a loss to understand what he meant by arranging, for a more complete disarrangement could not have been effected. Not wishing to appear unmindful of the kindly intentions of my would-be assistant, I thanked him, inwardly wishing that this disentombment had been left entirely to me. The scene was altogether so peculiar and unexpected as to be quite bewildering. In the centre of the room was a large warehouse table, upon which were placed in pyramids upwards of seventy Violins and Tenors, stringless, bridgeless, unglued, and enveloped in the fine dust which had crept through the crevices of the cardboard sarcophagi in which they had rested for the previous quarter of a century. On the floor lay the bows. The scene might not inappropriately be compared to a post-mortem examination on an extended scale. When left alone I began to collect my thoughts as to the best mode of conducting my inquiry. After due consideration I attacked pyramid No. 1, from which I saw a head protruding which augured well for the body, and led me to think it belonged to the higher walks of Fiddle-life. With considerate care I withdrew it from the heap, and gently rubbed the dust off here and there, that I might judge of its breeding. It needed but little rubbing to make known its character; it was a Viola by Giuseppe Guarneri, filius Andreae, a charming specimen (now in the ownership of the Earl of Harrington). Laying it aside, I pulled out from the pile several others belonging to the same class. Being too eager to learn of what the real merits of this huge pile of Fiddles consisted, I rapidly passed from one to the other without close scrutiny, leaving that for an after pleasure. So entirely fresh were these instruments to me, that the delight I experienced in thus digging them out may well be understood by the connoisseur. After thus wading through those resting on the table, I discovered some shelves, upon which were a number of cases, which I opened. Here were fine Cremonese instruments in company with raw copies—as curious a mixture of good and indifferent as could be well conceived. Not observing any Violoncellos, when my attendant presented himself I inquired if there were not some in the collection. I was unable to make him understand to what I referred for some little time, but when I called them big Fiddles, he readily understood. He had some faint idea of having seen something of the kind on the premises, and started off to make inquiry. Upon his return, I was conducted to an under warehouse, the contents of which were of a varied character. Here were stored unused lathes, statuary, antique pianos, parts of machinery, pictures, and picture-frames. At the end of this long room stood, in stately form, the "big Fiddles," about fifty in number—five rows, consequently ten deep. They looked in their cases like a detachment of infantry awaiting the word of command. Years had passed by since they had been called upon to take active service of a pacific and humanising nature in the ranks of the orchestra. Had they the power of speech, what tales of heroism might they have furnished of the part they played at the "Fall of Babylon" and the "Siege of Corinth," aye! and "Wellington's Victory" (Beethoven, Op. 91). A more curious mixture of art and mechanism could not easily be found than that which the contents of this room exhibited. With what delight did I proceed to open these long-closed cases! The character of the Violins naturally led me to anticipate much artistic worth in the Violoncellos, and I had not judged erroneously. Bergonzi, Amati, Andrea Guarneri, Cappa, Grancino, Testore, Landolfi, and men of less note, were all well represented in this army of big Fiddles. Having glanced at the merits and demerits of these instruments, I observed to my conductor that I imagined I had seen all. "No," he answered; "I was about to mention that there are a few Violins at Mr. Gillott's residence, and perhaps we had better go there at once." I readily assented, and in due time reached Edgbaston. There seemed no doubt as to the whereabouts of these instruments, and I was at once ushered into the late Mr. Gillott's bedroom. Pointing to a long mahogany glazed case occupying one side of the chamber, the attendant gave me to understand I should there find the Violins. At once I commenced operations. Pushing aside the first sliding door, I saw a row of those cardboard cases made to hold the Violin only, which many of my readers will doubtless remember seeing at the time of the sale at Messrs. Christie's. By this time it may readily be imagined that an idea had taken possession of my mind, that I had not, after all, seen the best portion of the collection. The circumstance of Violins being deposited in the sleeping apartment of their owner was sufficient to give birth to this conjecture. Upon removing the lid of the first cardboard case, my eyes rested on a charming Stradivari of the Amati period, a gem of its kind. Gently laying it on the table, that I might examine it later, I opened the next case. Here rested a magnificent Giuseppe Guarneri, the instrument afterwards bought by Lord Dunmore, date 1732. Pursuing my delightful occupation, I opened another case, the contents of which put the rest completely in the shade—here rested the Stradivari, date 1715, the gem of the collection. Unable to restrain my curiosity, I rapidly opened sixteen cases in all, from which I took out six Stradivari, two Guarneri, one Bergonzi, two Amati, and five other Violins of a high class.

[Footnote 5: Edwin Atherstone, born 1788, died 1872; was the author of "The Fall of Nineveh" and "The Last Days of Herculaneum," two poems in blank verse, and of a novel, "The Sea Kings of England," of which Sir Walter Scott wrote approvingly.]

It was observed at the time of the sale of this remarkable collection, which took place shortly after the dispersion of Mr. Gillott's gallery of pictures, that "Every well-ordered display of fireworks should have its climax of luminous and detonating splendour, throwing into shade all the preliminary squibs, crackers, and rockets, the Catherine wheels, the Roman candles, and the golden rain. The French, with modest propriety, term this consummation a bouquet." I cannot find anything more applicable than this word to the scene I have attempted to describe. It only remains for me to say, in reference to this array of Fiddles, that I passed a week in their company, and a more enjoyable one I have never had during my professional career.

Dr. Johnson, who understood neither Fiddling nor painting, who collected neither coins nor cockle-shells, maggots nor butterflies, was clearly of the same opinion as the author of "Tristram Shandy," that there is no disputing against hobby-horses. He says: "The pride or the pleasure of making collections, if it be restrained by prudence and morality, produces a pleasing remission after more laborious studies; furnishes an amusement, not wholly unprofitable, for that part of life, the greater part of many lives, which would otherwise be lost in idleness or vice; it produces a useful traffic between the industry of indigence and the curiosity of wealth, and brings many things to notice that would be neglected."



SECTION XIV Sketch of the Progress of the Violin

It may be said that the Violin made its appearance about the middle of the sixteenth century. There are instances where reference is made to Violins and Violin-playing in connection with times prior to that above-named, but no reliance can be placed on the statements. Leonardo da Vinci, who died in 1523, is spoken of as having been a celebrated performer on the Violin. The instrument he used is described as having had a neck of silver, with the singular addition of a carved horse's head.[1] This description, however, is sufficiently anomalous to make one rather sceptical, as to whether the instrument denoted possessed any particular affinity to the present Violin. Reference is made to the picture of the "Marriage at Cana," by Paolo Veronese, as furnishing evidence of the form of instruments used in Italy in the 16th century, and a description is given of the musical part of the subject as follows: "In the foreground, in the vacant space of the semicircle formed by the table, at which the guests of the marriage at Cana are seated, Titian is playing on the Double-Bass, Paolo Veronese and Tintoretto on the Violoncello; a man with a cross on his breast is playing on the Violin, Bassano is blowing the Flute, and a Turkish slave the Sackbut."

[Footnote 1: "Lives of Haydn and Mozart," translated from the French by L. A. C. Bombet. 1818.]



The naming of the performers is presumably correct, and greatly heightens our interest in the group musically. It is clear, however, that the nomenclature of the instruments is erroneous. In the engraved section of the famous picture here given, Paolo Veronese is represented taking part in the performance of a Madrigal, wearing an expression of countenance indicative of rapt pleasure, engendered by the mingling of the tones of his Tenor Viol in the harmonies. Behind Paolo Veronese is seated Tintoretto, playing an instrument identical with that in the hands of the painter of the picture. On the opposite side of the table is Titian, with the point of his bow almost touching the dog, playing the fundamental tones on the Violono. He apparently displays an amount of real relish for his task, which bespeaks a knowledge of the responsibility belonging to the post of Basso. The ecclesiastic seated next to Titian, wearing the chain with crucifix, is performing on a Soprano Viol. The instruments, in short, are Italian Viols, the Tenors of which were strung with six strings, and the Violono, or Bass, with six or seven. It is this order of Viols to which reference is made in the work of Ganassi del Fontego, and they are, therefore, distinct from the four-stringed Viols made at Brescia and Mantua.

The earliest player on the Violin of whom we have any account worthy of attention was Baltazarini, a native of Piedmont. He removed to France in the year 1577, whither he was sent by Marshal de Brissac to superintend the music of Catherine de Medici. He was probably the introducer of Italian dances into Paris, and he delighted the Court as much by his skill on the Violin as by his writing of ballet music.

During the last half of the sixteenth century a new species of music made way in Italy which exercised a marked effect on the progress of the Violin, namely, that of the concert orchestra. It was chiefly cultivated at Venice and Ferrara. At the latter place the Duke of Ferrara maintained a great number of musicians in his service. At this period there were no concerts of a public character; they were given in the palaces of the wealthy, and the performers were chiefly those belonging to their private bands.

The opera, in which instruments were used to accompany the voice, began to be put upon the stage of the public theatres in Italy about the year 1600. The opera "Orfeo," by Claudio Monteverde, a Cremonese, famous both as a composer and Violist, was represented in 1608. The opera in those times differed essentially from that of modern days. Particular instruments were selected to accompany each character; for instance, ten Treble Viols to accompany Eurydice, two Bass Viols to Orpheus, and so on. No mention is made of Violins further than that two small Violins (duoi Violini piccoli alla Francese) are to accompany the character of Hope, from which it is inferred that a band of Violins was in use not much later.

It is to the introduction of the Sonata that the rapid progress in the cultivation of Violin-playing is due. Dr. Burney tells us the earliest Sonatas or Trios for two Violins and a Bass he discovered were published by Francesco Turini, organist of the Duomo, at Brescia, under the following title: "Madrigali a una, due, e tre voci, con alcune Sonate a due e a tre, Venezia, 1624." He says: "I was instigated by this early date to score one of these Sonatas, which consisted of only a single movement in figure and imitation throughout, in which so little use was made of the power of the bow in varying the expression of the same notes, that each part might have been as well played on one instrument as another."

In this branch of composition Corelli shone forth with considerable lustre, and gave great impetus to the culture of the Violin. It was at Rome that his first twelve Sonatas were published, in 1683. In 1685 the second set appeared, entitled "Balletti da Camera"; four years later the third set was published. The genius of Corelli may be said to have revolutionised Violin-playing. He had followers in the chief cities of Italy. There was Vitali at Modena, Visconti at Cremona (who, it is said, tendered his advice to Stradivari upon the construction of his instruments—advice, I think, little needed); Veracini at Bologna, and a host of others. Dibdin, the Tyrtaeus of the British navy, said: "I had always delighted in Corelli, whose harmonies are an assemblage of melodies. I, therefore, got his Concertos in single parts, and put them into score, by which means I saw all the workings of his mind at the time he composed them; I so managed that I not only comprehended in what manner the parts had been worked, but how, in every way, they might have been worked. From this severe but profitable exercise, I drew all the best properties of harmony, and among the rest I learnt the valuable secret, that men of strong minds may violate to advantage many of those rules of composition which are dogmatically imposed."



We must now retrace our steps somewhat, in order to allude to another Violinist, who influenced the progress of the leading instrument out of Italy, viz., Jean Baptiste Lulli. The son of a Tuscan peasant, born in the year 1633, Lulli's name is so much associated with the romantic in the history of Violin-playing that he has been deprived in a great measure of the merits justly his due for the part he took in the advancement of the instrument. The story of Lulli and the stew-pans[2] bristles with interest for juvenile musicians, but the hero is often overlooked by graver people, on account of his culinary associations. When Lulli was admitted to the Violin band of Louis XIV., he found the members very incompetent; they could not play at sight, and their style was of the worst description. The king derived much pleasure from listening to Lulli's music, and established a new band on purpose for the composer, namely, "Les petits Violons," to distinguish it from the band of twenty-four. He composed much music for the Court ballets in which the king danced.

[Footnote 2: Lulli having shown a disposition for music, received some instructions on the rudiments of the art from a priest. The Chevalier de Guise, when on his travels in Italy, had been requested by Mademoiselle de Montpensier, niece of Louis XIV., to procure for her an Italian boy as page, and happening to see Lulli in Florence, he chose him for that purpose, on account of his wit and vivacity, and his skill in playing on the guitar. The lady, however, not liking his appearance, sent him into her kitchen, where he was made an under scullion, and amused himself by arranging the stew-pans in tones and semitones, upon which he would play various airs, to the utter dismay of the cook.]

Lulli contributed greatly to the improvement of French music. He wrote several operas, and many compositions for the Church, all of which served to raise the standard of musical taste in France. To him also belongs the credit of having founded the French national opera.

We will now endeavour to trace the progress of the Violin in England. It is gratifying to learn that, even in the primitive age of Violin-playing, we were not without our national composers for the instrument. Dr. Benjamin Rogers wrote airs in four parts for Violins so early as 1653 (the year Corelli was born). John Jenkins wrote twelve sonatas for two Violins and a Bass, printed in London in 1660, which were the first sonatas written by an Englishman. About this date Charles II. established his band of twenty-four Violins. During his residence on the Continent he had frequent opportunities of hearing the leading instrument, and seems to have been so much impressed with its beauties that he set up for himself a similar band to that belonging to the French Court. The leader was Thomas Baltzar, who was regarded as the best player of his time. Anthony Wood met Baltzar at Oxford, and says he "saw him run up his fingers to the end of the finger-board of the Violin, and run them back insensibly, and all in alacrity and in very good time, which he nor any one in England saw the like before." Wood tells us that Baltzar "was buried in the cloister belonging to St. Peter's Church in Westminster." The emoluments attached to the Royal band, according to Samuel Pepys, appear to have been somewhat irregular. In the Diary, December 19, 1666, we read: "Talked of the King's family with Mr. Kingston, the organist. He says many of the musique are ready to starve, they being five years behindhand for their wages; nay, Evens, the famous man upon the Harp, having not his equal in the world, did the other day die for mere want, and was fain to be buried at the alms of the parish, and carried to his grave in the dark at night without one linke, but that Mr. Kingston met it by chance, and did give 12d. to buy two or three links."

The state of the Merry Monarch's exchequer in 1662, according to an extract from the Emoluments of the Audit Office, seems to have been singularly prosperous. An order runs as follows: "These are to require you to pay, or cause to be paid, to John Bannister, one of His Majesty's musicians in ordinary, the sum of forty pounds for two Cremona Violins, by him bought and delivered for His Majesty's service, as may appear by the bill annexed; and also ten pounds for strings for two years ending 24th June, 1662."

The King's band was led in 1663 by the above-named John Bannister, who was an excellent Violinist. His name is associated with the earliest concerts in England, namely, those held at "four of the clock in the afternoon" at the George Tavern, in Whitefriars. Roger North informs us the shopkeepers and others went to sing and "enjoy ale and tobacco," and the charge was one shilling and "call for what you please."

In the year 1683, Henry Purcell, organist of the Chapel Royal, published twelve sonatas for two Violins and a Bass. These famous instrumental compositions were written, the author tells us, in "just imitation of the most famed Italian masters, principally to bring the seriousness and gravity of that sort of musick into vogue." Purcell, in conformity with an age of dedications, thus addressed the Merry Monarch:—

"May it please your Majesty, I had not assum'd the confidence of laying ye following compositions at your sacred feet, but that, as they are the immediate results of your Majestie's Royal favour and benignity to me (which have made me what I am), so I am constrained to hope I may presume amongst others of your Majestie's over-obliged and altogether undeserving subjects that your Majesty will, with your accustomed clemency, vouchsafe to pardon the best endeavours of your Majestie's

"Most humble and obedient subject and servant, "H. PURCELL."

Charles II. is said to have understood his notes, and to sing in (in the words of one who had sung with him) a plump bass, but that he only looked upon music as an incentive to mirth, not caring for any that he could not "stamp the time to." The endeavour of his accomplished and gifted young organist to lead the King and his people to admire what he terms "the seriousness and gravity" of Italian music, and "to loathe the levity and balladry of our neighbours," was indeed worthy of England's greatest musician.

In the year 1678, Thomas Britton, known as the "musical small-coal man," gave concerts in this country, and a long series it was, extending over a period of forty-six years. The shape the movement took was that of a musical club, which was maintained at Britton's expense.

The concert-room of Tom Britton was over his coal-shop in Aylesbury Street, leading from Clerkenwell Green to St. John Street. From the year 1678 to the time of his death, in 1714, the concerts of Britton were attended by persons of all ranks.

"Tho' mean thy rank, yet in thy humble cell, Did gentle peace and arts unpurchased dwell. Well pleased, Apollo thither led his train, And Music warbled in her sweetest strain. Cyllenius too, so fables tell, and Jove Came willing guests to poor Philemon's grove. Let useless pomp behold, and blush to find So low a station, such a liberal mind."[3]

[Footnote 3: These verses were written by Mr. John Hughes, who was a frequent performer on the Violin at Britton's concerts. (Hawkins.)]

Thus the first germ of the great musical societies gave a marked impulse to the culture of stringed music in England. Attention was turned to the subject; its humanising effects were recognised, and parties met in several places for the practice of chamber music. Our progress in Violin-playing at this date was clearly satisfactory. We had a Violinist named John Henry Eccles, belonging to a clever family of musicians. He became a member of the band of Louis XIV., and was regarded as an excellent player and musician. He published in Paris some solos for the Violin in 1720. His brother Thomas was also a good Violinist. Fortune, however, did not smile upon him. He is described as being one of those itinerant musicians—perhaps the last of them—who in winter evenings went to taverns, and for a slender subsistence bore the insults of those disinclined to listen to their performance. This order of itinerant musicians may be described as having descended from the Fiddling minstrels, whom the wealthy in earlier times often retained in their houses, giving them coats and badges bearing the family arms. These musicians, in place of amusing the nobility, ultimately attended wakes and fairs. They were sometimes retained at the large inns, where the guest while eating, an old English writer says, was "offered music, which he may freely take or refuse, and if he be solitary the musicians will give him the good day, with music in the morning." In Puritan times this class of musician was thought to have so much increased as to need a special act for their suppression, which gave rise to Butler's creation, the "Champion Crowdero." Returning to our subject with Thomas Eccles, we have the following interesting account of the unfortunate Violinist, by a musician: "It was about the month of November, 1753, that I, with some friends, were met to spend the evening at a tavern in the City, when this man, in a mean but decent garb, was introduced to us by the waiter; immediately upon opening the door I heard the twang of one of his strings from under his coat, which was accompanied by the question, 'Gentlemen, will you please to hear my music?' Our curiosity, and the modesty of the man's deportment, inclined us to say yes, and music he gave us, such as I had never heard before, nor shall again under the same circumstances. With as fine and delicate a hand as I ever heard, he played the whole fifth and ninth solos of Corelli, and two songs of Mr. Handel; in short, his performance was such as would command the attention of the nicest ear, and left us his auditors much at a loss to guess what it was that constrained him to seek his living in a way so disreputable. He made no secret of his name; he said he was the youngest of three brothers, and that Henry, the middle one, had been his master, and was then in the service of the King of France. He lodged in the Butcher Row, near Temple Bar, and was well known to the musicians of his time, who thought themselves disgraced by this practice of his, for which they have a term of reproach not very intelligible; they call it going a-busking."[4]

[Footnote 4: The term "busker" is still applied to musicians who perform outside public-houses, on steamboats, and elsewhere.]

I have now to mention a Violinist whose talents raised the instrument greatly, particularly in England, viz., Francesco Geminiani. He was instructed by Corelli, and imbibed much of his master's breadth of style. He came to England in the year 1714. In 1716 he published a set of twelve sonatas, which attracted some notice at the time from their novelty. In these he plunged into difficulties deemed then very unusual, but withal his compositions were elegantly written. He afterwards wrote and published solos and concertos, besides a "Treatise on Good Taste," and the "Art of Playing on the Violin," the latter being the first instruction book for the instrument deserving of the name. The instrumental music at this period was composed for four Violins, Tenor, Violoncello, and Double-Bass, and was called the Concerto Grosso.

Having lightly sketched the progress of the Violin in England down to about the year 1750, it will, perhaps, be better to take the thread of the instrument's progress in Italy, which we brought to the days of Corelli.

The first half of the 18th century was rich in Italian Violinists and writers for the instrument, of whom the chief was Giuseppe Tartini, born 1692. Dr. Burney says of his compositions: "Though he made Corelli his model in the purity of his harmony and simplicity of his modulation, he greatly surpassed that composer in the fertility and originality of his invention; not only in the subjects of his melodies, but in the truly cantabile manner of treating them. Many of his adagios want nothing but words to be excellent pathetic opera songs. His allegros are sometimes difficult; but the passages fairly belong to the instrument for which they were composed, and were suggested by his consummate knowledge of the finger-board and the powers of the bow. As a harmonist he was, perhaps, more truly scientific than any other composer of his time, in the clearness, character, and precision of his Basses, which were never casual, or the effect of habit or auricular prejudice and expectation, but learned, judicious, and certain." It would be difficult to add to this judgment of the compositions of Tartini. The truth of Burney's remarks is better understood at this moment than when penned. During the space of nearly a century the sonatas of Tartini lay dormant, and only within recent years have their beauties been again recognised. Such works as Tartini's are all-important links in the chain of musical progress.

Pietro Locatelli, a pupil of Corelli, introduced a style of playing quite in advance of his time. His compositions abound with novel combinations; double stops, harmonics, and arpeggios are displayed with wonderful results. Burney says that "Locatelli had more hand, caprice, and fancy than any Violinist of his time."

The immediate follower of the style of Locatelli was Lolli, born 1728, who wrote pleasing airs and used novel effects, but failed to go further. It was one of his feats to play on one string—a performance very properly held in contempt in our day, having neither sense nor grace to recommend it.

Felice Giardini was another musician of the style of Locatelli.[5] He was born at Turin, in the year 1716. His performance at Naples and Berlin excited considerable notice. In 1742 he visited England, and created some sensation, his style being new to the British public.

[Footnote 5: In "Les Maitres Classiques," edited by M. Alard, and the "Hohe Schule," edited by Ferdinand David, will be found some of the best examples of this composer, as well as of many others noticed here.]

Boccherini probably did more towards furthering the cultivation of stringed instrument music than any composer of his day, with the exception of Haydn. There are in his compositions movements of varied styles, well written for their respective instruments. His quintettes are among his chief productions, and their elegance and brilliancy are remarkable. The part allotted to his own instrument, the Violoncello, often bristles with difficulties, and hence it is that these compositions are so seldom heard. Boccherini was the first composer who wrote quintettes with two Violoncello parts.

We now reach a stage in the history of the progress of the Violin the importance of which cannot be over-estimated; I refer to the influence which the compositions of Giovanni Battista Viotti exerted upon the cultivation of our instrument. With the famous Viotti sprang up a school of Violin-playing as marked in style as that introduced by Corelli. Viotti was a pupil of Pugnani, and owed his success to the rare teaching of that master. The sensation that Viotti created in Paris was great. His varied style, his rich tone and elegance in playing, were far beyond anything that the Parisian public had previously experienced. With Viotti was ushered in a new era in solo playing. His concertos exhibit the capabilities of the instrument in elegantly constructed passages, such as none but a master of the Violin could pen. He wrote upwards of twenty concertos, those in A minor, in G, in D, and in E minor being the favourites, and to this day highly esteemed by Violinists of every school. His duos and trios are pleasing and effective, and, though long since superseded by works of greater erudition, they form a landmark in the history of the progress of the instrument.

Campagnoli, born in 1751, was a composer of rare ability. Had he written nothing but the "Studies on the Seven Positions of the Violin" he would have left enough to mark the character of his genius. Happily he has bequeathed to us many other writings. The "Fantasias and Cadences," forming a book of upwards of 100 pages, is a work full of interest to the Violinist. His modulations are singularly effective. He has also written some Studies for the Tenor, and, lastly, a "Violin School." I cannot but think that Campagnoli's educational compositions do not receive the attention which they merit, and are too often laid aside as old-fashioned. There is a certain quaintness in his writings, but this much may be said of many other compositions whose beauties are not neglected on that account. It would be difficult to find material more solid than that afforded by the writings of Campagnoli, if the foundation of Violin-playing of the highest character is to be laid.

We reach the pinnacle of the Italian school of Violin-playing in the wondrous Paganini; born February 18, 1784, died May 27, 1840. It is needless to recount the extraordinary achievements of this remarkable man. M. Fetis and others have collected the most interesting particulars relative to Paganini and his compositions, and to their entertaining accounts the reader can turn for information. It is sufficient to mention that Paganini carried the marvellous in Violin-playing as far as seems possible. The number of his imitators has been enormous, and many of them, withal, so barbarous as to render anything savouring of "a la Paganini" contemptible. The compositions of Paganini are no longer Paganini's when played by others. He, above all Violinists that ever lived, possessed an individuality in his style of playing which has hitherto defied imitation.

From Paganini to his pupil Camillo Sivori is the next step in my notice. The artistic career of Sivori was a glorious one. Elegance of style and charming purity of tone were qualities peculiarly his.

Antonio Bazzini, both as a solo Violinist and composer for the instrument, has achieved lasting fame.

Having endeavoured to lightly sketch the history of Italian performers, and of Italian music bearing on the instrument to the present time, it remains to notice a remarkable follower of the Italian school of Violin-playing in the Norwegian, Ole Bornemann Bull. The executive skill of this famous Violinist was of the highest order, and perhaps no other artist, with the exception of Paganini, gained such a world-wide renown.

It is now necessary to refer to the course of events touching the Violin in France. As the influence of Viotti resulted in a remodelling of the French style of playing, our survey will make it necessary to go back the greater part of a century.

Jean Marie Leclair, the pupil of Somis, is the first Violinist deserving of mention. He was born at Lyons in 1697. In 1729 he visited Paris, where he was engaged at the opera. He wrote several sonatas for Violin and Bass, and for two Violins and Bass, besides other compositions. The difficulties occurring in many of these writings are of no ordinary character, and if they were rendered with anything approaching to exactness, the progress made on the Violin must have been very rapid between the days of Lulli and those of Leclair.

Pierre Gavinies claims attention both as an executant and composer. There is a freshness about his compositions which has caused many of them to be recently roused from their long sleep, and re-issued in the improved garb of a modern edition. His best-known works are the twenty-four Studies, Concertos, and Sonatas.

Although there were several Violinists in France of average ability between the time of Gavinies and that of Rode, they scarcely claim attention in this somewhat hasty sketch; and I will, therefore, pass to the players linked with Viotti to his pupil Rode. He was born at Bordeaux in 1774. Fetis remarks, "From Corelli to Rode there is no hiatus in the school, for Corelli was the master of Somis, Somis of Pugnani, Pugnani of Viotti, and Viotti of Rode."

His twenty-four Caprices, and his Concertos and Airs, are much admired by all Violinists for their elegance and effectiveness. Paganini played the concertos of Rode publicly upon several occasions; Baillot and Kreutzer were associated with Rode at the Paris Conservatoire, and likewise in the compilation of the well-known Instruction Book written expressly for the use of the pupils at the Conservatoire. Baillot was famed for his admirable bowing and refined playing. Kreutzer is, of course, better known from his Forty Studies than from anything else that he has written. His concertos partake more of the study than of the name they bear, and are valued accordingly.

Lafont was instructed by both Rode and Kreutzer, and held a high position among the Violinists of his time.

Francois Antoine Habeneck was a pupil of Baillot at the Paris Conservatoire, where he distinguished himself, and became a professor. Among his pupils were Alard, Sainton, and Deldevez.

M. Alard was born in 1815. He succeeded Baillot at the Conservatoire in 1843, holding the position for many years, and retiring shortly after the death of his father-in-law, M. Vuillaume. M. Alard was the master of Sarasate. M. Sainton was born in 1813 at Toulouse. He took the first prize at the Conservatoire in 1834. He settled in London in 1845. Shortly afterwards he became principal professor of the Violin at the Royal Academy of Music, and leader under Signor Costa.

It now remains for me to notice the Belgian school. The first to name is Charles de Beriot, one of the most delicious players we have had. As a composer for his instrument, he opened up entirely fresh ground; he banished all that was dry, and gave us those fresh and pleasant Airs with Variations, and Morceaux de Salon, teeming with novel effects. It can never be said that De Beriot alarmed the amateurs with outrageous difficulties; on the contrary, he gave them passages comparatively easy to execute, full of effect, and yet withal astonishing to the listener. De Beriot probably made more amateur Violinists than any composer of his time.

Henri Vieuxtemps was a thorough master of his art. His Concertos are compositions worthy of the title they bear; they do not consist of a number of difficulties strung together without meaning, but are properly constructed works. He has written many Fantasias, all of which are the delight of good Violinists. His compositions being most difficult to render, they are chiefly known among artists, but in these days of rapid development in Violin-playing among amateurs, a new and wide field will certainly be opened for them.

From Belgium to Poland seems a wide step in my discourse, but it is really not so. Although the Polish Violinists retain much originality in their style of playing and compositions, it is to the French school that they belong. Lipinski, Wieniawski, and Lotto were all educated in the Paris school.

Lipinski has written a good deal for his instrument, and instructed many well-known players.

Henri Wieniawski was essentially a great artist. He was a marvellous Violinist, and displayed great genius as a composer for his instrument.

Adolphe Pollitzer settled in London many years since, and occupied a leading position among our resident Violinists.

Having lightly touched upon the various heads of the French school, I must again take up the thread of the English history of the instrument from about 1750, at which period we may trace a growing admiration for Violin-playing, notwithstanding the disparagement which this accomplishment received from different notabilities. Foremost among the revilers stands Lord Chesterfield, who considered playing upon any musical instrument to be illiberal in a gentleman. The Violin would seem to have been regarded by his lordship with a supreme amount of displeasure. His opinion of Violinists savoured greatly of that held by the framers of the statute passed in the reign of Elizabeth touching minstrels, who were to be included among "rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars" wandering abroad. Lord Chesterfield says, "Music is usually reckoned one of the liberal arts, and not unjustly, but a man of fashion who is seen piping or Fiddling at a concert degrades his own dignity. If you love music, hear it; pay Fiddlers to play for you, but never Fiddle yourself." Such was Lord Chesterfield's advice to his son. It is quite evident that he had no notion of the exquisite enjoyment derivable from being an executant in a quartette, the conversational powers of which have been so frequently noticed. That Lord Chesterfield's strictures discouraged the practice of the Violin in the higher circles of society is very probable, appearing as they do in a work which was held in the light of a textbook upon the conduct of a gentleman for some considerable time. Happily, the hollowness of much of his advice came to be recognised, and he who deemed cards and dice a necessary step towards fashionable perfection, and ordained that Fiddlers were to be paid to play for you as substitutes for your own personal degradation, came to be remembered, possibly, more on account of the laxity of his precepts than for any other reason.

In the days of Lord Chesterfield lived Michael Christian Festing, who was particularly zealous in the cause of music. He was a pupil of Geminiani, and wrote several solos. Festing still further carried out the idea of Britton, the "small-coal man," by bringing together a number of noblemen and gentlemen amateurs for the practice of concerted music. They met at the Crown and Anchor Tavern in the Strand, and named their society the "Philharmonic." So much for his furtherance of the art. It now remains to notice the great boon which Festing conferred upon his brother professors and their descendants. It is this which has given his memory lasting life in the annals of English music.

We are indebted to Festing as the chief instrument in the formation of the Royal Society of Musicians, which he may be said to have founded in the year 1738. This society derived its origin from the following curious circumstance. Festing being one day seated at the window of the Orange Coffee House, then at the corner of the Haymarket, observed a very intelligent-looking boy, who was driving an ass and selling brickdust. The lad was in a deplorable condition, and excited the pity of the kind-hearted musician, who made inquiries concerning him, and discovered that he was the son of an unfortunate professor of music. Struck with grief and mortification that the forlorn object before him should be the child of a brother musician, Festing resolved to attempt something for the boy's maintenance. Shortly after, with the help of other benevolently-disposed persons, he raised a fund for the support of decayed musicians and their families, and thus laid the foundation of the society, which is the first of its kind in Europe. Handel was one of its first and principal members, and left it a legacy of 1,000 pounds. Little did Festing and his supporters dream that their society, humble enough in 1738, would grow into a society possessing 80,000 pounds in 1874—a sum which, however high-sounding, was all-insufficient to permit the committee to dispense the amount of good desired.

Returning again to our subject, we find that in Festing's lifetime there were several patrons of the art, the chief of whom were the Prince of Wales, the Duke of Cumberland, and the Earl of Mornington. Speaking of the Earl, the Hon. Daines Barrington says he "furnishes an instance of early attention to musical instruments. His father played well for a gentleman, on the Violin, which always delighted the child while in his nurse's arms, and long before he could speak." When he was nine years old, "an old portrait-painter came to the family seat, who was a very indifferent performer on the Violin, but persuaded the child that if he tried to play on that instrument, he would soon be able to bear a part in a concert. With this inducement he soon learned the two old catches of the 'Christ-Church Bells,' and 'Sing one, two, three, come follow me;' after which, his father and the painter accompanying him with the other two parts, he experienced the pleasing effects of a harmony to which he himself contributed. Soon after this he was able to play the second Violin in Corelli's sonatas, which gave him a steadiness in time that never deserted him."

We may now glance at the period when Salomon came to England in 1781. Too much stress can scarcely be laid upon the good effected by Salomon's talents for the progress of music, and more particularly in behalf of instrumental music. We are deeply indebted to this musician for the spirit and enterprise which he displayed, in bringing to England, at no trifling pecuniary risk, the immortal Haydn. Salomon having established a series of twenty concerts in 1790, it occurred to him that to invite the famous musician to London would aid his enterprise. He communicated with Haydn, offering him the sum of fifty pounds for each concert. These terms were accepted, and Haydn set out for London, at the age of fifty-nine. He remained in England over a year, and composed the celebrated "Twelve Symphonies" known as the Salomon set. Salomon was one of the promoters of the Philharmonic Society, and led the orchestra at the first concert given by the society in 1813. Enough has been said to show the nature of the part he took in the development of music in England. Enjoying the friendship of those who moved in the higher circles of society, where his polished manners and high attainments ever made him a welcome guest, he was enabled to command such patronage as to make his laudable ventures successful.

Among the Violinists of Salomon's day, resident in England, were William and Francois Cramer, to whom severally were assigned the leadership of the Ancient Concerts and of the Opera.

The next Violinist who gained some celebrity was Nicholas Mori, born in London in the year 1796. He was associated with the formation of the Royal Academy of Music, in Tenterden Street, and became the principal instructor on the Violin at that institution. Paolo Diana (a Cremonese known under his adopted name of Spagnoletti) and Kieswetter each contributed his share towards the advancement of the instrument during their stay in this country.

The names of Dando and Henry Blagrove bring us to the players of our own time. These thoroughly representative English Violinists have done much to raise the standard of the public taste. In the year 1835, the "Concerti da Camera" were established (in imitation of those given in Paris by Pierre Baillot), and served to extend our knowledge of classical chamber music. The formation of the Musical Union still further increased our knowledge and taste in the same direction. The long roll of celebrated Continental artists introduced at the Society's concerts sufficiently stamps its character. All that remained to be done was to make the Quartette popular, and to bring it within the reach of all. This has been achieved by the indefatigable labours of Mr. Chappell in his Monday Popular Concerts. For some time the public failed to appreciate Mr. Chappell's scheme, but the enterprising director, nothing daunted, continued his course, and had ultimately the gratification of being besieged in his citadel at St. James's Hall, from the commencement of the season to its close.

Before closing our remarks on the progress of Violin-playing in England, we have still to mention a few other names in connection with this subject. Henry C. Cooper was a Violinist who ranked with the chief representatives of the English Soloists, and during a long professional career achieved much success. He set on foot, together with his coadjutors, M. Sainton, Hill, and Signor Piatti, the Quartette Association, the concerts of which were given at Willis's Rooms during several seasons. The career of Mr. John Carrodus was watched by his brother artists with much interest. As a pupil of Herr Molique, he gave early signs of exceptional talents; it was felt that he must inevitably come to the front; all that was predicted, and even more, in due time came to pass. He achieved a commanding position among the foremost Violinists of our time, both as a soloist and leader. With the names of Messrs. Henry and Alfred Holmes, I come to a close of the English branch of the subject. The brothers Holmes attracted the notice of Spohr, who was so delighted with their abilities that he composed and dedicated to them three Duets for two Violins.

The first name of any note in connection with the Violin in Germany is that of Graun, who was born in the year 1700. He became concertmaster to the King of Prussia, and excelled as a Violinist. His pupil, Francis Benda, next claims attention. Dr. Burney says of him: "His manner was neither that of Tartini nor of Veracini, nor that of any other leader; it was purely his own, though founded on the several models of the greatest masters;" and Hillar tells us that "his tones were of the finest description, the clearest and most euphonious that can be imagined." Benda published studies for his instrument, and also several solos and other works, all of which are admired for their good and cantabile style.

About this period appeared the admirable compositions for the Violin of that great master of his art, John Sebastian Bach—works differing essentially from those of his contemporaries.

"He was not of an age, but for all time."

To describe the character and beauties of Bach's Violin writings is within neither my province nor capacity. As an amateur Violinist and an observer of all that relates to the Violin, I may refer, however, to the vast amount of good which the compositions of Bach have exercised upon the cultivation of Violin-playing, and the marvellous development that they have received at the hands of many of our leading Violinists. For this happy state of things we are largely indebted to Herr Joachim; but for him these treasures might have remained hidden behind a cloud of airs varies, fantasias, and what not, for many a year to come. Herr Joachim has made the Sonatas of Bach familiar to thousands who a few years since scarcely knew of their existence. The difficulties which abound in these solid writings could only have been written by a master perfectly acquainted with the capabilities of the instrument. Many a tyro who plunges into the stream of Bach's crotchets and quavers soon finds himself encompassed by a whirlpool of seeming impossibilities, and is frequently heard to exclaim that the passages are impracticable. Vain delusion! Bach was himself a Violinist, and never penned a passage the rendering of which is impossible. The ease and grace with which a Joachim makes every note heard and felt, induces many a one to wrestle with Bach, the more so when it is found that the great author has confined himself to the lower positions of the instrument. Vain delusion number two! Bach exacts more on terra firma than many later writers have claimed in their wildest aerial flights.

From Bach to Handel is an easy step in our discourse. They were born within a year of each other, and were possessed of minds of similar calibre, though differently exercised. It would not, perhaps, be over-strained to call them respectively the Nelson and Wellington of music. The compositions of Handel materially advanced the Violin. His Overtures, Trios, Sonatas, and Concertos, were all received with the utmost attention, and led on to works by later composers, which would probably have never existed but for Handel's example.

We now reach the time when the Symphony was perfected by Haydn, who, following the steps of Bach, brought this branch of the art to a degree of perfection hitherto unknown. The influence of this composer on the progress of the Violin cannot be over-estimated. The Quartettes of Haydn are too well known to need more than mention here. The Quartettes of Giardini and Pugnani were laid aside to give place to these inspired compositions. The following amusing comparison, drawn by a lady, between the Quartettes of Haydn and the speech of articulate humanity appears in Bombet's "Letters on Haydn," and, though pretty well known, will lose nothing by repetition:—

"In listening to the Quartettes of Haydn, this lady felt as if present at a conversation of four agreeable persons. She thought that the first Violin had the air of an eloquent man of genius, of middle age, who supported a conversation, the subject of which he had suggested. In the second Violin she recognised a friend of the first, who sought by all possible means to display him to advantage, seldom thought of himself, and kept up the conversation rather by assenting to what was said by the others than by advancing any ideas of his own. The Alto was a grave, learned, and sententious man. He supported the discourse of the first Violin by laconic maxims, striking for their truth. The Bass was a worthy old lady, rather inclined to chatter, who said nothing of much consequence, and while she was talking the other interlocutors had time to breathe. It was, however, evident that she had a secret inclination for the Alto, which she preferred to the other instruments."

It may be said that the foregoing extract is more funny than just. Probably this is the case; however, I make use of it as throwing some light on the enjoyment derivable from listening to a Quartette, without reference to its critical bearings.

Resuming our subject again: Haydn wrote eight easy Sonatas for Violin and Pianoforte, but they are not of sufficient importance to cause them to be much played. Haydn used frequently to take the Tenor parts in his Quartettes.

Leopold Mozart, born in 1719, the father of the illustrious musician, was a Violinist, and wrote a "Method" for his instrument. He died in 1787.

To the great Mozart Violinists owe much; his compositions for the instrument raised its standing considerably. It is unnecessary to give here a detailed list of those of his writings in which the Violin takes part—they are happily known to most players. Mozart played the Violin from boyhood, and was taught by his father. It is gratifying to know that nearly all the great composers played upon stringed instruments, if not with proficiency, yet enough to enable them to make pleasurable use of their acquirements. Sebastian Bach, Handel, and Schubert were Violin-players; Haydn and Mendelssohn could take their Tenor part in a Quartette; and lastly, Beethoven used to amuse himself with the Double-Bass. Their compositions evidence a practical knowledge of stringed instruments, as distinct from theory. The glorious compositions of Beethoven for the Violin need no comment here; their beauties have formed the theme of the ablest critics; and I have no desire to contribute my humble mite to their exhaustive remarks.

With Fesca we again come amongst the Violinists. He was born at Magdeburg, in 1789. His Quartettes are very pleasing compositions; they are chiefly "Solo Quartettes."

The next Violinist claiming attention is the highly gifted Louis Spohr, the greatest composer for the Violin that ever lived, who combined in his own person high executive powers with a rare fecundity of classical composition. The Concertos of Spohr belong to an entirely different class from those of Viotti, Kreutzer, and others, inasmuch as Spohr's music is written so as not only to display the beauties of the instrument, but also to give the noblest specimens of its orchestration. His Duets for two Violins, his Tenor and Violin Duets and Quartettes, are all too well known to need more than passing mention.

From Spohr has grown up a school of Violin-playing of a very distinctive character. Bernard Molique was endowed with great powers, both as a performer and a composer for his instrument. His Concertos are compositions of the highest character, and require for their rendering a finished artist.

Joseph Mayseder was a Violinist of an order distinct from that of Spohr or Molique. His style was exceedingly brilliant. Mayseder may also be said to have created a school of his own, and, owing to the circulation that his compositions obtained in England, his style was introduced among a great number of our countrymen. Kalliwoda wrote and played very much in the Mayseder manner. His Airs and Variations are especially brilliant compositions; his Overtures are also much admired for their sparkling and dramatic character.

I come now to notice one of the greatest artistes of our time—Herr Ernst—whose playing was impassioned in the highest degree. He made the Violin express his innermost thoughts in tones of delicious tenderness, such as his hearers can never forget. By nature noble, generous, and affectionate, the shade and substance of each trait was faithfully reflected in his exquisite playing. His compositions are among the finest solo writings we have. To mention his "Otello," "Airs Hongrois," "Le Prophete," and his "Studies," will be sufficient to call to the mind of most Violinists the high character of his compositions.

It now only remains for me to briefly allude to the German artists each Concert Season makes us familiar with. First and foremost, the mighty Herr Joachim, a host in himself. His able coadjutor, Herr Strauss, was justly admired for his intellectual rendering of the great masters, and the artistic spirit he invariably displayed. Herr Wilhelmj was regarded as one of the first players of our time, his executive powers being of the highest order.



SECTION XV Anecdotes and Miscellanea connected with the Violin



HUDIBRAS AND THE CHAMPION CROWDERO.

The important part played by the renowned Champion Crowdero in Butler's inimitable satire has never failed to give keen enjoyment to all lovers of wit and humour. This being so, his exploits should be doubly appreciated by the votaries of the Fiddle, since it was he who valiantly defended the cause of Fiddling against the attacks of Hudibras—

"When civil dudgeon first grew high, And men fell out, they knew not why; When hard words, jealousies, and fears Set folks together by the ears, And made them fight, like mad or drunk.

. . . . .

Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling, And out he rode a-colonelling."

The absurdities into which the genius of Cervantes hurried Don Quixote and Sancho served to moderate the extravagances of knight-errantry. The adventures of Hudibras and Ralpho, undertaken to extinguish the sports and pastimes of the people, aided greatly in staying the hand of fanaticism, which had suppressed all stage plays and interludes as "condemned by ancient heathens, and by no means to be tolerated among professors of the Christian religion."

With Crowdero we are taken back upwards of two centuries in the history of the Violin; from times wherein it is held in the highest esteem and admiration, to days when it was regarded with contempt and ridicule. Crowdero (so called from crowd, a Fiddle) was the fictitious name for one Jackson, a milliner, who lived in the New Exchange, in the Strand. He had served with the Roundheads, and lost a leg, which brought him into reduced circumstances, until he was obliged to Fiddle from one alehouse to another for his existence. Hudibras—

"On stirrup-side, he gaz'd about Portending blood, like blazing star, The beacon of approaching war.

. . . . .

Ralpho rode on, with no less speed Than Hugo in the forest did; But far more in returning made, For now the foe he had survey'd Rang'd, as to him they did appear, With van, main battle, wings, and rear. I' th' head of all this warlike rabble, Crowdero marched, expert and able. Instead of trumpet and of drum, That makes the warrior's stomach come, Whose noise whets valour sharp, like beer By thunder turn'd to vinegar; (For if a trumpet sound, or drum beat, Who has not a month's mind to combat?) A squeaking engine he apply'd Unto his neck on north-east side,[1] Just where the hangman does dispose, To special friends, the knot or noose; For 'tis great grace, when statesmen straight Dispatch a friend, let others wait. His warped ear hung o'er the strings, Which was but souse to chitterlings;[2] For guts, some write, ere they are sodden, Are fit for music, or for pudding;[3] From whence men borrow ev'ry kind Of minstrelsy, by string or wind. His grisly beard was long and thick, With which he strung his Fiddle-stick; For he to horse-tail scorned to owe For what on his own chin did grow.

. . . . .

And now the field of death, the lists, Were enter'd by antagonists, And blood was ready to be broach'd, When Hudibras in haste approach'd With Squire and weapons, to attack 'em; But first thus from his horse bespoke 'em, 'What rage, O citizens! What fury Doth you to these dire actions hurry?

. . . . .

In name of King and Parliament I charge ye all—no more foment.

. . . . .

... first surrender The Fiddler as the prime offender, Th' incendiary vile, that is chief Author and engineer of mischief; That makes division between friends For profane and malignant ends.[4] He and that engine of vile noise On which illegally he plays,[5] Shall (dictum factum) both be brought To condign punishment, as they ought.'

. . . . .

This said he clapped his hand on sword, To show he meant to keep his word.

. . . . .

He drew up all his force into One body and into one blow.

. . . . .

The Knight, with all its weight, fell down

. . . . .

Like a feather bed betwixt a wall And heavy brunt of cannon ball.

. . . . .

Crowdero only kept the field, Not stirring from the place he held; Though beaten down and wounded sore, I' th' Fiddle, and a leg that bore One side of him—not that of bone, But much its better, th' wooden one. He spying Hudibras lie strew'd Upon the ground, like log of wood,

. . . . .

In haste he snatch'd the wooden limb That, hurt in th' ankle, lay by him, And, fitting it for sudden fight, Straight drew it up, t' attack the Knight;

. . . . .

Vowing to be reveng'd, for breach Of Crowd and skin, upon the wretch,[6] Sole author of all detriment He and his Fiddle underwent.

. . . . .

When Ralpho thrust himself between, He took the blow upon his arm, To shield the Knight from further harm, And, joining wrath with force, bestow'd On th' wooden member such a load, That down it fell and with it bore Crowdero, whom it propp'd before. To him the Squire right nimbly run, And setting his bold foot upon His trunk, thus spoke: 'What desp'rate frenzy Made thee, thou whelp of sin, to fancy Thyself, and all that coward rabble, To encounter us in battle able? How durst th', I say, oppose thy curship 'Gainst, arms, authority, and worship, And Hudibras or me provoke,

. . . . .

... but first our care Must see how Hudibras doth fare.' This said, he gently rais'd the Knight,

. . . . .

To rouse him from lethargic dump, He tweak'd his nose with gentle thump, Knock'd on his breast, as if't had been To raise the spirits lodg'd within; They, waken'd with the noise, did fly From inward room to window eye, And gently op'ning lid, the casement, Look'd out, but yet with some amazement. This gladded Ralpho much to see, Who thus bespoke the Knight; quoth he, Tweaking his nose, 'You are, great sir, A self-denying conqueror; As high, victorious, and great As e'er fought for the churches yet.

. . . . .

... The foe, for dread Of your nine-worthiness, is fled; All, save Crowdero, for whose sake You did th' espous'd cause undertake; And he lies pris'ner at your feet, To be disposed as you think meet, Either for life, or death, or sale, The gallows, or perpetual jail; For one wink of your powerful eye Must sentence him to live or die; His Fiddle is your proper purchase, Won in the service of the Churches; And by your doom must be allow'd To be or be no more, a Crowd.'

. . . . .

... The Knight began to rouse, And by degrees grew valorous; He stared about, and seeing none Of all his foes remain, but one, He snatch'd his weapon that lay near him, And from the ground began to rear him, Vowing to make Crowdero pay For all the rest that ran away. But Ralpho now, in colder blood, His fury mildly thus withstood. 'Great sir,' quoth he, 'your mighty spirit Is raised too high; this slave doth merit To be the hangman's business sooner Than from your hand to have the honour Of his destruction; I, that am A nothingness in deed and name, Did scorn to hurt his forfeit carcase, Or ill entreat his Fiddle or case;

. . . . .

Will you employ your conq'ring sword To break a Fiddle, and your word?

. . . . .

... I think it better far To keep him prisoner of war.'

. . . . .

He liked the squire's advice, and soon Resolved to see the business done.

. . . . .

Ralpho dispatched with speedy haste, And having ty'd Crowdero fast, He gave Sir Knight the end of cord, To lead the captive of his sword.

. . . . .

The Squire in state rode on before, And on his nut-brown whinyard bore The Trophy-Fiddle, and the case Leaning on shoulder, like a mace.[7] The Knight himself did after ride, Leading Crowdero by his side, And tow'd him if he lagg'd behind, Like boat against the tide and wind. Thus grave and solemn they march on, Until quite thro' the town th' had gone, At further end of which there stands An ancient castle, that commands[8] Th' adjacent parts; in all the fabric You shall not see one stone nor a brick But all of wood, by powerful spell Of magic made impregnable.

. . . . .

Thither arriv'd, th' advent'rous Knight And bold Squire from their steeds alight At th' outward wall, near which there stands A bastile, built t' imprison hands;

. . . . .

On top of this there is a spire On which Sir Knight first bids the Squire The Fiddle, and its spoils, the case,[9] In manner of a trophy, place. That done, they ope the trapdoor gate, And let Crowdero down thereat; Crowdero making doleful face, Like hermit poor in pensive place. To dungeon they the wretch commit, And the survivor of his feet, But the other that had broke the peace And head of knighthood, they release, Though a delinquent false and forged, Yet b'ing a stranger, he's enlarged, While his comrade that did not hurt Is clapp'd up fast in prison for't; So Justice, while she winks at crimes, Stumbles on innocence sometimes."



[Footnote 1: Several explanations of this passage have been set forth by Butler's commentators. Dr. Grey asks, "Why the north-east side? Do Fiddlers always, or most generally, stand or sit according to the points of the compass?" Dr. Nash suggests the poet may have had in view "a conceit," which is in Brown's "Vulgar Errors," viz., that the body of man is magnetical, and being placed in a boat will never rest till the head respecteth the north. Dr. Nash remarks, "Now, the body lying on its back with its head towards the north, or standing upright with the face towards the east, the reader will find the place of the Fiddle on the left breast to be due north-east."]

[Footnote 2: Dr. Nash says, "Souse is the pig's ear, and chitterlings the pig's guts; the former alludes to Crowdero's ear, which lay on the Fiddle; the latter to the strings of the Fiddle, which are made of catgut."]

[Footnote 3: Black pudding and sausages are placed in skins of gut.]

[Footnote 4: This passage evidently refers to Violists meeting to make division to a ground, namely, in the words of Christopher Simpson, "A ground, subject, or bass (call it which you please) is prickt (written) down in two several papers, one for him who is to play the ground (upon an organ, harpsichord, or other instrument), the other for him who plays upon the Viol, who having the said ground before his eye (as his theme or subject) plays such variety of descant and division thereupon as his skill and present invention do then suggest to him." The poet's allusion to "Th' incendiary vile (Viol) that is chief author and engineer of mischief" humorously points to the popularity of the Viol. The poet's mention of persons meeting and performing on their Viols, thus making

"... division between friends, For profane and malignant ends,"

is evidently a most humorous allusion to the case of the Royalist, Sir Roger L'Estrange, the friend of Butler, and to whom was given the names of the real persons shadowed under fictitious characters in the satire. Sir Roger, whilst in St. James's Park, heard an Organ being played in the house of one Mr. Hickson. His intense love of music prompted him to seek admittance. He found there a company of five or six persons, and being himself a good Violist, was prevailed upon to take a part. By-and-by Cromwell entered, without, Sir Roger explains in a pamphlet ("Truth and Loyalty Vindicated," printed the year before the first part of Hudibras was published, in 1662), "the least colour of a design or expectation." Sir Roger went on making division with his Viol, apparently regardless of the presence of the Protector and thus earned for himself the title of Oliver's Fiddler, besides giving rise to the report that he solicited a private conference with Cromwell under the pretext of "making division" with his Viol. Dr. Johnson has truly said of Hudibras, "The manners, being founded on opinions, are temporary and local, and therefore become every day less intelligible and less striking.... Much, therefore, of that humour which transported the century with merriment is lost to us, who do not know the sour solemnity, the sullen superstition, the gloomy moroseness, and the stubborn scruples of the ancient Puritans, ... and cannot, but by recollection and study, understand the lines in which they are satirised. Our grandfathers knew the picture from the life; we judge of the life by contemplating the picture."]

[Footnote 5: Alluding to an ordinance made in 1658: "And be it further enacted by the authority aforesaid, that if any person or persons, commonly called Fiddlers, or minstrels, shall at any time after the said first day of July (1657) be taken playing, Fiddling, and making music in any inn, alehouse, or tavern, or shall be taken proffering themselves, or desiring, or intreating any person or persons to hear them play, &c., &c., shall be adjudged ... rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars."]

[Footnote 6: Crowd, a Fiddle, and therefore for injury done by "breach," or cracks, to Crowdero's instrument.]

[Footnote 7: The Fiddle-case referred to is one covered with leather, studded with nails, and with a lid opening at the end, and might be likened unto a mace.]

[Footnote 8: "This is an enigmatical description of a pair of stocks and whipping-post. It is so pompous and sublime that we are surprised so noble a structure could be raised from so ludicrous a subject. We perceive wit and humour in the strongest light in every part of the description."—Note by Dr. Grey.]

[Footnote 9: Dr. Nash suggests the following rendering: "His spoils, the Fiddle, and the case."]

GEORGE HERBERT'S REFERENCES TO MUSIC.

George Herbert, poet and divine, said of music, "That it did relieve his drooping spirits, compose his distracted thoughts, and raised his weary soul so far above earth, that it gave him an earnest of the joys of heaven before he possessed them." His worthy biographer, Izaak Walton, tells us—"His chiefest recreation was music, in which heavenly art he was a most excellent master, and did himself compose many divine hymns and anthems, which he set and sung to his Lute or Viol; and though he was a lover of retiredness, yet his love to music was such that he went usually twice every week, on certain appointed days, to the Cathedral Church in Salisbury, and at his return would say, 'That his time spent in prayer and Cathedral music elevated his soul, and was his heaven upon earth.' But before his return thence to Bemerton, he would usually sing and play his part at an appointed private music meeting; and, to justify this practice, he would often say, 'Religion does not banish mirth, but only moderates and sets rules to it.'"

In walking to Salisbury upon one occasion to attend his usual music meeting, George Herbert saw a poor man with a poor horse that was fallen under his load. He helped the man to unload and re-load; the poor man blessed him for it, and he blessed the poor man. Upon reaching his musical friends at Salisbury they were surprised to see him so soiled and discomposed; but he told them the occasion, and when one of the company said to him "He had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment," his answer was, "That the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight; and that the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord in his conscience whenever he should pass by that place; 'for if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far as it is in my power, to practise what I pray for; and though I do not wish for the like occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one day of my life without comforting a sad soul, or showing mercy; and I praise God for this occasion; and now let us tune our instruments.'"

Herbert's love of imagery was often curious and startling. In singing of "Easter" he said—

"Awake my lute and struggle for thy part With all thy heart. The Cross taught all wood to resound His name, Who bore the same. His stretched sinews taught all strings, what key Is best to celebrate this most high day, Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song Pleasant and long: Or since all music is but three parts vied And multiplied, O let thy blessed spirit bear a part, And make up our defects with his sweet art."

The Sunday before the death of "Holy George Herbert," Izaak Walton says, "he rose suddenly from his bed, or couch, called for one of his instruments, took it into his hand and said—

"My God, my God, my music shall find Thee; And every string Shall have his attribute to sing."

And having tuned it, he played and sung—

"The Sundays of man's life, Threaded together on Time's string, Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternal, glorious King; On Sundays heaven's door stands ope, Blessings are plentiful and ripe, More plentiful than hope."

The thought to which Herbert has given expression in his lines on Easter—that "All music is but three parts vied and multiplied"—was also in the mind of Christopher Simpson, who, in his work on "The Division Viol," 1659, uses it as a musical illustration of the doctrine of Trinity in Unity. He says: "I cannot but wonder, even to amazement, that from no more than three concords (with some intervening discords) there should arise such an infinite variety, as all the music that ever has been, or ever shall be, composed. When I further consider that these sounds, placed by the interval of a third one above another, do constitute one entire harmony, which governs and comprises all the sounds that by art or imagination can be joined together in musical concordance, that, I cannot but think a significant emblem of that Supreme and Incomprehensible Three in One, governing, comprising, and disposing the whole machine of the world, with all its included parts, in a most perfect and stupendous harmony."

It is interesting to notice an earlier and remarkable allusion to the union of sound from the pen of Shakespeare—

"If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, By unions married, do offend thine ear, They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear. Mark how one string, sweet husband to another, Strikes each in each by mutual ordering, Resembling sire and child and happy mother, Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing."

VIOLINS FROM A MEDICAL POINT OF VIEW.

"Music and the sounds of instruments—says the lively Vigneul de Marville—contribute to the health of the body and the mind; they assist the circulation of the blood, they dissipate vapours, and open the vessels, so that the action of perspiration is freer. He tells the story of a person of distinction, who assured him that once being suddenly seized by violent illness, instead of a consultation of physicians, he immediately called a band of musicians, and their Violins played so well in his inside that his bowels became perfectly in tune, and in a few hours were harmoniously becalmed."—D'Israeli's "Curiosities of Literature."

Dr. Abercrombie recommends "Careful classification of the insane, so that the mild and peaceful melancholic may not be harassed by the ravings of the maniac. The importance of this is obvious; but of still greater importance," he continues, "it will probably be to watch the first dawnings of reason, and instantly to remove from the patient all associates by whom his mind might be again bewildered."

The following case, mentioned by Pinel, is certainly an extreme one, but much important reflection arises out of it:—

"A musician confined in the Bicetre, as one of the first symptoms of returning reason, made some slight allusion to his favourite instrument. It was immediately procured for him; he occupied himself with music for several hours every day, and his convalescence seemed to be advancing rapidly. But he was then, unfortunately, allowed to come frequently in contact with a furious maniac, by meeting him in the gardens. The musician's mind was unhinged; his Violin was destroyed; and he fell back into a state of insanity which was considered as confirmed and hopeless."—Abercrombie's "Intellectual Powers."

"A MUSICIAN

is like an Echo, a retail dealer in sounds. As Diana is the goddess of the silver bow, so is he the Lord of the wooden one; he has a hundred strings in his bow; other people are bow-legged, he is bow-armed; and though armed with a bow he has no skill in archery. He plays with cat-gut and Kit-Fiddle. His fingers and arms run a constant race; the former would run away from him did not a bridge interpose and oblige him to pay toll. He can distinguish sounds as other men distinguish colours. His companions are crotchets and quavers. Time will never be a match for him, for he beats him most unmercifully. He runs after an Italian air open-mouthed, with as much eagerness as some fools have sought the philosopher's stone. He can bring a tune over the seas, and thinks it more excellent because far-fetched. His most admired domestics are Soprano, Siciliano, Andantino, and all the Anos and Inos that constitute the musical science. He can scrape, scratch, shake, diminish, increase, flourish, &c.; and he is so delighted with the sound of his own Viol, that an ass would sooner lend his ears to anything than to him; and as a dog shakes a pig, so does he shake a note by the ear, and never lets it go till he makes it squeak. He is a walking pillory, and crucifies more ears than a dozen standing ones. He often involves himself in dark and intricate passages, till he is put to a shift, and obliged to get out of a scrape—by scraping. His Viol has the effect of a Scotch Fiddle, for it irritates his hearers, and puts them to the itch. He tears his audience in various ways, as I do this subject; and as I wear away my pen, so does he wear away the strings of his Fiddle. There is no medium to him; he is either in a flat or a sharp key, though both are natural to him. He deals in third minors, and major thirds; proves a turncoat, and is often in the majority and the minority in the course of a few minutes. He runs over the flat as often as any Newmarket racehorse; both meet the same fate, as they usually terminate in a cadence; the difference is—one is driven by the whip-hand, the other by the bow-arm; one deals in stakado, the other in staccato. As a thoroughbred hound discovers, by instinct, his game from all other animals, so an experienced musician feels the compositions of Handel or Corelli.—Yours, TIMOTHY CATGUT, Stamford."—Monthly Mirror.

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

The following interesting account of this marvellous composition was given by Tartini to M. de Lalande, the celebrated astronomer:—

"One night in the year 1713, I dreamed that I had made a compact with his Satanic Majesty, by which he was received into my service. Everything succeeded to the utmost of my desire, and my every wish was anticipated by this my new domestic. I thought that on taking up my Violin to practise, I jocosely asked him if he could play on that instrument. He answered that he believed he was able to pick out a tune; and then, to my astonishment, began to play a sonata, so strange and yet so beautiful, and executed in so masterly a manner, that I had never in my life heard anything so exquisite. So great was my amazement that I could scarcely breathe. Awakened by the violent emotion, I instantly seized my Violin, in the hope of being able to catch some part of the ravishing melody which I had just heard, but all in vain. The piece which I composed according to my scattered recollection is, it is true, the best of my works. I have called it the 'Sonata del Diavolo,' but it is so far inferior to the one I heard in my dream, that I should have dashed my Violin into a thousand pieces, and given up music for ever, had it been possible to deprive myself of the enjoyments which I derive from it."



In the "Reminiscences of Michael Kelly" we are told that in the year 1779 Kelly was at Florence, and that he was present at a concert given at the residence of Lord Cowper, where, he says, he had "the gratification of hearing a sonata on the Violin played by the great Nardini; though very far advanced in years, he played divinely. Lord Cowper requested him to play the popular sonata, composed by his master, Tartini, called the 'Devil's Sonata.' Mr. Jackson, an English gentleman present, asked Nardini whether the anecdote relative to this piece of music was true. Nardini answered that 'he had frequently heard Tartini relate the circumstance,' and at once gave an account of the composition, in accordance with that furnished by M. de Lalande."

DR. JOHNSON AND THE VIOLIN.

"Dr. Johnson was observed by a musical friend of his to be extremely inattentive at a concert, whilst a celebrated solo-player was running up the divisions and sub-divisions of notes upon his Violin. His friend, to induce him to take greater notice of what was going on, told him how extremely difficult it was. 'Difficult do you call it, sir?' replied the Doctor; 'I wish it were impossible.'"—Seward's "Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson."

"In the evening our gentleman farmer and two others entertained themselves and the company with a great number of tunes on the Fiddle. Johnson desired to have 'Let ambition fire thy mind' played over again, and appeared to give a patient attention to it; though he owned to me that he was very insensible to the power of music. I told him that it affected me to such a degree, as often to agitate my nerves painfully, producing in my mind alternate sensations of pathetic dejection, so that I was ready to shed tears; and of daring resolution, so that I was inclined to rush into the thickest part of the battle. 'Sir,' said he, 'I should never hear it if it made me such a fool.'"—Boswell's "Life of Johnson."

DR. JOHNSON ON THE DIFFICULTY OF PLAYING THE FIDDLE.

"Goldsmith: 'I spoke of Mr. Harris, of Salisbury, as being a very learned man, and in particular an eminent Grecian.'

"Johnson: 'I am not sure of that. His friends give him out as such, but I know not who of his friends are able to judge of it.'

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

"Johnson: 'Nay, sir, that is not to the purpose of our argument; that will as much prove that he can play upon the Fiddle as well as Giardini, as that he is an eminent Grecian.'

"Goldsmith: 'The greatest musical performers have but small emoluments; Giardini, I am told, does not get above seven hundred a year.'

"Johnson: 'That is indeed but little for a man to get, who does best that which so many endeavour to do. There is nothing, I think, in which the power of art is shown so much as in playing on the Fiddle. In all other things we can do something at first; any man will forge a bar of iron if you give him a hammer; not so well as a smith, but tolerably; and make a box, though a clumsy one; but give him a Fiddle and a Fiddlestick, and he can do nothing.'"—Boswell's "Life of Johnson."

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

Johnson and Garrick were sitting together, when among other things Garrick repeated an epitaph upon Phillips, by a Dr. Wilkes, which was very commonplace, and Johnson said to Garrick, "I think, Davy, I can make a better." Then, stirring about his tea for a little while in a state of meditation, he, almost extempore, produced the following verses:—

"Phillips, whose touch harmonious could remove The pangs of guilty power or hapless love; Rest here, distress'd by poverty no more; Here find that calm thou gav'st so oft before; Sleep undisturbed within this peaceful shrine, Till angels wake thee with a note like thine!"

Boswell says, "Mr. Garrick appears not to have recited the verses correctly, the original being as follows. One of the various readings is remarkable, and it is the germ of Johnson's concluding line:—

"Exalted soul, thy various sounds could please The love-sick virgin, and the gouty ease; Could jarring crowds, like old Amphion, move To beauteous order and harmonious love; Rest here in peace, till angels bid thee rise, And meet thy Saviour's concert in the skies."

Boswell's "Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides" contains the author's letter to Garrick asking him to send the "bad verses which led Johnson to make his fine verses on Phillips the musician." Garrick replied, enclosing the desired epitaph.

Boswell remarks, "This epitaph is so exquisitely beautiful that I remember even Lord Kames, strangely prejudiced as he was against Dr. Johnson, was compelled to allow it very high praise. It has been ascribed to Garrick, from its appearing at first with the signature G.; but I heard Mr. Garrick declare that it was written by Dr. Johnson."

The epitaph of Phillips is in the porch of Wolverhampton Church. The prose part of it is curious:—

Near this place lies Charles Claudius Phillips, Whose absolute contempt of riches, and inimitable performances upon the Violin, made him the admiration of all that knew him. He was born in Wales, made the tour of Europe, and, after the experience of both kinds of fortune, Died in 1732.

DR. JOHNSON'S KNOWLEDGE OF MUSIC.

He said he knew "a drum from a trumpet, and a bagpipe from a guitar, which was about the extent of his knowledge of music." He further tells us that "if he had learnt music he should have been afraid he should have done nothing else but play. It was a method of employing the mind, without the labour of thinking at all, and with some applause from a man's self." These remarks are better appraised and understood when we bear in mind Dr. Johnson's own estimate of his musical knowledge together with his having derived pleasure from listening to the sounds of the bagpipes. If a performance on those droning instruments was in the Doctor's mind when he said that the reflective powers need not be exercised in performing on a musical instrument, there might be some truth in the observation. The labour of thinking, however, cannot be dispensed with in connection with playing most musical instruments, and least of all the Violin.

DR. JOHNSON ON FIDDLING AND FREE WILL.

"Johnson: 'Moral evil is occasioned by free will, which implies choice between good and evil. With all the evil that there is, there is no man but would rather be a free agent, than a mere machine without the evil; and what is best for each individual must be best for the whole. If a man would rather be the machine, I cannot argue with him. He is a different being from me.'

"Boswell: 'A man, as a machine, may have agreeable sensations; for instance, he may have pleasure in music.'

"Johnson: 'No, sir, he cannot have pleasure in music; at least no power of producing music; for he who can produce music may let it alone; he who can play upon a Fiddle may break it: such a man is not a machine.'"—"Tour to the Hebrides."

HAYDN IN LONDON.—A "SWEET STRADIVARI." (BY PERMISSION OF MR. JOHN MURRAY.)

The following extracts, taken from "A Country Clergyman of the Eighteenth Century," a pleasant and entertaining book (consisting of selections from the correspondence of the Rev. Thomas Twining, M.A.), cannot fail to interest the reader. The Rev. Thomas Twining was born in 1735. He was an excellent musician, both in theory and practice, and a lover of the Violin. He had collected much valuable information with regard to music, with a view to writing a history of the subject. Upon learning that Dr. Burney was engaged on his History of Music, he not only generously placed his valuable notes at the service of the Doctor, but revised the manuscript of his friend's History. Dr. Burney, in the preface of his work, says: "In order to satisfy the sentiments of friendship, as well as those of gratitude, I must publicly acknowledge my obligations to the zeal, intelligence, taste, and erudition of the Rev. Mr. Twining, a gentleman whose least merit is being perfectly acquainted with every branch of theoretical and practical music."

The publication of the volume containing the interesting correspondence between Dr. Burney and his friend not only serves to enlighten us relative to the substantial aid given to our musical historian, but also makes us acquainted with an English eighteenth century amateur and votary of the Fiddle of singular ability and rare humility:—

"COLCHESTER, February 15, 1791.

"To DR. BURNEY,—

"... And now, my dear friend, let's draw our stools together, and have some fun. Is it possible we can help talking of Haydn first? How do you like him? What does he say? What does he do? What does he play upon? How does he play?... The papers say he has been bowed to by whole orchestras when he has appeared at the play-houses. Is he about anything in the way of composition? Come, come! I'll pester you no more with interrogations; but trust to your generosity to gratify my ardent curiosity in your own way. I have just—and I am ashamed to say but just—sent for his 'Stabat Mater.' Fisin[10] told me some quartetts had, not long ago, been published by him. He has written so much that I cannot help fearing he will soon have written himself dry. If the resources of any human composer could be inexhaustible, I should suppose Haydn's would; but as, after all, he is but mortal, I am afraid he must soon get to the bottom of his genius-box. My friend Mr. Tindal is come to settle (for the present at least) in this neighbourhood. He is going to succeed me in the curacy of Fordham. He plays the Fiddle well, the Harpsichord well, the Violoncello well. Now, sir, when I say 'well,' I can't be supposed to mean the wellness that one should predicate of a professor who makes the instrument his study; but that he plays in a very ungentlemanlike manner, exactly in time and tune, with taste, accent, and meaning, and the true sense of what he plays; and, upon the Violoncello, he has execution sufficient to play Boccherini's quintettos, at least what may be called very decently. But ask Fisin, he will tell you about our Fiddling, and vouch for our decency at least. I saw in one of the public prints an insinuation that Haydn, upon his arrival in London, had detected some forgeries, some things published in his name that were not done by him. Is that true? It does not seem very unlikely."

[Footnote 10: James Fisin was born in Colchester; was intimate with Dr. Burney, and well known as a Professor of Music.]

. . . . .

Haydn left Vienna December 15, 1790, and arrived with Salomon in London on New Year's Day, 1791. The Rev. Thomas Twining's interrogations addressed to Dr. Burney respecting him were therefore made but a few weeks after Haydn's first arrival in England. Between the months of January and May much had been seen and heard of Haydn, information of which Dr. Burney gave to his friend, as seen in the following letter:—

"COLCHESTER, May 4, 1791.

"To DR. BURNEY,—

"How good it was of you to gratify me with another canto of the 'Haydniad'! It is all most interesting to me. I don't know anything—any musical thing—that would delight me so much as to meet him in a snug quartett party, and hear his manner of playing his own music. If you can bring about such a thing while I am in town, either at Chelsea, or at Mr. Burney's, or at Mr. Salomon's, or I care not where—if it were even in the Black Hole at Calcutta (if it is a good hole for music)—I say, if by hook or crook you could manage such a thing, you should be my Magnus Apollo for the rest of your life. I mention Salomon because we are a little acquainted. He has twice asked me to call upon him, and I certainly will do it when I come to town. I want to hear more of his playing; and I seem, from the little I have seen of him, to like the man. I know not how it is, but I really receive more musical pleasure from such private cameranious Fiddlings and singings, and keyed instrument playings, than from all the appret of public and crowded performances.

"I have lately had a sort of Fiddle mania upon me, brought on by trying and comparing different Stainers and Cremonas, &c. I believe I have got possession of a sweet Stradivari, which I play upon with much more pleasure than my Stainer, partly because the tone is sweeter, mellower, rounder, and partly because the stop is longer. My Stainer is undersized, and on that account less valuable, though the tone is as bright, piercing, and full, as of any Stainer I ever heard. Yet, when I take it up after the Stradivari it sets my teeth on edge. The tone comes out plump, all at once. There is a comfortable reserve of tone in the Stradivari, and it bears pressure; and you may draw upon it for almost as much tone as you please. I think I shall bring it to town with me, and then you shall hear it. 'Tis a battered, shattered, cracky, resinous old blackguard; but if every bow that ever crossed its strings from its birth had been sugared instead of resined, more sweetness could not come out of its belly. Addio, and ever pardon my sins of infirmity.

"Yours truly, "T. T."

GAINSBOROUGH AS A MUSICIAN.

William Jackson, organist of Exeter Cathedral, was intimate with Gainsborough, and besides being a thorough musician, painted with ability. He was also the author of many essays. In one of these he makes us acquainted with the character of Gainsborough's musical abilities. He says, "In the early part of my life I became acquainted with Thomas Gainsborough, the painter, and as his character was perhaps better known to me than to any other person, I will endeavour to divest myself of every partiality, and speak of him as he really was. Gainsborough's profession was painting, and music was his amusement—yet, there were times when music seemed to be his employment, and painting his diversion.

"When I first knew him he lived at Bath, where Giardini had been exhibiting his then unrivalled powers on the Violin. His excellent performance made Gainsborough enamoured of that instrument; and conceiving, like the servant-maid in the Spectator, that the music lay in the Fiddle, he was frantic until he possessed the very instrument which had given him so much pleasure—but seemed much surprised that the music of it remained behind with Giardini. He had scarcely recovered this shock (for it was a great one to him) when he heard Abel on the Viol da Gamba. The Violin was hung on the willow; Abel's Viol da Gamba was purchased, and the house resounded with melodious thirds and fifths from 'morn to dewy eve!' Many an Adagio and many a Minuet were begun, but none completed; this was wonderful, as it was Abel's own instrument, and, therefore, ought to have produced Abel's own music!

"Fortunately my friend's passion had now a fresh object—Fischer's Hautboy[11]—but I do not recollect that he deprived Fischer of his instrument; and though he procured a Hautboy, I never heard him make the least attempt on it. The next time I saw Gainsborough it was in the character of King David. He had heard a Harper at Bath—the performer was soon Harpless—and now Fischer, Abel, and Giardini were all forgotten—there was nothing like chords and arpeggios! He really stuck to the Harp long enough to play several airs with variations, and would nearly have exhausted all the pieces usually performed on an instrument incapable of modulation (this was not a pedal Harp), when another visit from Abel brought him back to the Viol da Gamba. He now saw the imperfection of sudden sounds that instantly die away—if you wanted staccato, it was to be had by a proper management of the bow, and you might also have notes as long as you please. The Viol da Gamba is the only instrument, and Abel the prince of musicians! This, and occasionally a little flirtation with the Fiddle, continued some years; when, as ill-luck would have it, he heard Crosdill, but by some irregularity of conduct he neither took up nor bought the Violoncello. All his passion for the Bass was vented in descriptions of Crosdill's tone and bowing."