The Violin
by George Dubourg · English · Gutenberg #40289 · 774,978 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Violin
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: The Violin
Author: George Dubourg
Release date: July 21, 2012 [eBook #40289]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40289
Credits: E-text prepared by Linda Cantoni, Turgut Dincer, Bryan Ness, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by the Google Books Library Project (http://books.google.com)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VIOLIN ***
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 40289-h.htm or 40289-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/40289/pg40289-images.html)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/files/40289/40289-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
the the Google Books Library Project. See
http://books.google.com/books?vid=7y0DAAAAQAAJ&id
Transcriber's note:
Unmatched double quotation marks appear as they did in
the original book.
THE VIOLIN:
Some Account of That Leading Instrument, and Its Most
Eminent Professors, from Its Earliest Date to the
Present Time; with Hints to Amateurs, Anecdotes, etc.
by
GEORGE DUBOURG.
FOURTH EDITION,
Revised and Considerably Enlarged.
LONDON:
Robert Cocks and Co.
Publishers to the Queen,
New Burlington Street;
Simpkin, Marshall and Co. Stationers'-Hall Court.
MDCCCLII.
London:
Printed by J. Mallett,
Wardour Street.
PREFACE
TO THE PRESENT EDITION.
After a lapse of nearly sixteen years since this little work first
appeared in print, I have been called upon to prepare it anew for the
press, incorporating with it the additional matter necessary for the
extension of the subject to the present time.
My new readers may like to know, at the outset, what is the intended
scope of the following pages. This is soon explained. My object has been
to present to the cultivators of the Violin, whether students or
proficients, such a sketch (however slight) of the rise and progress of
that instrument, accompanied with particulars concerning its more
prominent professors, and with incidental anecdotes, as might help to
enliven their interest in it, and a little to enlarge what may be called
their _circumstantial_ acquaintance with it. This humble object has not
been altogether, I trust, without its accomplishment;—and here, while
commending my renovated manual to the indulgent notice of the now
happily increasing community of violin votaries, I would not forget to
acknowledge, gratefully, the liberal and generous appreciation with
which, when it first ventured forth, it was met by the public press, and
introduced into musical society.
G. D.
_Brighton, August, 1852._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
ORIGIN AND EARLY HISTORY OF THE VIOLIN.
The Fiddle Family—the Epigonion—the Semicon—the Plectrum—the
Magadis and Sambuce—Orpheus and the lyre—the Plectrum an implement
of percussion, not a bow—the Egyptian Chelys—Orpheus at
Versailles—the fidicula of the Latin Dictionary—Welch claims—Crowd
and Crowder—Instrument of the Saxon Glee-men—Strutt’s sports and
pastimes—Italy—Successive stages of the invention—the
Sounding-board—the neck—the bow—the Rebec—the viol—conversion of
the viol into the violin—the tenor viol, &c.—chest of
viols—Cremona fiddles—Hieronymus Amati—Galilei’s dialogues—claim
of the Neapolitans—violins and organs in Verona in 1580—Corelli’s
Violin, and Annibale Caracci—Piccoli Violini alla
Francese—Monteverdi’s _Orfeo_—Mersennus—the Barbiton—the Kit—the
Musurgia of Luscinius—the Rebec and Viol-di-Gamba—Violars
accompanying the troubadours—Saxon word Fidle, German Videl,
Icelandic Fidla, &c.—Fythelers of the old English romances—passage
from the Life of St. Christopher—Chaucer and the Canterbury
Tales—Absolon, the parish clerk—the ribible—the violin in low
esteem before the Restoration—minstrels included among rogues,
vagabonds, and sturdy beggars—Percy’s reliques—King of the
minstrels—Butler’s Hudibras—Crowdero—France—sculptures on the
portal of Notre Dame, in Paris—the Decameron—Michele Todini—the
first to introduce the Double Bass—Arms of the Town of
Alzei—Inhabitants called Fiddlers—Cushion Dance described—Hone’s
table book—Miss Hutton’s Oakwood Hall—Punch and the fiddler—‘a
regularly educated Zany’—Purcell’s catches—Epigram upon Young,
father and son—Anthony à Wood’s Autobiography—the Restoration
favourable to music—the Violin introduced at Court—Matthew Lock,
master to the Court band—Cambert, Lulli’s predecessor—the music of
the drama: act tunes—arrival of Nicolo Matteis—first
music-engraving in England—‘Musick’s Monument,’ and Thomas
Mace.—_pp. 1, et seq._
CHAPTER II.
THE ITALIAN SCHOOL.
The Italians the first to develope the powers of the violin—the
old and modern schools—BALTAZARINI the early violin
player—GIUSEPPE GUAMI—AGOSTINO AGGAZZARI introduced instrumental
concertos into churches—CARLO FARINA—MICHAEL-ANGELO
ROSSI—GIAMBATTISTA BASSANI—violin master of Corelli—
TORELLI—VALENTINI—ARCANGELO CORELLI—Lulli’s jealousy of
him—publishes his first twelve sonatas—his solos—becomes
acquainted with Handel—visits Naples—anecdotes—sickens and
dies—anniversary performance in the Pantheon—his private
character—anecdotes—his will—contemporary performers—DON ANTONIO
VIVALDI—FRANCESCO GEMINIANI—visits Naples—comes to England—visits
Ireland—his death in Dublin—his character—anecdotes—LORENZO
SOMIS—his Suonate printed at Rome in 1722—STEPHANO
CARBONELLI—resides with the Duke of Rutland—leads the opera-band,
&c.—becomes a wine-importer—dies in 1772—epigram—PIETRO
LOCATELLI—Arte di nuova modulazione—dies in 1764—GIUSEPPE
TARTINI—marries, and is discarded by his family—settles at
Venice—his appointment at the church of St. Anthony of Padua—his
Suonate and Concerti—his Adagios—dies at Padua—the Devil’s
sonata—the dream—a legend in verse—FRANCESCO MARIA VERACINI, the
younger—anecdotes—an excellent contrapuntist—PIETRO NARDINI—a
favourite pupil of Tartini—visits Tartini in his last
illness—Thomas Linley one of his pupils—LUIGI BOCCHERINI—settles
in Spain—dies at Madrid in 1806—his compositions—FELICE
GIARDINI—studies at Milan and Turin—visits Rome and Naples—arrives
in London—visits St. Petersburg, and dies at Moscow—his
character—ANTONIO LOLLI—dies at Naples—anecdote—GAETANO
PUGNANI—founds a school at Turin—his style—his
compositions—anecdotes—dies at Turin—GIOVANNI MANE GIORNOVICHI
(_Jarnowick_) pupil of Lolli—loses his popularity—dies of
apoplexy—anecdotes—GIOVANNI BATTISTA VIOTTI—eclipses
Giornovichi—quits public life—anecdotes—ordered to quit
England—embarks in the wine trade—loses his fortune—proceeds to
Paris—retires on a pension—dies in England in 1824—his character
and compositions—FRANCESCO VACCARI—his early proficiency—performs
in England—MASONI—leaves Italy for South America—goes to
India—visits England, 1834—an invitation in rhyme—SPAGNOLETTI—his
enthusiasm—his liberality—his quarrel with Ambrogetti.—_pp. 37, et seq._
CHAPTER III.
PAGANINI.
Birth and parentage—surmises and false rumours—his early
education—his public début at Genoa—begins to travel on his own
account—his father’s rapacity—youthful excesses—a bidding for his
violin—renounces gaming—his favorite Guarnerius—enters the service
of the Princess of Parma—origin of his performances on one and two
strings—follows the Princess to Florence—his intense
application—his “Studies”—revisits Leghorn—anecdote—visits Turin
and Ferrara—attacked with disease—the story of his uniform—his
friendship with Rossini—contends with Lafont—remarks of M. Fétis
and others—Paganini’s tribute to the excellence of Louis
Spohr—gives two concerts at Pavia—remarkable announcement—invited
to Vienna in 1828, by Prince Metternich—the Pope confers on him
the order of the Golden Fleece—Mayseder’s despair—absurd and
injurious rumours—Paganini’s manifesto—his great popularity at
Vienna—concert for the benefit of the poor—anecdotes—visits
Prague, Dresden, Berlin, and Warsaw—opinions of the Berlin
journalists—declines to compete with Praun—epigram—visits
Frankfort—mimicked on the stage—goes to Paris—description of
Paganini’s performance from _La Globe, (with cuts)_—attempts to
explain his method—M. Guhr’s Treatise—manner of tuning the
instrument—management of the bow—use of the left
hand—harmonics—double effects—Paganini’s wonderful gains—his
letter to the _Révue Musicale_—what occurred at Padua—the devil
seen at his elbow—foundation of the rumours—comes to
England—quotation from the “Athenæum”—stringing a gridiron—raising
the prices of admission—the Claqueurs—his first English
concert—Mr. Gardner’s description—quotations—Mori’s joke and
Cramer’s thankfulness—harmonic notes and staccato runs—farewell
concert—revisits Italy—purchases the Villa Gajona—proposes to
publish—decorated by Maria Louisa—want of health—gambling
speculation—serious illness—his last moments at Nice—his son
Achilles—his burial refused—superstitious rumours—his
will—bequeaths his favorite violin to the city of Genoa—his
personal habits and peculiarities—his mode of travelling—his
habits at home—his desire of repose—anecdote of an
amateur—Paganini’s slender general knowledge—his projects—mistrust
of friends—his visitors—invitations—habits in company—aversion to
light—recollection of names—preparation for a
concert—rehearsal—his physical conformation—his influence on the
art—a “farewell”—his compositions—critical remarks of M.
Fétis—conclusion.—_pp. 110, et seq._
CHAPTER IV.
THE FRENCH SCHOOL.
Italian and French Schools compared—state of instrumental
performance at the present time—style of Kreutzer, Rode, Baillot,
and Lafont—the _Conservatoire de Musique_—its origin and
effects—epigram—BALTAZARINI (M. de Beaujoyeux)—JEAN BAPTISTE DE
LULLY—becomes scullion to Mdlle. de Montpensier—elevated to the
rank of Court Musician—his career at Court—Louis the Fourteenth’s
taste in music—the establishment of an Opera—Lulli’s Te Deum for
the King’s recovery—an accident—his death—anecdote of his last
score—his style—JEAN MARIE LE CLAIR (Lecler)—born at Lyons—style
deviating from the Italian school—appointed Symphonist to Louis
XV—assassinated in the streets of Paris—JEAN BAPTISTE
SENAILLÉ—goes to Italy—returns to Paris, 1719—his pupils—JEAN
PIERRE GUIGNON—his sonatas, duetts, trios, and concertos—instructs
the Dauphin—dies at Versailles—GABRIEL GUILLEMAIN—loses his
faculties and destroys himself—PIERRE GAVINIÈS—appointed Professor
at the Conservatoire—his works—FRANÇOIS JOSEPH GOSSEC—founds the
Concert of Amateurs—his symphonies—Pagin—instructed by
Tartini—jealousy of the French musicians—their revenge—PIERRE
LAHOUSSAYE—plays at the _Concert Spirituel_ when nine years
old—Pagin undertakes his instruction—goes to Italy—hears Tartini
at church—spends three years in London—appointed Professor of the
first class at the Conservatoire—PAISIBLE—makes a progress through
several parts of Europe—dies by his own hand in 1781—SIMON
LEDUC—his extant compositions—anecdote of the Chevalier St.
George—F. HIPPOLITE BARTHÉLÉMON—serves as a midshipman—comes to
England—engaged at Vauxhall—MONDONVILLE, and others—Viotti’s
influence on the French School—CASTELS DE LABARRE—_premier violon_
at the Théâtre François—VACHER—pupil of Viotti—performs at the
Vaudeville Theatre, &c.—PIERRE RODE—shipwrecked on the English
coast—obliged to quit England—appointed Professor of the Violin at
the Conservatoire—travels—his death from paralysis in 1830— M.
Fétis on his style—RODOLPHE KREUTZER—his mode of instruction—dies
at Geneva—his compositions—CHARLES PHILIPPE LAFONT—appears at
Paris as a vocalist—studies under Kreutzer and Rode—his residence
at St. Petersburg—his contest with Paganini—PIERRE
BAILLOT—Professor at the Conservatory—his System for the
violoncello—ALEXANDRE JEAN BOUCHER—his likeness to
Napoleon—LIBON—first violinist to the Empress Josephine, to Marie
Louise, and to Charles X—BELLON—his performance at the
Philharmonic Concert—FRANÇOIS-ANTOINE-HABENECK—appointed Director
of the Opera, and Inspector General of the Conservatoire—M.
TOLBECQUE and his brother—PROSPER SAINTON—admitted Bachelor of
Letters—enters the Conservatory—appears at the Philharmonic
Concerts in London—Belgian Artists—CHARLES AUGUSTE DE BÉRIOT—early
development—visits England—his marriage with
Malibran—anecdotes—HENRI VIEUXTEMPS—his success at Vienna, &c.—his
sojourn at St. Petersburg—crosses the Atlantic—JOSEPH ARTOT—pupil
of the Kreutzers.—_pp. 176, et seq._
CHAPTER V.
THE GERMAN SCHOOL.
The Schools of Germany, Italy, and France, compared—early
performers—DAVID FUNK—a capital performer and general scholar—the
irregularity of his life—his visit to the Castle of Schleitz—found
dead—THOMAS BALTZAR—first taught the _whole shift_ in
England—buried in Westminster Abbey—HENRY JOHN FRANCIS BIBER—his
solos—GODFREY FINGER—his style—Chapel-Master to King James II—JOHN
GOTTLIEB GRAUN—Concert-Master to the King of Prussia—FRANCIS
BENDA—acquaintance with the Hebrew, Löbel—engaged by the Prince
Royal of Prussia—JOHN STAMITZ—his works—LEOPOLD MOZART—appointed
_Valet-de-Chambre Musicien_—publishes his “Method” for the
Violin—travels with his son and daughter—his symphonies—WILLIAM
CRAMER—leads at the Commemoration of Handel—succeeded at the Opera
by Viotti—his two sons—TASSENBERG—JOHN PETER SALOMON—his concerts
in 1791—treaty with Mozart—engagement with Haydn—his compositions,
&c.—his pupil Pinto—CHARLES STAMITZ—JOHN FREDERICK ECK—ANDREAS and
BERNARD ROMBERG—their works—FRANÇOIS CRAMER—his character as a
leader—FRIEDRICH ERNST FESCA—his quartetts—CHRISTOPH GOTTFRIED
KIESEWETTER—his last performances at Leicester—LOUIS
SPOHR—patronized by the Duke of Brunswick—travels—becomes
Concert-Master, &c. to the Duke of Saxe Gotha—visits England in
1820—his style criticised—the Norwich Musical Festival in 1839—his
“Violin-Schule”—his compositions—CHARLES WILLIAM FERDINAND
GUHR—his work on Paganini’s mode of playing—JOSEPH
MAYSEDER—BERNHARD MOLIQUE—his appointments—his reception in
Paris—his compositions—ERNST-OLE BULL, the Norwegian artist—his
arrival in Paris during the prevalence of the cholera—his life and
history—gives a concert—his successes detailed—his style—The
BROTHERS LABITSKY.—_pp. 222, et seq._
CHAPTER VI.
THE ENGLISH SCHOOL.
State of the musical art in England—Purcell’s Sonatas and
Trios—JOHN BANISTER—DAVIS MELL—described by Anthony à Wood—Sonatas
published by John Jenkins—history of JOHN BANISTER the elder—JOHN
BANISTER, jun.—OBADIAH SHUTTLEWORTH—HENRY ECCLES—assisted in the
second part of the “Division Violin”—Purcell’s Airs composed for
the Theatre—the arrival of Geminiani and Veracini, forming an
epoch—WILLIAM CORBETT—resides in Rome—political suspicions—his
works—his bequest to Gresham College—MICHAEL CHRISTIAN
FESTING—founds the Royal Society for the support of Decayed
Musicians—succeeded by Abraham Brown—THOMAS PINTO—joint leader
with Giardini at the Opera—MATTHEW DUBOURG—pupil of
Geminiani—appointed Master and Composer of the State Music in
Ireland—instructs the Prince of Wales and the Duke of
Cumberland—his odes—his solos and concertos—his intimacy with
Handel—anecdotes—JOHN CLEGG—promoted by Handel—confined in
Bedlam—THOMAS COLLET—remarkable accident—_Francis
Hackwood_—convivial anecdotes—ABEL and the Viol-da-Gamba—RICHARD
CUDMORE—his early distinction—instances of his versatile talent—G.
F. PINTO—the victim of dissipation—THOMAS LINLEY, jun.—taught by
Dr. Boyce and Nardini—his death from the upsetting of a pleasure
boat—THOMAS COOKE—his career—anecdotes and _bon mots_—NICHOLAS
MORI—his precocious performances—becomes a Director of the
Philharmonic Concerts, and Professor at the Royal Academy of
Music—becomes affected with cerebral disease—his character and
ability—Mr. LODER, of Bath—HENRY GATTIE—ANTONIO JAMES OURY—his
early career in arms and art—marries Mdlle. Belleville, with whom
he makes the tour of Europe—his pupils—JOSEPH HAYDON BOURNE
DANDO—introduces public quartett-playing in England—music in the
City—a _jeu d’esprit_—the several Quartett Societies—HENRY C.
COOPER—EDWARD WILLIAM THOMAS—BREAM THOM—CHARLES FREDERICK
HALL—remarks on Chamber Concerts, and the Royal Academy of
Music—NEIL GOW.—_pp. 258, et seq._
CHAPTER VII.
AMATEURS.
The amateur compared with the professor—the witty DUKE of
BUCKINGHAM—a saying of Dr. Johnson’s—Dr. Cooke giving a lesson—The
BARON BACH—characteristic sketches—amateur quartett-parties—a
story, with a _mistake_!—Sir WILLIAM HAMILTON—Epigrams—on an aged
musical trifler—_Ralph Rasper_—advice to amateurs—the
scales—Corelli’s solos—Spohr’s Violin-School—no real self-taught
violinists—epigram—self-knowledge necessary—qualities necessary to
the leader of an amateur party—opera music—listening to classical
quartetts—a story—friendly advice in rhyme.—_pp. 312, et seq._
CHAPTER VIII.
FEMALE VIOLINISTS.
(_See Addendum, page 397_).
Objections to ladies playing the violin, answered—Queen ELIZABETH
and her violin—Madame MARA—her early practice on the
violin—MADDALENA LOMBARDINI SIEMEN—reprint of a letter from
Tartini to her—REGINA SCHLICK—her maiden name Sacchi—a particular
friend of Mozart—anecdote of Mozart and the Sonata in B flat
minor—LOUISE GAUTHEROT—Minerva and the flute—LUIGIA GERBINI—pupil
of Viotti—Signora PARAVICINI—patronized by the Empress
Josephine—her reverses and subsequent success—her graceful mode of
bowing—CATARINA CALCAGNO—receives instructions from
Paganini—Madame KRAHMEN—Mdlle. SCHULZ—Mdlle. ELEANORA
NEUMANN—Madame FILIPOWICZ—Horace Walpole’s visit to St. Cyr—Mrs.
SARAH OTTEY.
CHAPTER IX.
ON THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE VIOLIN.
The subject stated—Otto’s treatise—the component parts of the
violin—the _Cremonas_ and their makers—HIERONYMUS AMATI—ANTONIUS
AMATI—NICHOLAS AMATI—ANTONIUS STRADUARIUS—JOSEPH
GUARNERIUS—distinguishing characteristics of these makers—Tyrolese
instruments—JACOB STEINER—later Tyrolese makers—KLOTZ—STATELMANN,
of Vienna, and others—repairers—the principles of construction—the
bass-bar, sound post, bridge, _f_ holes, &c.—strings (called
Roman) from Milan—means of producing a smooth, clear tone—ANDREAS
AMATI—GASPAR DE SALO—GIOVANNI GRANZINO—GIOVANNI PAOLO
MAGINI—career of ANTONIO STRADIVARI, GIUSEPPE GUARNERI, and of
JACOB STEINER—notable sums offered for
instruments—imitators—RICHARD DUKE and the London makers—M.
CHANOT’S investigation into the true form of the violin—result—M.
SAVART’S experiments—M. VUILLAUME’S copies—his adventures in
search of materials—copies Paganini’s Guarnerius—his
probity—specimens at the Great Exhibition of All
Nations—construction of bows—Beware of Vampers!—_pp. 341, et seq._
CHAPTER X.
MISCELLANEOUS ANECDOTES, COLLECTED SCRAPS, ECCENTRIC VARIETIES,
&C.
Characteristics of the fiddle species—a caricature
repudiated—ambition let down—a new resource in difficulty—a
prejudice overcome—fifty years’ fiddling—another fifty years of
it—glory made out of shame—discrimination—the Cremona fiddle—an
apt quotation—the leading instrument victorious—sending for
time-keepers—musical exaction—a device for a dinner—a ‘practising’
coachman—a footman to match—a royal ‘whereabout’—precocious
performers—fiddlers’ tricks—eccentric varieties of the violin
kind—the fiddle of Ireland—of Tartary—African fiddle—Greek
fiddle—an eight-stringed violin—an intermediate
instrument—something _more_ than a violin—an air violin—automaton
violinist—the street-fiddler—epigrams.—_pp. 364, et seq._
THE VIOLIN,
ETC.
CHAPTER I.
ORIGINAL AND EARLY HISTORY OF THE VIOLIN.
First seat him somewhere, and derive his race.—DRYDEN.
The Fiddle Family, like other tribes that have succeeded in making a
noise in the world, has given exercise to the ingenuity of learned
theorists and time-seekers, who have laboured to discover for it an
origin as remote from our own era, as it is, I fear, from any kind of
truth. It has probably been conceived that the Fiddle, associated as he
has been, from generation to generation, with jigs, country-dances,
fairs, junketings and other rusticities, had descended too low in the
scale of society—that he had rendered himself, as Shakspeare for a while
did his own genius, “stale and cheap to vulgar company”—and that he
required to be reminded of his primitive dignity, and of his very high
ancestral derivation—if he _had any_. This latter point was of course to
be first established; but, as your zealous antiquary is a wholesale
dealer in time, and is never at a loss for a few centuries to link his
conjectures to, the matter was easy enough; indeed, the more doubtful,
the better, since doubt is the very life of theory. Accordingly, we have
been invited to fall back upon “the ancients,” and to recognize the
_Epigonion_ as the dignified and classic prototype of our merry and
somewhat lax little friend, the Fiddle. To certain ancient Greek tablets
relative to music, which have been somewhere brought to light, Professor
Murchard has minutely assigned the date of 709 years before the
Christian era; and the following passage, Englished from his
translation, is stoutly alleged by the antiquarian advocates of the
glories of the violin race:—“But Pherekydes began the contest, and sat
himself down before all the people, and played the _Epigonion_;—for he
had improved the same; and he stretched four strings over a small piece
of wood, and played on them with a smooth stick. But the strings sounded
so, that the people shouted with joy.”
This is plausible enough, but far from conclusive. It is but the outline
of a description, and admits of various modes of filling up. _If_ the
instrument partook _at all_ of the violin character, it might seem, from
the reference which its name bears to the _knees_, to have been the rude
progenitor of either the double-bass or the violoncello, which have
both, as is well known, their official post between the knees: but then,
the prefix of ἐπί would denote that it was played _upon_ the knees of
the artist. “Very well,” says the antiquarian; “it was a fiddle
_reversed_.” “Nay, Dr. Dryasdust, if you yourself _overturn_ what you
are about, I have no need to say more.” _Au reste_, let any body stretch
four strings over a small piece of wood, and play on them with a smooth
stick, and then take account of what it comes to. No, no; whatever the
_Epigonion_ may have been to the Greeks, he is nothing to _us_: he may
have been a respectable individual of the musical genus of _his_ day,
when people blew a shell or a reed, and called it music; but we cannot
for a moment receive him as the patriarch of the Fiddle Family. As soon
should we think of setting up Pherekydes against Paganini.
Dismissing the Epigonion, we come to the _Semicon_, another pretender of
Greek origin. This also, we are farther told, was a _kind of violin_:
but we deny that he was father to the _violin kind_. The Semicon is said
to have been played on with a bow; and yet a learned German (Koch), in
the fulness of his determination to have _strings_ enough to his bow,
has claimed no less than thirty-five, as the complement of the Semicon.
How could any bow pay its devoirs distinctly to thirty-five strings?
Here, then, the dilemma is this: either to translate the thing in
question into a _bow_ is to _traduce_ the term, or else the _strings_
are an impertinence. _Utrum horum mavis, accipe._
If the word _plectrum_ could, by any ingenuity, be established to mean
_a bow_, quotations enough might be accumulated to prove that
instruments played with bows had their origin in a very remote period.
But the translation of the word into _a bow, or such like thing_, as we
find it in the Dictionaries, arises simply from the want of a known
equivalent—a deficiency which makes it necessary to adopt any term that
offers even the shadow of a synonym.
It has been stated, on the authority of a passage from Euphorion’s book
on the Isthmian Games, that there was an ancient instrument called
_magadis_, which was surrounded by strings; that it was placed upon a
pivot, upon which it turned, whilst the performer touched it with _the
bow_ (or, at least, the _plectrum_); and that this instrument afterwards
received the name of _sambuce_.
The hieroglyphics of Peter Valerian, page 628, chap. 4, present the
figure of a muse, holding, in her right hand, a kind of bass or
contra-violin, the form of which is not _very_ unlike that of our
violins or basses.
Philostratus, moreover, who taught at Athens, during the reign of Nero,
gives a description of the lyre, which has been thus translated:—
“Orpheus,” he says, “supported the lyre against his left leg, whilst he
beat time by striking his foot upon the ground; in his right hand he
held _the bow_, which he drew across the strings, turning his wrist
slightly inwards. He touched the strings with the fingers of his left
hand, keeping the knuckles perfectly straight.”
From this description (if _bow_ it could be called, which bow was none),
it would appear as if the lyre to which Philostratus alludes were,
forsooth, the same instrument which the moderns call the
_contra-violin_, or _viola di gamba_! To settle the matter thus,
however, would be _indeed_ to beg the question.
As before observed, the word _plectrum_ is, in the dictionaries,
translated by _bow_; but, even if this were a warranted rendering of the
word, it remains to be ascertained not only whether the bows of the
ancients were of a form and nature corresponding with ours, but also
whether they were used in the modern _way_. Did the ancients strike
their bow upon the strings of the instrument—or did they draw forth the
sound by means of friction? These questions are still undecided; but
opinions preponderate greatly in favor of the belief that the plectrum
was an implement of _percussion_, and therefore not at all a bow, in our
sense.
A recent French writer, Monsieur C. Desmarais, in an ingenious inquiry
into the Archology of the Violin, takes us back to the ancient
Egyptians, to whom he assigns the primitive violin, under the name of
the _chélys_, and suggests that its _form_ must have resulted from a
studious inspection of one of the heavenly constellations!
M. Baillot, in his Introduction to the _Méthode de Violon du
Conservatoire_, speculating on the origin of the instrument, has a
passage which, in English, runs thus:—
“It is presumed to have been known from the remotest times. On ancient
medals, we behold Apollo represented as playing upon an instrument with
three strings, similar to the violin. Whether it be to the God of
Harmony that we should attribute the invention of this instrument, or
whether it claim some other origin, we cannot deny to it somewhat that
is divine.
“The form of the violin bears a considerable affinity to that of the
lyre, and thus favors the impression of its being no other than a lyre
brought to perfection, so as to unite, with the facilities of
modulation, the important advantage of expressing prolonged sounds—an
advantage which was not possessed by the lyre.”
This is pretty and fanciful, but far too vague to be at all
satisfactory. Apollo might appear to play on an instrument, in which
antiquarian ingenuity might discover some latent resemblance to the
violin; but where was his _bow_? M. Baillot has not ventured to assert
that he had one—and we may safely conclude that he had _not_, if we
except the bow that was his admitted attribute. As for the affinity to
the lyre, it is indeed as faint as the most determined genealogist,
studious of an exercise, could wish.
It has been remarked, by some curious observer, that, among the range
of statues at the head of the canal at Versailles, an Orpheus is seen
(known by the three-headed dog that barks between his legs), to whom the
sculptor has given _a violin_, upon which he appears scraping away with
all the furor of a blind itinerant. But is the statue, or its original,
an antique? We may rest in safe assurance that it is a modern-antique;
as much so, as the ingenious figment of Nero’s _fiddling_ a capriccio to
the roaring accompaniment of the flames of Rome!
As for the _fidicula_ of the Romans (or rather, of the Latin
Dictionary), it is evidently, as far as it has been made to apply to the
fiddle, no legitimate family name. The _violin_ very positively disowns
all relationship with it, and leaves it to settle its claims with the
_guitar_.
As far as the _mere name_ goes, however, it is not impossible that a
connection may exist, and that the word-hunting Skinner may be right in
deriving the Anglo-Saxon word _fithele_ from the older German _vedel_,
and thence from the Latin _fidicula_, which, it is hardly necessary to
state, was any thing but a fiddle, and therefore “had no business” to
lend its appellation in the way here noticed.
On the whole, as regards the pretensions alleged on the side of the
ancients for the honor of having had the violin in existence among them,
it may be safely remarked, that, if nothing like the _bow_, which is
obviously connected most essentially with the expression and character
of the violin, can be traced to their days, the violin itself, _à
fortiori_, cannot be said to have belonged to them; and all those
questionable shapes which have been speculatively put forward as
possible fiddles, must be thrown back again into the field of
antiquarian conjecture, to await some other appropriation. The
following remarks by Dr. Burney may be taken as a fair summary of all
that needs to be observed on this head:
“The ancients seem to have been wholly unacquainted with one of the
principal expedients for producing sound from the strings of modern
instruments: this is the _bow_. It has long been a dispute among the
learned whether the violin, or any instrument of that kind, as now
played with a _bow_, was known to the ancients. The little figure of
Apollo, playing on a kind of violin, with something _like_ a bow, in the
Grand Duke’s _Tribuna_ at Florence, which Mr. Addison and others
supposed to be antique, has been proved to be _modern_ by the Abbé
Winkelmann and Mr. Mings: so that, as this was the only piece of
sculpture reputed ancient, in which any thing like a bow could be found,
nothing more remains to be discussed relative to that point.”—(_Hist. of
Music_, 4to. vol. i, p. 494.)
The Welch, who are notoriously obstinate genealogists, have not failed
to mark the Fiddle for _their_ own, and to assign him an origin, at some
very distant date, among their native mountains. In support of this
pretension, they bring forward a very ugly and clownish-looking fellow,
with the uncouth name of _crwth_. This creature certainly belongs to
them, and is so old as to have sometimes succeeded in being mistaken, in
this country, for the father of the violin tribe—a mistake to which the
old English terms of _crowd_ for fiddle, and _crowder_ for fiddler, seem
to have lent some countenance. A little investigation, however, shows us
that it was merely the name, and not the object itself, that we
borrowed, for a time, from our Welch neighbours; and that, by a
metonymy, more free than complimentary, we fastened the appellation of
_crowd_ upon the _violin_, already current among us by transmission
from the continent. The confusion thence arising has occasioned
considerable misapprehension: nor has the effect of it been limited to
our own island boundaries; for a French writer, M. Fétis, in one of his
Letters on the State of Music in England, reports the error, without any
apparent consciousness of its being such. Let us quote his passage in
English:
“The _cruth_ is a bowed instrument, which is thought to have been the
origin of the viola and violin. Its form is that of an _oblong square_,
the lower part of which forms the body of the instrument. It is mounted
with four strings, and played on like a violin, but is more difficult in
the treatment, because, not being hollowed out at the side, there is no
free play for the action of the bow.”
“What!” exclaims the enquiring virtuoso, “is this box of a thing, this
piece of base carpentry, this formal oblong square, to be supposed the
foundation of that neat form and those graceful inflections which make
up the ‘complement externe’ of what men call the violin? Can dulness
engender fancy—and can straight lines and right angles have for their
lineal descendant the ‘line of beauty?’” The soberest person would
answer, this is quite unlikely; the man of taste would deny it to be in
the nature of things. No, no; our Cambrian codger _may_ have been a
tolerable subject in his way—a good fellow for rough work among the
mountains, and instrumental enough in the amusement of capering
rusticity—but he must not be allowed, bad musician though we freely
admit he may have been, to give himself _false airs_, and to assume
honors to which his form and physiognomy give the lie. Let him be
satisfied to be considered “_sui generis_,” unless he would rashly
prefer illustrious illegitimacy, and be styled the _base violin_.[1]
If we were disposed, in England proper, to get up a claim for the first
local habitation afforded to the violin, we might put together a much
better case for the instrument that was familiar to the Anglo-Saxon
gleemen, as early as the 10th century, than can be shown in behalf of
the candidate just dismissed. We could produce an individual that should
display a far better face, and should appear with, at least, no great
disgrace to the Fiddle Family, though bearing about him none of the
refinements of fashion. It may be as well to exhibit him at once:—
[Illustration]
In this representation (borrowed from “Strutt’s Sports and Pastimes of
the People of England”) we discern something which it is possible to
call a fiddle, without much violence to our notions “de rerum natura.”
There is grotesqueness, but not deformity: there is much of the general
character of the true violin, though some of its most particular
beauties are wanting. It is true that the sound-holes look as if no
notes save _circulars_ were to be permitted to issue through them—that
the tail-piece seems forced to do duty for a bridge—that the sides have
no indented middle, or waist, to give the aspect of elegance, and
accommodate the play of the bow over the two extreme strings—that the
finger-board is non-existent—and that the scroll, that crowning charm of
the fiddle’s form, is but poorly made amends for by the excrescent
oddity substituted at the end of the neck. With all this, however, there
_is_ visible warrant for calling it a _sort_ of fiddle. Though even a
forty-antiquary power might fail to prove it the origin of the stock, it
has claims to be regarded as exhibiting no very remote analogy to the
violin; and thus far, therefore, it may defy the competition of the
_Crwth_. Whether it was really born in Saxon England, however, or
introduced from Germany, might be a point for nice speculation, were it
worth while to agitate the enquiry.
Whither, then, are we to turn, after all, for the solution of this
problem in musical genealogy? That the violin is of a respectable age,
though not so old as what is commonly called antiquity, is a fact
apparent to the least laborious of enquirers; and it seems to have been
the practice, with those who have had occasion to touch on this point,
either to announce the said fact simply, and leave the reader to make
the most of it, or to mix up with it, by way of elucidation, some
general remark about the absence of light on the matter. “The origin of
the violin,” observes one of these authorities, “like that of most of
the several musical instruments, is involved in obscurity. As a species
of that genus which comprehends the viola, violoncello, and violone, or
double-bass, _it must be very ancient_.” Similarly indefinite are the
conclusions of others who have approached the subject; so that it
becomes necessary to dispense with such embarrassing aid, and to _help
oneself_ to the truth, if it is, peradventure, to be gathered. To me,
much meditating on this matter (if I may borrow Lord Brougham’s classic
form of speech), there seems reason to fix on Italy as the quarter to
which we must look for the “unde derivatur” required. Say, thou soft
“Ausonia tellus,” mother of inventions and nurse of the arts, say, soft
and sunny Italy, is it not to _thee_ that belongs the too modest merit
of having produced and cherished the infancy, even as thou hast
confessedly supported and developed the after-growth and advancement, of
the interesting musical being whose history, in its more secret
passages, we are here exploring? Is it a world (as Sir Toby feelingly
asks), is it a world to hide virtues in? Well, if we cannot obtain
_direct_ satisfaction, let us pursue the investigation of our point a
little more circuitously.
The perfect instrument which we now delight to honor by the name of the
violin—the instrument complete in form and qualities—“totum in se teres
atque rotundum”—appears to have been the result of a highly interesting
series of improvements in the art of producing musical sounds from
strings. How long a duration of time was occupied by the elaboration of
these improvements respectively, is not readily to be ascertained, nor,
perhaps, would the enquiry repay the trouble—but the general order of
progression in the improvements themselves, is as clear as it is
agreeable to contemplate. The first great advancement consisted in the
_sounding-board_, by means of which invention a tone was produced,
through the vibration of the wood, that was incomparably better and
fuller than what was previously procured, through the mere vibration of
the strings. As the human voice is evolved from the mouth under a
concave roof, which serves it as a sounding-board, and gives additional
grace and vigour to its inflections, so does the upper shell of the
violin add a power of its own to the language of the strings. The next
improvement in the instrument, thus extended in capability, was the
_neck_ or _finger-board_, which increased the range and variety of the
sounds, by giving to each string the power of producing a series of
notes. The _bow_ was the next great step of advancement; and this, like
other important inventions, has provoked much learned dispute as to the
time and place of its origin, which however we shall not here more
particularly revert to, for indeed, “non nostrum tantas componere
lites.” With all these additions and appliances, we come not yet to the
instrument _par excellence_, the true violin; for an intermediate and
inferior state remains to be gone through. The consideration of that
state brings us to the regular construction of the several instruments
known by the general name of _viol_ (for we pass by the _rebec_, as
being only a spurious or illegitimate kind of fiddle), that were in the
most common use during the 16th, and till about the middle of the 17th,
century. These were similar to each other in form, but in size were
distinguished into the treble-viol, tenor-viol, and bass-viol. They had
six strings, and a finger-board marked with frets, like that of the lute
or guitar[2]. Finally, as the crowning change, the glorious
consummation, came the conversion of the _viol_ into the _violin_,
effected by a diminution of size, a reduction of strings, from six to
four, and the abolition of those impediments to smoothness, and helps to
irritation, the _frets_. The same reformation attended the other
instruments of the viol tribe, which now became, _mutato nomine_, the
viola and the violoncello.
In former days, we had the _viol_ in,
’Ere the _true_ instrument had come about:
But now we say, since _this_ all ears doth win,
The _violin_ hath put the _viol out_.
Thus, through a considerable tract of indefinite time, and a succession
of definite changes, we reach the matured and accomplished instrument,
the _Violin proper_; and then, if we recur to the question, to _whom_
does it belong? the answer becomes less difficult. It is to this
instrument, this perfected production, that the Italians may, I think,
exultingly point as their own; and, in doing so, they may well afford to
be indifferent to all disputes about the title to those earlier
apparitions, those crude and half-made-up resemblances to the fiddle,
that were but as the abortions which, in human experience, sometimes
precede a perfect birth. It is of sufficient notoriety that the earliest
instruments _of excellence_, bearing the name of Violin, as well as the
earliest players of eminence, were Italian. The Cremona fiddles of
Hieronymus Amati (to go no farther back) were sent into this breathing
world about two centuries and a half ago; and Baltazarini, the earliest
great player of the genuine Violin on record, is known to have been
imported as a curiosity from Italy, by Catherine de Medicis, in 1577. It
is tolerably clear, too, that, as a _court_ favourite, the Violin began
its career in Italy—its progress, in that capacity, having been, as
Burney observes, from Italy to France, and from France to England.
But the tie of Italian connection may be drawn more closely than this.
Galilei, in his Dialogues (p. 147), states that both the Violin and the
Violoncello were _invented_ by the Italians; and he suggests more
precisely the Neapolitans, as the rightful claimants of this honor. Dr.
Burney, who does not attempt to settle the point, quotes the passage, to
the above effect, from Galilei, and admits his own inability to confute
it. Montaigne, whose travels brought him to Verona in 1580, has recorded,
that there were _Violins_ as well as organs there, to accompany the mass
in the great Church. Corelli’s Violin, an instrument specially Italian,
which afterwards passed into the possession of Giardini, was made in
1578, and its case was decorated by the master-hand of Annibale Caracci,
probably several years _after_ the instrument was finished; as Caracci
at that date had numbered but eight of his own years.
Towards the end of the 16th century, the Violin is found indicated in
some Italian scores, thus:—_piccoli Violini alla Francese_; which
circumstance has been sometimes alleged as rendering it probable, that
the reduction of the old viol or viola to the present dimensions of the
Violin took place in _France_, rather than in Italy: but the fact does
not seem to offer a sufficient basis for the conjecture, when it is
considered that no instruments of French construction, corresponding
with the Violin in its present form, and of as early a date as those
which can be produced of Italian make, are known to exist. It is
reasonable to suppose, therefore, that these _piccoli Violini_, or
little Violins, were not identical with the Violin proper;—although Mr.
Hogarth[3] (from whose respectable authority I am rather loth to differ)
quotes the phrase as one tending to the support of the French claim. The
term in question, which occurs, particularly, in Monteverde’s Opera of
_Orfeo_, printed at Venice in 1615, seems to me to imply merely some
French modification of the already invented Italian model—a modification
applying to the size, and possibly also to some minor details in the
form.
The French writer, Mersennus, who designates all instruments of the
violin and viol class under the term _barbiton_, describes one of them,
the least of the tribe, as the _lesser barbiton_. This latter was a
small violin invented for the use of the dancing-masters of France, and
of such form and dimensions as to be capable of being carried in a case
or sheath in the pocket. It is the origin of the instrument which in
England is called a _Kit_, and which is now made in the form of a
violin.—Is it too great a stretch of conjecture, to hint, that this may,
possibly, have been the kind of thing intended by the term above quoted?
That curious enquirer, Mr. Gardiner, in his “Music of Nature,” assigns
to Italy the local origin of the Violin, but without placing the date as
near to exactness as it might have been. He makes it to have been “about
the year 1600.” He might safely have gone thirty or forty years farther
back, at least, notwithstanding that the shape of the instrument,
towards the end of the 16th century, has been supposed, by Hawkins, to
have been rather vague and undetermined[4]. The transition from the old
shapes to the new _had_ occurred, though it was as yet far from
universal. It is sufficient that the change had commenced.
Admitting the genuine and perfect violin to be rightfully assignable to
the Italians, it may be of some interest, now, to present a few more
records relating, principally, to the instrument in its _imperfect_
character, when it bore only that sort of analogy to the true
instrument, that the ‘satyr’ is said to have borne to ‘Hyperion.’
The “Musurgia, seu Praxis Musicæ,” of the Benedictine Monk Luscinius,
published in 1542, represents (coarsely cut in wood) as the bowed
instruments then in use, the _rebec_, or three-stringed violin, and the
_viol di gamba_. The instruments of the viol tribe, however, which are
supposed to have been those that led more immediately to the
construction of the true violin, considerably precede the above period
in their date of origin. _Violars_, or performers on the viol, whose
business it was to accompany the Troubadours in their singing of the
Provençal poetry[5], were common in the 12th century; and, in a treatise
on music, written by Jerome of Westphalia in the 13th century, there is
particular mention made of the instrument known by the name of viol.
Under various modifications of the term _fiddle_, there are to be found
many very early allusions to an instrument, such as it was, bearing some
resemblance to the violin. _Fidle_ is a Saxon word of considerable
antiquity; and from the old Gothic are traced the derivations of
1. Middle High German. _Videl_ (noun), _Videlœre_ (noun
personal), _Videln_ (verb, to fiddle), _Videl-boge_
(fiddle bow).
2. Icelandic. _Fidla._
3. Danish. _Fedel._
Then we have _Vedel_, _Veel_, _Viool_ (Dutch); _Vedel_, _Vedele_
(Flemish), _Fiedel_, _Fidel_, _Geige_ (Modern German).
_Fythele_, _Fithele_,—and _Fythelers_ (fiddlers) are alluded to in the
Old English Romances. In the legendary life of St. Christopher, written
about the year 1200, is this passage:—
. . . . . . . . . . . . . Cristofre hym served longe;
The Kynge loved melodye of _fithele_ and of songe.
The poet Lidgate, at the beginning of the 15th century, writes of
Instrumentys that did excelle,
Many moo than I kan telle:
Harpys, _Fythales_, and eke Rotys, &c.
Chaucer, in his “Canterbury Tales,” says of the Oxford Clerk, that he
was so fond of books and study, as to have loved Aristotle better
Than robes rich, or _fidel_, or sautrie—
and his Absolon, the Parish-Clerk, a genius of a different cast, and
exquisitely described, is a spruce little fellow, who sang, danced, and
played on the species of fiddle then known. An instrument remotely
allied to the fiddle—the _ribible_, a diminutive of _rebec_, a small
viol with three strings—is also alluded to by Chaucer. Referring to a
later period, there is evidence to show that an instrument of the violin
kind was used in England before the dissolution of monasteries, in the
time of our eighth Henry, in the fact that something similar to it in
shape is seen depicted upon a glass window of the chancel of Dronfield
church, in the county of Derby; an edifice which was erected early in
the sixteenth century.
At what period the _legitimate_ violin may have found its way from Italy
into this country, it would, I fear, be very difficult to ascertain with
exactness; but it is easy to suppose that, when once that event had
occurred, the neater shape and superior qualities exhibited by the new
comer, would speedily render him the model for imitation, and lead to
the multiplication of his species here, and to the displacement of the
baser resemblances to him. The true instrument, however, was for a long
while among us, ere its merits came into just appreciation. Until the
period of the Restoration, it was held, for the most part, in very low
esteem, and seldom found in less humble hands than those of fiddlers at
fairs, and such like itinerant caterers of melody for the populace[6].
Its grand attribute, the superior power of expressing almost all that a
human voice can produce, except the articulation of words, was at first
so utterly unknown, that it was not considered a gentleman’s instrument,
or worthy of being admitted into “good company.” The lute[7], the harp,
the viol, and theorbo, were in full possession of the public ear, and
the poetic pen; nor has this latter authority ever been thoroughly
propitiated by the later-born child of Melos, whose first screams on
coming into the world may perhaps have irrecoverably alarmed the
sensitive sons of Apollo. Moreover, poetry is ever apt to prefer the old
to the new, and often recoils with distaste from what is modern.
“Though the violin surpasses the lute,” says a recent ingenious writer,
“as much as the musket surpasses the bow and arrow, yet Cupid has not
yet learned to wound his votaries with a bullet, nor have our poets
begun to write odes or stanzas to their violins.”
In the 39th Queen Elizabeth, a statute was passed by which “Ministrels,
wandering abroad,” were included among “rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy
beggars,” and were adjudged to be punished as such. “This act,” says
Percy, in his Reliques of English Poetry, “seems to have put an end to
the profession.” That writer suggests, however, that although the
character ceased to exist, the appellation might be continued, and
applied to fiddlers, or other common musicians; and in this sense, he
adds, it is used in an ordinance in the time of Cromwell (1656), wherein
it is enacted that if any of the “persons commonly called _Fiddlers_ or
_Minstrels_ shall at any time be taken playing, fiddling, and making
music in any inn, alehouse, or tavern, or shall be taken proffering
themselves, or desiring or intreating any ... to hear them play or make
music in any of the places aforesaid,” they are to be “adjudged and
declared to be rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars[8].” By a similar
change or declension, according to Mr. Percy, John of Gaunt’s _King of
the Minstrels_ came, at length, to be called, like the _Roi des Violons_
in France, _King of the Fiddles_—it being always to be borne in mind,
nevertheless, that it was only as yet a baser kind of instrument which
brought its professors into such _scrapes_[9].
The term _crowd_, as well as that of _fiddle_, was commonly used in
England before the appearance of the perfect Violin, but appears to have
been soon disused (along with the barbarous instrument it designated)
after that period. Butler, in his “Hudibras,” employs both terms
indiscriminately, and seems to find enjoyment in linking them with mean
and ludicrous associations—a tendency which must be allowed to have been
quite in keeping with the feeling of the times he describes. His motley
rabble, whom he puts in the way of the knight and his squire, were
special affecters of the instrument he delights to dishonour,
And to _crack’d fiddle_, and hoarse tabor,
In merriment did drudge and labor.
He makes contemptuous allusion, also, to certain persons
That keep their consciences in cases,
As fiddlers do their _crowds_ and bases.
Crowdero, the fiddle-noted agent in the story, is made to cut, on the
whole, a very sorry figure. Thus, as to his instrument, and his manner
of calling it into exercise:
A _squeaking engine_ he applied
Unto his neck, on north-east side,
Just where the hangman does dispose,
To special friends, the knot of noose.
When the knight, in the outset of his career, meets the aforesaid
rabble, with the aggravating accompaniment of the bear and fiddler, and
counsels them to peace and dispersion, he says
But, to that purpose, first surrender
The fiddler, as the prime offender!
It is true that the mettle put forth by Crowdero, in the ensuing general
fight, raises him a little out of the mire of meanness: but then, the
weapon with which he batters the cranium of the prostrate Hudibras—to
wit, his own wooden leg—has the effect of disturbing the small dignity
which his gleam of valour might have shed over him; and, besides, he is
speedily exhibited in reverse, being vanquished in turn by Ralpho the
Squire, and forced into the ignominious confinement of the stocks; while
Ralpho exultingly says to Hudibras, the fiddle is your _trophy_,
And, by your doom, must be allow’d
To be, or be no more, a crowd.
In France, certain ancient and respectable monuments, and particularly
a figure on the portico of the venerable Cathedral of Notre Dame at
Paris, representing King Chilperic with a sort of Violin in his hand,
have been referred to as proofs that an instrument of this nature was
very early held in esteem in that country; and the minstrels in the
highest estimation with the public, were at all times the best
_Violists_ of their age. Among the instruments represented in the
beautiful illuminations of the splendid copy of the _Roman d’Alexandre_,
in the Bodleian library at Oxford, are Viols with three strings, played
upon with a clumsy bow.
In Italy, as in France, the viol appears to have enjoyed earlier favour
than in England, where the fiddle or _crowd_ (the descendant, probably,
of the Welsh instrument _crwth_) was its predecessor. The instruments
chiefly used by the ladies and gentlemen in the Decameron, are the lute
and the viol—upon which latter some of the _ladies_ are represented as
performing.
An ingenious Piedmontese, Michele Todini, published a pamphlet at Rome,
1676, wherein are described various musical inventions of his own, “of
special merit, though of little note.” Amongst them were two Violins,
the pitch of one of which could, by an adroit mechanical contrivance, be
at once heightened a whole tone, a third, or even a fifth; while the
other, under the usual strings, had a second set of strings, like those
of a kit, tuned in the octave above, and was so contrived that the
Violin and kit might either be played separately, or both together, at
the pleasure of the performer. In the 23rd Chapter of this little tract
is a description of a _Viola di gamba_, so constructed, that, without
shifting the neck, all the four kinds of Violins, namely, the treble
Violin, the contralto (or _Viola bastarda_), and the tenor and bass
viol, could be played upon it. Todini had originally given the bass of
this instrument an unusual depth; but he abandoned that, when he
invented the _double bass_,—which instrument he was the first to
introduce and play upon in oratorios, concerts, and serenades.
The arms and seal of the town of Alzei, in the neighbourhood of Worms,
consist of a crowned lion rampant, holding a _fiddle_ in his paws. The
_fiddle_ alone appears to have been the original bearing; for the
palatine lion was first joined to the _fiddle_ when Duke Conrad of
Hohenstauffen was enfeoffed by the Emperor Frederick I with the
Palatinate of the Rhine. His son-in-law, the Palsgrave Henry, calls the
Steward (_Trucksess_) of Alzei, his vassal, in a bill of feoffment,
dated in 1209, and in another document, 1211. This Steward, however, and
Winter of Alzei, bore the _fiddle_ as their arms. On account of these
arms, the inhabitants of Alzei are mockingly called _fiddlers_ by their
neighbours[10].
Connected with the history of the instrument in England, there is a
curious old custom, now “invisible, or dimly seen,” and I know not when
commenced, which is thus described in Hone’s Table Book:—
“The concluding dance at a country wake, or other general meeting, is
the ‘Cushion Dance;’ and if it be not called for, when the company are
tired with dancing, the _fiddler_, who has an interest in it, which will
be seen hereafter, frequently plays the tune to remind them of it. A
young man of the company leaves the room, the poor young women,
uninformed of the plot against them, suspecting nothing; but he no
sooner returns, bearing a cushion in one hand and a pewter pot in the
other, than they are aware of the mischief intended, and would certainly
make their escape, had not the bearer of cushion and pot, aware of the
invincible aversion which young women have to be saluted by young men,
prevented their flight by locking the door, and putting the key in his
pocket. The dance then begins.
“The young man advances to the fiddler, drops a penny in the pot, and
gives it to one of his companions. Cushion then dances round the room,
followed by pot, and when they again reach the fiddler, the cushion
says, in a sort of recitative, accompanied by the music, ‘This dance it
will no farther go.’
“The fiddler, in return, sings or says (for it partakes of both), ‘I
pray, kind Sir, why say you so?’
“The answer is, ‘Because Joan Sanderson won’t come to.’
“‘But,’ replies the fiddler, ‘she must come to, and she _shall_ come to,
whether she will or no.’
“The young man, thus armed with the authority of the village musician,
recommences his dance round the room, but stops when he comes to the
girl he likes best, and drops the cushion at her feet. She puts her
penny in the pewter pot, and kneels down with the young man on the
cushion; and he salutes her.
“When they rise, the woman takes up the cushion, and leads the dance,
the man following, and holding the skirt of her gown; and, having made
the circuit of the room, they stop near the fiddler, and the same
dialogue is repeated, except that, as it is now the woman who speaks,
it is _John_ Sanderson who won’t come to, and the fiddler’s mandate is
issued to _him_, not to her.
“The woman drops the cushion at the feet of her favourite man: the same
ceremony and the same dance are repeated, till every man and woman (the
pot-bearer last) have been taken out, and all have danced round the room
in a file. The _pence_ are the perquisite of the _fiddler_. There is a
description of this dance in Miss Hutton’s ‘Oakwood Hall.’”
Then follows, in Hone’s Book, a further illustration of this curious
custom, in “numerous verse”—but the prose account is here sufficient.
The dialogue in the old puppet dramas (says Strutt) were mere jumbles of
absurdity and nonsense, intermixed with low immoral discourses passing
between Punch and the fiddler, for the orchestra rarely admitted of more
than one minstrel; and these flashes of merriment were made offensive to
decency by the actions of the puppet. In the reign of James II, there
was a noted merry-andrew named Philips; “This man,” says Granger, “was
some time fiddler to a puppet-show; in which capacity he held many a
dialogue with Punch, in much the same strain as he did afterwards with
the mountebank doctor, his master upon the stage. This zany, being
regularly educated, had confessedly the advantage of his brethren.”
The following may be seen in volume the 1st of Purcell’s Catches, on two
persons of the name of Young, father and son, who lived in St. Paul’s
Churchyard—The one was an excellent instrument-maker, and the other an
excellent performer on the fiddle.
You scrapers that want a good fiddle, well strung,
You must go to the man that is old, while he’s Young;
But if this same fiddle you fain would play bold,
You must go to his son, who’ll be Young when he’s old.
There’s old Young and young Young, both men of renown,
Old sells, and Young plays, the best fiddle in town;
Young and old live together, and may they live long,
Young, to play an old fiddle; old, sell a new song!
The zealous, ingenious, minute and gossiping Anthony Wood, to whose
journalizing propensity we are indebted for a free insight into the
state of music at Oxford, during the time of the Civil War (when musical
sounds were scarcely any where else to be heard in the kingdom), was an
ardent admirer of the violin, while its admirers were yet scarce; and
has left us, in his life, written by himself, some particulars relating
to the instrument, that are too pleasant, as well as curious, to be here
passed by. Let me introduce this quaint worthy, speaking of himself in
the third person, and under the abridged designation of A. W.
In 1651, “he began to exercise his natural and insatiable genie to
music. He exercised his hand on the violin, and, having a good eare to
take any tune at first hearing, he could quickly draw it out from the
violin, but not with the same tuning of the strings that others used. He
wanted understanding, friends and money, to pick him out a good master;
otherwise he might have equalled in that instrument, and in singing, any
person then in the University. He had some companions that were musical,
but they wanted instruction as well as he.”
The next year, being obliged to go into the country, for change of air
and exercise, with a view to rid himself of an ague, he states that
“while he continued there, he followed the plow on _well_-days, and
sometimes plowed: and, having had, from his most tender years, an
extraordinary ravishing delight in music, he practised there, without
the help of an instructor, to play on the Violin. It was then that he
tuned his strings in fourths, and _not_ fifths, according to the manner;
and having a good eare, and being ready to sing any tune upon hearing it
once or twice, he could play it also in a short time, with the said way
of tuning, which was never knowne before.
“After he had spent the summer in a lonish and retired condition, he
returned to Oxon; and, being advised by some persons, he entertained a
Master of Musick to teach him the usual way of playing on the violin,
that is, by having every string tuned _five_ notes lower than the one
going before. The master was Charles Griffith, one of the musicians
belonging to the City of Oxon, whom he then thought to be a most
excellent artist: but when A. W. improved himself on that instrument, he
found he was not so. He gave him 2_s._ 6_d._ entrance, _and so
quarterly_. This person, after he had extremely wondered how he could
play so many tunes as he did by _fourths_, without a director or guide,
tuned his violin by _fifths_, and gave him instructions how to proceed,
leaving then a lesson with him to practice against his next coming.
“Having, by 1654, obtained a proficiency in musick, he and his
companions were not without silly frolicks, not now to be
maintained.”—What should these frolics be, but to disguise themselves in
poor habits, and, like country fiddlers, scrape for their livings! After
strolling about to Farringdon Fair, and other places, and gaining money,
victuals and drink for their trouble, they were overtaken, in returning
home, by certain soldiers, who forced them to play in the open field,
and then left them
But if this same fiddle you fain would play bold,
You must go to his son, who’ll be Young when he’s old.
There’s old Young and young Young, both men of renown,
Old sells, and Young plays, the best fiddle in town;
Young and old live together, and may they live long,
Young, to play an old fiddle; old, sell a new song!
The zealous, ingenious, minute and gossiping Anthony Wood, to whose
journalizing propensity we are indebted for a free insight into the
state of music at Oxford, during the time of the Civil War (when musical
sounds were scarcely any where else to be heard in the kingdom), was an
ardent admirer of the violin, while its admirers were yet scarce; and
has left us, in his life, written by himself, some particulars relating
to the instrument, that are too pleasant, as well as curious, to be here
passed by. Let me introduce this quaint worthy, speaking of himself in
the third person, and under the abridged designation of A. W.
In 1651, “he began to exercise his natural and insatiable genie to
music. He exercised his hand on the violin, and, having a good eare to
take any tune at first hearing, he could quickly draw it out from the
violin, but not with the same tuning of the strings that others used. He
wanted understanding, friends and money, to pick him out a good master;
otherwise he might have equalled in that instrument, and in singing, any
person then in the University. He had some companions that were musical,
but they wanted instruction as well as he.”
The next year, being obliged to go into the country, for change of air
and exercise, with a view to rid himself of an ague, he states that
“while he continued there, he followed the plow on _well_-days, and
sometimes plowed: and, having had, from his most tender years, an
Proctor, a young man and a new comer:—John Packer, one of the university
musitians. But Mr. Low, a proud man, could not endure any common
musitian to come to the meeting, much less to play among them. Of this
kind I must rank Joh. Haselwood, an apothecary, a starch’d formal
clister-pipe, who usually played on the base-viol, and sometimes on the
counter-tenor. He was very conceited of his skill (though he had but
little of it), and therefore would be ever and anon ready to take up a
viol[11] before his betters; which being observed by all, they usually
called him _Handlewood_. The rest were but beginners. Proctor died soon
after this time; he had been bred up by Mr. John Jenkins, the mirrour
and wonder of his age for musick, was excellent for the lyra-viol and
division-viol, good at the treble-viol, and violin, and all comprehended
in a man of three or four and twenty yeares of age. He was much admired
at the meetings, and exceedingly pitied by all the facultie for his
loss.”
“A. W. was now advised to entertain one William James, a dancing-master,
to instruct him on the violin, who, by some, was accounted excellent on
that instrument, and the rather because it was said that he had obtained
his knowledge in dancing and music in France. He spent, in all, half a
yeare with him, and gained some improvement; yet at length he found him
not a compleat master of his facultie, as Griffith and Parker were not:
and, to say the truth, there was no compleat master in Oxon for that
instrument, because _it had not been hitherto used in consort_ among
gentlemen, only by common musitians, who played but two parts. The
gentlemen in private meetings, which A. W. frequented, played three,
four, and five parts with viols[12]—as treble-viol, tenor,
counter-tenor, and bass, with an organ, virginal, or harpsicon joined
with them; and they esteemed _a violin_ to be an instrument only
belonging to a _common fiddler_, and could not endure that it should
come among them, for feare of making their meetings to be vain and
fiddling. But, before the restoration of King Charles II, and
_especially after_, viols began to be out of fashion, and only violins
used, as treble violin, tenor, and base violin; and the King, according
to the French mode, would have _twenty-four violins_ playing before him
while he was at meals, as being more airie and brisk than _viols_.”
Under the year 1658, he tells us that “Tho. Baltzar, a Lubecker borne,
and the most famous artist for the violin that the world had yet
produced (!), was now in Oxon, and this day, July 24, A. W. was with
him, and Mr. Ed. Lowe, at the house of Will. Ellis. A. W. did then and
there, to his very great astonishment, heare him play on the violin. He
then saw him run up his fingers to the end of the finger-board of the
violin, and run them back insensibly; and all with alacrity and _very
good tune_, which he nor any in England saw the like before. A. W.
entertained him and Mr. Low with what the house could then afford, and
afterwards he invited them to the taverne; but they being engaged to
goe to other company, he could no more heare him play or see him play at
that time. Afterwards he came to one of the weekly meetings at Mr.
Ellis’s house, and he played to the wonder of all the auditory, and
exercising his finger and instrument several wayes to the utmost of his
power. Wilson thereupon, the public Professor, the greatest judge of
musick that ever was, did, after his humoursome way, stoope downe to
Baltzar’s feet, to see whether he had a huff (hoof) on, that is to say,
to see whether he was a devil or not, because he acted beyond the parts
of man.”
“About this time it was that Dr. John Wilkins, warden of Wadham, the
greatest _curioso_ of his time, invited him (Baltzar) and some of the
musitians to his lodgings in that Coll. purposely to have a consort, and
to see and heare him play. The instruments and books were carried
thither, but none could be persuaded there to play against him in
consort on the violin. At length the company perceiving A. W. standing
behind in a corner neare the dore, they haled him in among them, and
play, forsooth, he must against him. Whereupon he, being not able to
avoid it, took up a violin, as poor Troylus did against Achilles[13]. He
abashed at it, yet honour he got by playing with and against such a
grand master as Baltzar was.”
The restoration of monarchy and episcopacy in England (observes Dr.
Burney) seems to have been not only favorable to sacred music, but to
secular; for it may be ascribed to the particular pleasure which Charles
II received from the gay and sprightly sound of the violin, that this
instrument was introduced at Court, and the houses of the nobility and
gentry, for any other purpose than country-dances, and festive mirth.
Hitherto there seem to have been no public concerts; and, in the music
of the chamber, in the performance of _Fancies_ on instruments, which
had taken place of vocal madrigals and motets, the violin had no
admission, the whole business having been done by _viols_. Charles II,
who, during the usurpation, had spent a considerable time on the
continent, where he heard nothing but French music—upon his return to
England, in imitation of Louis XIV, established a band of violins,
tenors and bases, instead of the viols, lutes and cornets, of which the
Court Band used to consist. Soon after the establishment of this band,
Matthew Lock held the appointment of master to it; and the same title
was conferred, about 1673, on Cambert, a French musician, who had
preceded Lulli in composing for, and superintending, the Opera at Paris,
and who came over to England after Lulli had obtained the transfer of
his patent.
From this time, the Violin Family began to rise in reputation among the
English, and had an honorable place assigned them, in the music of the
Court, the theatres and the chamber; while the succession of performers
and compositions, with which the nation was afterwards supplied from
Italy and elsewhere, stimulated the practice and established the
character of this class of instruments, which have ever since been
universally acknowledged to be the pillars of a well-ordered orchestra,
and more capable of perfect intonation, expression, brilliancy, and
effect, than any other that have ever been invented. It should be
observed, however, that, although the revival of the theatres at the
Restoration was followed by the introduction of what were termed
_act-tunes_ (short compositions played betwixt the acts of the drama),
whereby the public services of the violin were brought into requisition,
yet the state of dramatic music was, for some years, too low to admit of
those services being very important. The music of the drama had attained
scarcely any separate development, but was still confounded with that of
the church, to the disadvantage of both. All the most noted composers
for the theatre, for several years after the Restoration, were members
of cathedral and collegiate churches—a circumstance which encouraged a
jester, Tom Brown, to remark that “men of the musical profession hung
betwixt the church and the play-house, like Mahomet’s tomb betwixt two
load-stones.”
A general passion for the violin, and for pieces expressly composed for
it, as well as a taste for Italian music, seem to have been excited in
this country about the _end_ of Charles the Second’s reign, when French
music and French politics became equally odious to a great part of the
nation. The hon. Mr. North, who listened attentively to every species of
performance, says that “the decay of French music, and favor of the
Italian, came on by degrees. Its beginning was accidental, and
occasioned by the arrival of _Nicola Matteis_; he was an excellent
musician; performed wonderfully on the violin. His manner was singular;
but he excelled, in one respect, all that had been heard in England
before: his _arcata_, or manner of bowing, his shakes, divisions, and
indeed his whole style of performance, was surprising, and every _stroke
of his bow_ was _a mouthful_. When he first came hither, he was very
poor; but not so poor as proud, which prevented his being heard, or
making useful acquaintance, for a long time, except among a few
merchants in the City, who patronized him; and, setting a high value on
his condescension, he made them indemnify him for the want of more
general favor. By degrees, however, he was more noticed, and was
introduced to perform at Court. But his demeanor did not please, and he
was thought capricious and troublesome, as he took offence if any one
whispered while he played; which was a kind of attention which had not
been much _in fashion_ at our Court. It was said that the Duke of
Richmond would have settled a pension upon him, though he wished him to
change his manner of playing, and would needs have one of his pages show
him a better. Matteis, for the sake of the jest, condescended to take
lessons of the page; but learned so fast, that he soon outran him in his
own way. But he continued so outrageous in his demands, particularly for
his _solos_, that few would comply with them, and he remained in narrow
circumstances and obscurity a long while; nor would his superior talents
ever have contributed to better his fortune, had it not been for the
zeal and friendly offices of two or three dilettanti, his admirers.
These, becoming acquainted with him, and courting him in his own way,
had an opportunity of describing to him the temper of the English, who,
if humoured, would be liberal; but, if uncivilly treated, would be
sulky, and despise him and his talents; assuring him that, by a little
complaisance, he would neither want employment nor money. By advice so
reasonable, they at length brought him into such good temper, that he
became generally esteemed and sought after; and, having many scholars,
though on moderate terms, his purse filled apace, which confirmed his
conversion. After this, he discovered a way of acquiring money which was
then perfectly _new_ in this country: for, observing how much his
scholars admired the lessons he composed for them (which were all
_duos_), and that most musical gentlemen who heard them wished to have
copies of them, he was at the expense of having them neatly engraved on
copper plates, in oblong octavo, which was the beginning of engraving
music in England; and these he presented, well bound, to lovers of the
art and admirers of his talents, for which he often received three, four
and five guineas. And so great were his encouragement and profits in
this species of traffic, that he printed four several books of _Ayres
for the Violin_, in the same form and size.”
Of the jealousy which attended the progress of the violin in public
favor among the English, there occurs some amusing evidence in the
“_Musick’s Monument_” of that rich, exuberant and right pleasant
egotist, Thomas Mace, published in 1676. This worthy, who exalted the
lute and viol, his own peculiar instruments, looked with distrust on the
growing importance and credit of that which had been before so
imperfectly understood and insufficiently employed. In speaking of the
instruments till then in chief use, and the propriety of balancing their
relative proportions of sound in concerted pieces, he remarks,
complainingly—“_the scoulding violins will out-top them all_.” In a sort
of dialogue, in rhyme, between the author and his lamenting lute, he
makes the latter exclaim:—
The world is grown so slight! full of new fangles,
And takes its chief delight in jingle-jangles,
With _fiddle-noises_, &c.
CHAPTER II.
THE ITALIAN SCHOOL.
“Oh! known the earliest, and esteemed the most”
BYRON.
Having shown, on such evidence as I have been able to adduce, that the
Italians are, most probably, the rightful claimants of the distinction
which attaches to the _invention_ of the modern or _true_ violin, it is
now to be considered by what bright array of names, by what successive
efforts of skill and genius, they have likewise become entitled to the
greater distinction of having been the first to develop the wonderful
powers of the instrument, and the chief agents through whom its charming
dominion in the realms of music was diffused, ere the great German
composers, in more recent days, applied their powers to the extension
and enrichment of the field for stringed instruments.
In casting a glance over the catalogue of bright Italian names, we find
two, that demand to be especially noted for their great influence in
advancing the progress of the “leading instrument,” and that serve
indeed to mark two main epochs in its history. These are Corelli and
Viotti—the first constituting the head of the old school, the last that
of the modern; and each (it may be parenthetically said) almost as
interesting to contemplate in personal character, as in professional
eminence. The intermediate names, most entitled to attention, are
Tartini, Geminiani and Giardini. These, with others of considerable
celebrity, though of less effective influence in the formation of what
we have designated the Italian School, will be here noticed critically
and biographically, according to their several pretensions and
proceedings. Before we come to Corelli, however, there are some few to
be treated of in the character of his predecessors, and as having
prepared the way for his more dignified and important career.
BALTAZARINI has been already designated as the earliest violin-player of
real eminence that the annals of music present to notice. His celebrity
was much extended by the transplanting of his talent into France, where
he acquired the new appellation of De Beaujoyeux, by virtue of the
delight he afforded to a people whose natural gaiety of temperament
could not but assort happily with the lighter range of sounds so readily
evoked from the violin. It was in 1577, that Baltazarini, with _a band
of violins_, was sent from Piedmont by Marshal Brissac to Queen
Catherine de Medicis, who appointed him her “Premier Valet de Chambre,”
and Master of her Band. France has reason to be grateful to his memory,
and Italy may fairly be proud of it.
GIUSEPPE GUAMI, organist of Lucca Cathedral, who published, in 1586,
some voluminous compositions belonging to the class of _cantiones
sacræ_, or motetts, is cited by Draudius, in his “Bibliotheca Classica,”
as an excellent performer on the violin.
Another early violinist, AGOSTINO AGGAZZARI, born of a noble family at
Siena, and a scholar of Viadana, appears to have been the first who
introduced instrumental Concertos into the Church; though Dr. Burney
supposes that these Concertos must only be understood in the very
qualified sense of _Salmi Concertati_, or psalms accompanied with
violins; and he adds, that Concertos _merely_ instrumental, either for
the church or chamber, seem to have had no existence till about the time
of Corelli.
CARLO FARINA, of Mantua, who published, in 1628, a Collection of “Pavans
and Sonatas” for the violin, is recorded by Walther (in his Musical
Lexicon), as having figured in the service of the Elector of Saxony, as
a celebrated performer on the instrument.
MICHAEL ANGELO ROSSI, a composer, as well as an able violinist,
signalized himself somewhat oddly at Rome, in 1632, by performing the
part of Apollo, in a musical drama, with the violin as the expressive
symbol and exponent of his melodial powers, _instead_ of the classically
attributed lyre. The strangeness of the anomaly was doubtless lost sight
of amidst the enjoyment it was the means of conferring: nor would the
example, were it taken up in our own times, by a competent artist, be
likely to fail in producing a similar subserviency of taste to pleasure.
If, in _these_ days, the man who plays Apollo
Like charms could conjure from the fiddle’s hollow,
_We_, too, should find the heaven-descended lyre
Omitted “by particular desire!”
And Phœbus, fitted with a fiddle so,
Would dart fresh wonders from his newer _bow_!
Though there was only one violin employed (observes Dr. Burney) in the
first operas by Jacopo Peri and Monteverdi, yet, as the musical drama
improved, and the orchestra was augmented, the superiority of that
instrument was soon discovered by its effects, not only in the theatre,
but in private performances; and the most eminent masters, without
knowing much of its peculiar genius or powers, thought it _no
degradation_ to compose pieces expressly for the use of its votaries.
Among the most early of these productions, may be ranked the _Suonate
per Chiesa_ of Legrenzi, published at Venice, 1655; _Suonate da Chiesa e
Camera_, 1656; _Una Muta di Suonate_ (a Variety of Sonatas), 1664; and
_Suonate a due Violini e Violone_, 1677.
The next individual of eminence in connexion with the instrument is
GIAMBATTISTA BASSANI, of Bologna, whose name derives additional lustre
from his having been the violin-master of Corelli. Bassani was a man of
extensive knowledge and abilities in his art, having been a successful
composer for the church, the theatre and the chamber, between the years
1680 and 1703, as well as an excellent performer on the violin. His
sonatas for that instrument, and his accompaniments for it to his
masses, motetts, psalms and cantatas, manifest a knowledge of the
finger-board and the bow, which appears in the works of no other
composer anterior to Corelli; and the lovers of the pure harmony and
simple melody of that admirable master, would still receive great
pleasure from the performance of Bassani’s sonatas for violins and a
bass. Specimens of Bassani’s music may be found in Latrobe’s and
Stephens’s Selections.
The names of TORELLI, VALENTINI, and the elder VERACINI, may be
dismissed with a brief mention; because, though of eminence in their
day, they are not connected with any very marked influence on the art;
and the published works which they have given to the world have long
since attained a dormant state. It should be observed, however, as
illustrating the very capricious nature of _fashion_, that Valentini for
a while eclipsed Corelli himself in popularity.
ARCANGELO CORELLI, under whose able direction the violin may be said to
have first acquired the definite character and regulated honors of _a
school_,[14] was a native of Fusignano, a town situated near Imola, in
the territory of Bologna, and was born in the month of February, 1653.
His first instructor was Matteo Simonelli, by whom he was taught the
rudiments of music, and the art of practical composition; but, the
genius of Corelli leading him to prefer secular to ecclesiastical music,
he afterwards became a disciple of Bassani.
Corelli entertained an early propensity for the violin, and, as he
advanced in years, laboured incessantly in the practice of it. It has
been said, though without authority, that, in the year 1672, he went to
Paris, and was driven thence by the jealousy and violence of Lully, who
could not brook so formidable a rival.
In 1680, he visited Germany, and met with a reception suitable to his
merit, from most of the German princes, but particularly from the
Elector of Bavaria, in whose service he was retained, and continued for
some time. After a few years’ residence abroad, he returned to Rome, and
there pursued his studies with assiduity. It was at Rome that he
published (about 1683) his first _twelve Sonatas_. In 1685, the second
set appeared, under the title of _Balletti da Camera_. In 1690, he gave
to the press the third “Opera” of his Sonatas; and in 1694, the fourth,
which, consisting of movements fit for _dancing_, like the second, he
called _Balletti da Camera_. This species of instrumental composition,
the sonata, first imagined in the course of the 17th century, has been
fixed, in many respects, by Corelli.
The proficiency of Corelli on his favourite instrument became so great,
that his fame was extended throughout Europe, and the number of his
pupils grew very considerable; for, not only his own countrymen, but
even persons from distant kingdoms, resorted to him for instruction, as
the greatest master of the violin that had, at that period, been heard
of in the world. It does not appear, indeed, that he had attained a
power of _execution_ in any degree comparable to that of later
professors. The style of his performance was, however, learned, elegant,
and occasionally impressed with feeling; while his _tone_ was firm and
even. Geminiani, who was well acquainted with it, used expressively to
compare it with that of a sweet trumpet. One of those who heard him
perform, has stated that, during the whole time, his countenance was
distorted, his eyes were as red as fire, and his eye-balls rolled as if
he were in agony. This was the enthusiasm of genius—the influence of the
“præsens divus,” Apollo—the exalted state so well characterized by the
poet’s exclamation,
“Est Deus in nobis—agitante calescimus illo!”
About the year 1690, the Opera had arrived at a flourishing state in
Rome, and Corelli led the band as principal Violin[15]. It was not till
ten years after this date, that he published his _Solos_,[16] the work
by which he acquired the greatest reputation during his life-time, and
to which, in its established character of a text-book for students, the
largest share of attention on the whole has been directed. It was the
fifth in the series of his publications, and was issued at Rome under
the following title:—“Sonate a Violini e Violone o Cimbalo: Opera
Quinta, Parte prima, Parte seconda: Preludii, Allemande, Correnti,
Gighe, Sarabande, Gavotte, e Follia.” This work was dedicated to Sophia
Charlotte, Electress of Brandenburgh; and it was these Solo Sonatas that
the author himself was accustomed to perform on particular occasions.
Corelli’s great patron at Rome was Cardinal Ottoboni, the distinguished
encourager of learning and the polite arts, to whom, in 1694, he
dedicated his Opera Quarta,[17] and in whose palace he constantly
resided, “col spezioso carrattere d’attuale Servitore” of his Eminence,
as he expresses himself in the dedication—with more of the humility of
gratitude, by the by, than of the independence of genius. Crescembini,
speaking of the splendid and majestic “Academia,” or Concert, held at
Cardinal Ottoboni’s every Monday evening, observes that the performance
was regulated by Arcangelo Corelli, that most celebrated professor of
the violin—“famosissimo professore di violino.” Another title,
expressive of the high consideration in which he was held by his
contemporaries, is that applied to him by Francesco Gasparini, who calls
him “Virtuosissimo di violino, e vero _Orfeo_ di nostro tempo.”
It was at Cardinal Ottoboni’s that Corelli became acquainted with
Handel, of whom the following anecdote is related. On one of the musical
evenings given there, a Serenata, written by the latter, entitled _Il
Trionfo del Tempo_, was ordered to be performed, out of compliment to
this great composer. Whether the style of the overture was new to
Corelli, or whether he attempted to modify it according to his taste and
fancy, does not appear[18]; but Handel, giving way to his natural
impetuosity of temper, snatched the violin from his hand. Corelli, with
that gentleness which always marked his character, simply replied:—“Mio
caro Sassone, questa musica è nello stile Francese, di che io non
m’intendo.”—“My dear Saxon, this music is in the French style, with
which I am not acquainted.”
The biography of Corelli has received the accession of several
interesting anecdotes, through one of his most illustrious pupils,
Geminiani, who was himself an eye and an ear witness of the matters he
has related. These may find a fitting place here.
At the time when Corelli was at the zenith of his reputation, a royal
invitation reached him from the Court of Naples, where a great curiosity
prevailed to hear his performance. The unobtrusive _Maestro_, not a
little loth, was at length induced to accept the invitation; but, lest
he should not be well accompanied, he took with him his own second
violin and violoncello players. At Naples he found Alessandro Scarlatti
and several other masters[19], who entreated him to play some of his
concertos before the king. This he, for a while, declined, on account of
his whole band not being with him, and there was no time, he said, for a
rehearsal. At length, however, he consented, and, in great fear,
performed the first of them. His astonishment was very great to find
that the Neapolitan band executed his concertos almost as accurately at
sight as his own band after repeated rehearsals, and when they had
almost got them by heart. “_Si suona_ (said he to Matteo, his second
violin) _a Napoli_!”—“They _play_, at Naples!”
After this, he being again admitted into his Majesty’s presence, and
desired to perform one of his sonatas, the king found the adagio so long
and dry, that, being tired of it, he _quitted the room_, to the great
mortification of Corelli. Afterwards, he was desired to lead, in the
performance of a masque composed by Scarlatti, which was to be executed
before the king. This he undertook, but, owing to Scarlatti’s very
limited acquaintance with the violin, Corelli’s part was somewhat
awkward and difficult; in one place it went up to F, and when they came
to that passage, Corelli failed, and could not execute it; but he was
astonished, beyond measure, to hear Petrillo, the Neopolitan leader, and
the other violins, perform with ease that which had baffled his utmost
skill. A song succeeded this, in C minor, which Corelli led off in C
major. “_Ricomminciamo_” (let us begin again), said Scarlatti,
good-naturedly. Still, Corelli persisted in the major key, till
Scarlatti was obliged to call out to him, and set him right. So
mortified was poor Corelli with this disgrace, and the deplorable figure
which he imagined he had made at Naples, that he stole back to Rome, in
silence. Soon after this, a hautboy-player (whose name Geminiani could
not recollect) acquired such applause at Rome, that Corelli, disgusted,
would never again play in public. All these mortifications, superadded
to the success of Valentini, whose Concertos and performance, though
infinitely inferior to those of Corelli, were become fashionable, threw
him into such a state of melancholy and chagrin, as was thought to have
hastened his death.
The account thus furnished by Geminiani, of Corelli’s journey to Naples,
is something beyond mere personal anecdote; for, as Dr. Burney fitly
observes, it throws light upon the comparative state of music at Naples
and at Rome in Corelli’s time, and exhibits a curious contrast, between
the fiery genius of the Neapolitans, and the meek, timid and gentle
character of Corelli, so analogous to the style of his music. To this
reflection it might have been added, that the latter part of the
narrative forms a painful contribution to the catalogue of instances in
which public caprice has done the work of ingratitude, and consigned the
man of genius to a neglect which his sensitive nature must render the
worst of cruelties.
In 1712, the _Concertos_ of Corelli were beautifully engraved, at
Amsterdam, by Etienne Roger, and Michael Charles La Cène, and dedicated
to John William, Prince Palatine of the Rhine. The author survived the
publication of this admirable work but six weeks; the Dedication bearing
date at Rome, the 3rd of December, 1712, and he dying on the 18th of
January, 1713.
Corelli was interred in the church of the Rotunda, otherwise called the
Pantheon, in the first chapel on the left hand of the entrance of that
beautiful temple. Over the place of his interment, there is a sepulchral
monument with a marble bust, erected to his memory, at the expense of
Philip William, Count Palatine of the Rhine, under the direction of
Cardinal Ottoboni. The monument bears an inscription in tributary Latin,
and the bust represents him with a music-paper in his hand, on which are
engraved a few bars of that celebrated air, the _Giga_, in his 5th
Sonata. It is worthy of remark, that this monument is contiguous to
that of the greatest of painters, Raffaelle[20].
During many years after Corelli’s decease, a solemn service, consisting
of selections from his own works, was performed in the Pantheon by a
numerous band, on the anniversary of his funeral. This custom was not
discontinued, until there were no longer any of his immediate scholars
surviving to conduct the performance. Sir John Hawkins and Dr. Burney,
who have both cited testimony as to this practice, concur in
representing, that the works of the great master used to be performed,
on this occasion, in a slow, firm and distinct manner, just as they were
written, without changing the passages in the way of embellishment: and
this, it is probable, was the manner in which he himself was wont to
play them.
Of the private life and moral character of this celebrated musician, no
new information is now likely to be obtained; but the most favorable
impression on this head is derived from analogy, in addition to what we
possess of fact. If we may judge of his natural disposition and
equanimity by the mildness, sweetness and even tenor of his musical
ideas, the conclusion must be that his temper and his talents had pretty
equal share in the office of endearing him to all his acquaintance. It
appears, moreover, that his facile habit did not always render him
insensible of that respect which was due to his character as well as to
his skill. It is said that, when he was once playing a solo at Cardinal
Ottoboni’s house, he observed the Cardinal and another person in
discourse, on which he laid down his instrument; and, being asked the
reason, answered that he “feared the music interrupted the
conversation”—a reply in which modesty and dignity were nicely blended.
He is related, also, to have been a man of humour and pleasantry. Some
who were acquainted with him have censured him for parsimonious habits,
but on no better ground than his accustomed plainness of dress, and his
disinclination to the use of a carriage.
His taste, which was not limited to the circle of his own art, evinced
itself enthusiastically in favor of pictures; and he lived in habits of
intimacy with Carlo Cignani and Carlo Maratti. It seems that he had
accumulated a sum equal to £6000. The account that is given of his
having bequeathed the whole of this amount, besides a valuable
collection of pictures, to his patron, Cardinal Ottoboni, has been
observed to savour more of vanity than of true generosity; and, indeed,
the Cardinal evinced the most considerate appreciation of the bequest,
by reserving only the pictures, and distributing the remainder of
Corelli’s effects among his indigent relations.
In regard to the peculiar merits of Corelli’s productions, it may be
briefly said, that his Solos (or _Opera Quinta_), as a classical book
for forming the hand of a young practitioner on the violin, has ever
been regarded, by the most eminent masters of the instrument, as a truly
valuable work; and it is said, of this elaborate work (on which all good
systems for the instrument have since been founded), that it cost him
three years to revise and correct it. Indeed, all his compositions are
said to have been written with great deliberation, to have been
corrected by him at many different times, and to have been submitted to
the inspection of the most skilful musicians of his day. Of his Solos,
the second, third, fifth, and sixth are admirable; as are the ninth,
tenth, and, for the elegant sweetness of its second movement, the
eleventh. The ninth is probably the most perfect, as a whole; and the
Solos, generally, seem to have been drawn from the author’s native
resources, more extensively than any of his other productions. The most
emphatic evidence of the value of these Solos lies in the fact of their
adoption by the highest instructors. Tartini formed all his scholars on
them; and it was the declaration of Giardini, that, of any two pupils of
equal age and abilities, if the one were to begin his studies by
Corelli, and the other by Geminiani, or any other eminent master
whatever, the first would become the better performer. Let it be
observed, however, that it is not from Corelli, that the niceties and
dexterities of _bowing_, which characterize the modern state of the art,
are derived. The qualities he is capable of imparting are tone and time:
or, in other words, he teaches the full extraction of sound, and the
utmost steadiness of hand.
The _Concertos_ of Corelli (the sixth and last of his works) appear to
have withstood the attacks of time and fashion with more firmness than
any of his other productions. The harmony is so pure; the parts are so
clearly, judiciously, and ingeniously disposed; and the effect of the
whole, from a large band, is so majestic, solemn and sublime, that they
nearly preclude all criticism, and make us forget that there is any
other music of the same kind existing. They are still performed, now
and then, at the Philharmonic Concerts. Though composed at a time when
the faculties of the author might be supposed to have been on the
decline, they exhibit the strongest proof of the contrary. To speak more
definitely of their merits, nothing can exceed, in dignity and majesty,
the opening of the First Concerto, nor, for its plaintive sweetness, the
whole of the Third; and that person must have no feeling of the power of
harmony, or the effects of modulation, who can listen to the Eighth
without rapture.
The following further comments on them are from the pen of a sensible
anonymous writer in a periodical work:—“Though they are no longer
calculated to show off the bow and fingers of the principal
violin-player, yet their effect, as symphonies for a numerous orchestra,
is excellent, and never fails to delight the audience. Their melody is
flowing and simple, and of a kind which is independent of the changes of
fashion: the harmony is pure and rich, and the disposition of the parts
judicious and skilful. The Eighth of these Concertos, composed for the
purpose of being performed on Christmas Eve, has probably had more
celebrity than any piece of music that ever was written. It is
exquisitely beautiful, and seems destined to bid defiance to the attacks
of time. The whole is full of profound religious feeling; and the
pastoral sweetness of the movement descriptive of the ‘Shepherds abiding
in the fields,’ has never been surpassed—not even by Handel’s movement
of the same kind in the ‘Messiah.’ If ever this music is thrown aside
and forgotten, it will be the most unequivocal sign of the corruption of
taste, and the decay of music, in England.”
The compositions of Corelli, taken altogether, are celebrated for the
harmony resulting from the union of all the parts; but the fineness of
the airs is another distinguishing characteristic of them. The
Allemande, in the Tenth Solo, is as remarkable for spirit and force, as
that in the Eleventh is for its charming delicacy. His _jigs_ are in a
style peculiarly his own; and that in the Fifth Solo was, perhaps, never
equalled. In the gavot movements, in the Second and Fourth Operas, the
melody is distributed, with great judgment, among the several parts. In
his Minuets alone, he seems to fail; Bononcini, Handel, Haydn, Martini
and others, have excelled him in this kind of air.
The music of Corelli is, generally speaking, the language of nature. It
is equally intelligible to the learned and to the unlearned. Amidst the
numerous innovations which the love of change had introduced, it still
continued to be performed, and was heard with delight in churches, in
theatres, and at public solemnities and festivals, in all the cities of
Europe, for nearly forty years. Persons remembered and would refer to
passages of it, as to a classic author; and, even at this day, the
masters of the science do not hesitate to pronounce, of the compositions
of Corelli, that, for correct harmony, and for elegant modulation, they
are scarcely to be exceeded. Yet there is one deficiency, that should
not be passed over in a review of the compositions of this master: and
it is one that may suggest itself from what has been already said of
him. They want that stirring quality of passion, which ministers so
importantly to the life of a production, whether in the world of music,
of poetry, or of painting. They lose, through this omission, nearly all
the benefits of the principle of contrast, on which effect, in so
material a degree, depends. Their beauties, wanting this relief, are
scarcely able, sometimes, to escape the charge of insipidity. The
absence of intensity in the works of Corelli, seems to be partly a
consequence of the natural character of the man: but it is doubtless
also partly owing to the state of musical taste at that period. There
was little or no melody in instrumental music before his time; and
although, considering how much slow and solemn movements abound in his
works, they display but a slender portion of the true pathetic, yet has
he considerably more grace and elegance in his _Cantilena_, more
vocality of expression, than his predecessors. Indeed, when we recollect
that some of his productions are more than a hundred and fifty years
old, we must regard, with some admiration and astonishment, the healthy
longevity of his fame, which can only be accounted for on the principle
of the ease and simplicity that belong characteristically to his works.
The following summary of the character of Corelli’s music has been given
by Geminiani. Dr. Burney’s remark, that it seems very just, may be very
fairly assented to.—“His merit was not depth of learning, like that of
his contemporary, Alessandro Scarlatti; nor great fancy, nor a rich
_invention_ in melody or harmony; but a nice ear, and most delicate
taste, which led him to select the most _pleasing_ melodies and
harmonies, and to construct the parts so as to produce the most
delightful effect upon the ear.”
An extensive and rapidly diffused impression in favor of the Violin, and
the larger homogeneous instruments, was produced in Europe by the
publication of the works of Corelli, who indeed must be considered as
the author of the greatest improvements which music, simply
instrumental, underwent at the commencement of the 18th century. As a
consequence of the impulse thus communicated, there was scarcely a town
in Italy, about that period, where some distinguished performer on the
violin did not reside. Dr. Burney enumerates about a dozen of these, in
one paragraph; but the apparent similarity of their merits, which does
not encourage any circumstantial commemoration, may serve to bring to
the mind of the classical reader the “fortemque Gyan fortemque
Cloanthum” of Virgil. One of these locally great individuals, Nicola
Cosimo, who came to England about 1702, has derived some little
accession of fame, from the fact of his portrait having been painted by
Kneller, and _coppered_ by Smith. It is probable, that he is now more
known to print-collectors than to musicians, although his _Twelve
Solos_, published in this country, possess considerable merit, for the
time—a merit not free, however, from pretty large obligations to
Corelli.
Don ANTONIO VIVALDI, Chapel-master of the _Conservatorio della Pietà_,
at Venice, seems to have enjoyed, in his day, a popularity of the most
animated and unhesitating kind, both as composer and performer. Besides
a number of dramatic compositions, in the form of Opera, he published
eleven instrumental works, exclusively of his pieces called
_Stravaganze_, which, among flashy players, whose chief merit was the
novelty of rapid execution, occupied the highest place of favor. To be
loud and brisk, appears to have been the chief ambition of this
exhibitor; no bad method of ensuring a predominance of applause in all
“mixed company.” His _Cuckoo Concerto_ was once the wonder and delight
of all frequenters of English country concerts; and Woodcock, one of the
Hereford _Waits_, was sent for, far and near, to perform it. If
Vivaldi’s musical fame were to rest on this production, it would figure
but poorly; for the thing, though reprinted in London a few years ago,
is indeed, when put to the test, “full of sound and fury, signifying
nothing.” It is just of the order of stuff that might serve to agitate
the orchestral elbows in a pantomime. Doubtless, it found a fitting
exponent in “Mr. Woodcock, of the Hereford Waits:” Vivaldi’s _own_
playing must have been too good for it. Of the pieces styled his
_Solos_, it has been critically remarked, that they are extremely tame
and vapid, while the characteristic of his _Concertos_ is a singular
wildness and irregularity, in which he oftentimes transgresses the
bounds both of melody and modulation. Though, in some of his
compositions, the harmony and the artful contexture of the parts are
their least merit, there is one (the eleventh of his first twelve
concertos) which is esteemed a solid and masterly composition, and is an
evidence that the writer possessed a greater portion of skill and
learning than his works in general discover. To account for the
singularity of Vivaldi’s style, it should be observed that he had been
witness to the dull _imitations_ of Corelli that prevailed among the
masters of his time; and that, for the sake of variety, he unfortunately
adopted a style which had little but novelty to recommend it, and could
serve for little else but “to please the itching vein of idle-headed
fashionists.”
The title of Don, prefixed to Vivaldi’s name, was derived from the
_clerical_ character which belonged to him; and he must, indisputably,
have been one of the most lively of priests. Mr. Wright, in his “Travels
through Italy, from 1720 to 1722,” has a passage indicative of this
union of the clerical and musical functions:—“It is very usual to see
priests play in the orchestra. The famous Vivaldi, whom they call the
_Prete Rosso_, very well known among us for his concertos, was a topping
man among them at Venice.”
Vivaldi, together with Albinoni, Alberti, and Tessarini, is to be
classed among the light and irregular troops. For the more disciplined
and efficient forces, we must look to the Roman school, formed by
Corelli, in which were produced the greatest composers and performers
for the violin that Italy could boast, during the first half of the 18th
century.
FRANCESCO GEMINIANI, the ablest of Corelli’s scholars, and who forms one
of the brightest parts in the chain of Violinists
“In linked sweetness long drawn out,”
was born at Lucca, about the year 1680[21]. His first instructions in
music were derived from Alessandro Scarlatti; and his study of the
violin was commenced under Lunati (surnamed Il Gobbo), and completed
under the great archetype, Corelli.
On leaving Rome, where Corelli was then flourishing, Geminiani went to
Naples, preceded by a degree of fame which secured his most favorable
reception, and placed him at the head of the orchestra. If, however, we
are to credit Barbella, the impetuosity of his feelings, and the fire of
his genius, too ardent for his judgment, rendered him, at this period,
so vague and unsteady a _timeist_, that, instead of guiding, combining,
and giving concinnity to the performers under his direction, he
disordered their motions, embarrassed their execution, and, in a word,
threw the whole band into confusion.
In the year 1714, he came to England, where his exquisite powers, as a
solo performer, commanded universal admiration, and excited, among the
nobility and gentry, a contention for the honor of patronising such
rare abilities. The German Baron, Kilmansegge, was then chamberlain to
George the First, as Elector of Hanover, and a great favorite of the
King. To that nobleman Geminiani particularly attached himself, and,
accordingly, dedicated to him his first work—a set of Twelve Sonatas,
published in 1716. The style of these pieces was peculiarly elegant; but
many of the passages were so florid, elaborate and difficult of
execution, that few persons were adequate to their performance; yet all
allowed their extraordinary merit, and many pronounced them superior to
those of Corelli. They had, indeed, such an effect, that it became a
point of eager debate, whether skill in execution, or taste in
composition, constituted the predominant excellence of Geminiani; and so
high was the esteem he enjoyed, among the lovers of instrumental music,
that it is difficult to say, had he duly regarded his interest, to what
extent he might not have availed himself of public and private favor.
Kilmansegge, anxious to procure him a more effective patronage than his
own, represented his merits to the notice of the King, who, looking over
his works, became desirous to hear some of the pieces performed by their
author; and soon after, accompanied, at his own earnest request, by
Handel on the harpsichord, Geminiani so acquitted himself, as at once to
delight his royal auditor, and to give new confirmation of the
superiority of the violin over all other stringed instruments.
In 1726, he arranged Corelli’s first six _Solos_, as _Concertos_; and,
soon after, the last six, but with a success by no means equal to that
which attended the first. He also similarly treated six of the same
composer’s _Sonatas_, and, in some additional _parts_, imitated their
style with an exactitude that at once manifested his flexible ingenuity,
and his judicious reverence for his originals. Encouraged, however, as
he might be considered, by the success of this undertaking, to proceed
in the exercise of his powers, six years elapsed before another work
appeared—when he produced his own first set of _Concertos_; these were
soon followed by a second set; and the merits of these two productions
established his character as an eminent master in that species of
composition. The opening Concerto in the first of these two sets is
distinguished for the charming minuet with which it closes; and the last
Concerto in the second set is esteemed one of the finest compositions
known of its kind.
His second set of Solos (admired more than practised, and practised more
than performed) was printed in 1739: and his third set of Concertos
(laboured, difficult and fantastic), in the year 1741. Soon after this,
he published his long-promised, and once impatiently-expected work,
entitled “_Lo Dizionario Armonico_.” In this work, after giving due
commendation to Lully, Corelli and Bononcini, as having been the first
improvers of instrumental music, he endeavours to refute the idea, that
the vast foundations of universal harmony can be established upon the
narrow and confined modulation of these authors; and makes many remarks
on the uniformity of modulation apparent in the compositions that had
appeared in different parts of Europe for several years previously.
This didactic production possessed many recommendatory qualities; many
combinations, modulations and cadences, calculated to create, and to
advance the science and taste of a _tyro_; but it appeared too late.
Indolence had suffered the influence of his name to diminish, and his
style and ideas (new as, in some respects, they were) to be superseded
by the more fashionable manner, and more novel conceptions, of fresh
candidates for favour and fame.
This work was succeeded by his “_Treatise on Good Taste_,” and his
“_Rules for playing in Good Taste_;” and, in 1748, he brought forward
his “_Art of Playing on the Violin_;” at that time a highly useful work,
and superior to any similar publication extant. It contained the most
minute directions for holding the instrument, and for the use of the
bow; as well as the graces, the various shifts of the hand, and a great
number of applicable examples.
About 1756, Geminiani was struck with a most curious and fantastic idea;
that of a piece, the performance of which should represent to the
imagination all the events in the episode of the thirteenth book of
Tasso’s Jerusalem. It is needless to say, that the chimera was too
extravagant, of attempting to narrate and instruct, describe and inform,
by the vague medium of instrumental sounds. Musical sounds may possibly,
according to a conjecture sometimes entertained, constitute the language
of heaven; but as we, on earth, are possessed of no _key_ to their
meaning in that capacity, we must be content to employ, for our purposes
of intercommunion, the _articulate_, which alone is, to us, the
_definite_.
In 1750, Geminiani went to Paris, where he continued about five years;
after which, he returned to England, and published a new edition of his
first two sets of Concertos. In 1761, he visited Ireland, in order to
spend some time with his favourite and much-attached scholar, Dubourg,
master of the King’s band in Dublin. Geminiani had spent many years in
compiling an elaborate Treatise on Music, which he designed for
publication; but, soon after his arrival in Dublin, by the treachery of
a female servant (who, it has been said, was recommended to him for no
other purpose than that she might steal it), the manuscript was
purloined out of his chamber, and could never afterwards be recovered.
The magnitude of this loss, and his inability to repair it, made a deep
impression on his mind, and seemed to hasten fast his dissolution. He
died at Dublin on the 17th of September, 1762, in the eighty-third year
of his age.[22]
Endowed with feeling, a respectable master of the laws of harmony, and
acquainted with _some_ of the secrets of fine composition, Geminiani can
hardly be said to have been unqualified either to move the soul, or to
gratify the sense: yet truth, after being just to his real deserts, will
affirm that his bass is not uniformly the most select; that his melody
is frequently irregular in its phrase and measure; and that, on the
whole, he is decidedly inferior to Corelli, with whom, by his admirers,
he has been too frequently and too fondly compared.
For what was deficient in his compositions, as well as for what was
unfavourable in his fortune, the unsettled habits of his life, and his
inherent inclination for rambling, may perhaps partly account. His
fondness for pictures (a taste very strongly developed in him) was less
discreetly exercised than it had been by his prototype, Corelli. On the
contrary, to gratify this propensity, he not only suspended his studies,
and neglected his profession, but oftentimes involved himself in
pecuniary embarrassments, which a little prudence and foresight would
have enabled him to avoid. To gratify his taste, he bought pictures;
and, to supply his wants, he sold them. The consequence of this kind of
traffic was loss, and its concomitant, necessity. Under such
circumstances, the concentration of thought, requisite for giving to his
productions the utmost value derivable from the natural powers of his
mind, was almost impossible.
A trait creditable to his character, on a graver score, presents itself
in the following transaction. The place of Master and Composer of the
state-music in Ireland became vacant in the year 1727, and the Earl of
Essex obtained from Sir Robert Walpole, the minister, a promise of it.
He then told Geminiani that his difficulties were at an end, as he had
provided for him a place suited to his profession, which would afford
him an ample provision for life. On enquiry into the conditions of the
office, Geminiani found that it was not tenable by a member of the
Romish communion. He therefore declined accepting, assigning this as a
reason, and at the same time observing that, although he had never made
any great pretensions to religion, yet to renounce that faith in which
he had been first baptized, for the _sake_ of temporal advantages, was
what he could in no way answer for to his conscience. The post was given
to Matthew Dubourg, who had formerly been the pupil of Geminiani, and
whose merits were not excluded by similar grounds for rejection.
LORENZO SOMIS, chapel-master to the King of Sardinia, was recorded in
Italy as an imitator of Corelli, but in a style somewhat modernized,
after the model of Vivaldi.
He printed, at Rome, in 1722, his “_Opera Prima di Sonate à Violino e
Violoncello, o Cembalo_,” the pieces contained in which are much in
Corelli’s manner; some of them with double-stopped fugues, like those of
his model, and some without. Somis was one of the greatest masters of
the violin of his time; but his chief professional honour,—“the pith and
marrow of his attribute,”—is the having formed, among his scholars, such
a performer as Giardini.
STEFANO CARBONELLI, who had studied the violin under Corelli, was one of
the Italian Artists who contributed to diffuse the celebrity of the
instrument in this country. About the year 1720, he was induced by the
Duke of Rutland to come to England, and was received into the house of
that nobleman. During his residence there, he published _Twelve Solos
for a Violin and Bass_, which he frequently played in public with great
applause. In each of the first six of these, there is a double-stopped
fugue; and the rest, it has been observed, have pleasing melodies, with
correct and judicious counterpoint. In the progress of his success in
England, Carbonelli was placed at the head of the opera band, and soon
became celebrated for his excellent performance.
About the year 1725, he quitted the opera orchestra for an employment in
Drury Lane Theatre, where he also led, and frequently played select
concert pieces between the acts. After continuing there some time, he
engaged himself with Handel, as a performer in his oratorios. For
several years, he played at the rehearsal and performance at St. Paul’s,
for the benefit of the Sons of the Clergy.
In the latter part of his life, he in a great measure neglected the
profession of music, having become a merchant, and an importer of wine
from France and Germany. He obtained the place of one of the purveyors
of wine to the King; and died in that employment in the year 1772.
At the time of Carbonelli’s relaxing in his homage to Apollo, for the
sake of becoming a minister of Bacchus, the following lines (which have
been admirably set, for two voices, by Dr. Cooke) were made up for the
occasion:—
Let Rubinelli charm the ear,
And sing, as erst, with voice divine,—
To Carbonelli I adhere;
Instead of music, give me wine!
But yet, perhaps, with wine combin’d,
Soft music may our joys improve;
Let both together, then, be join’d,
And feast we like the gods above![23]
PIETRO LOCATELLI, another of Corelli’s pupils, but one who made the
boldest innovations upon the manner of that great master, and deviated,
exploringly, into remarkable paths of his own, was born at Bergamo,
about 1693. Being still a youth, at the time of Corelli’s decease, and
full of ardent impulses in relation to the art he had embraced,
Locatelli gave way to these, and soon became conspicuous for a boldness
and originality which, even in our own days, would not pass
unacknowledged. He developed new combinations, and made free use of
arpeggios and harmonic sounds. The compositions of this master, as well
as those of Mestrino, who flourished somewhat later, and was the more
graceful of the two in his style of playing, are supposed to have
furnished hints of no small profit to the penetrating genius of
Paganini.
Locatelli died in Holland, in 1764. The crabbed passages in which he
delighted to display his force, are to be found in his work entitled
“Arte di nuova Modulazione,” or, as it is termed in the French editions,
“Caprices Énigmatiques.”
We now approach one of those names on which the biographer may fairly
delight to dwell, for its association not only with the great and
beautiful in art, but with the interesting in personal character, and
the romantic in incident.
GIUSEPPE TARTINI, of Padua, the last great improver (save Viotti) of the
practice of the violin, was born in April, 1692, at Pirano, a sea-port
town in Istria. His father had been ennobled, in recompense of certain
substantial benefactions, exercised towards the Cathedral Church at
Parenza. Giuseppe was originally intended for the law; but, mixing the
more seductive study of music with the other objects of his education,
it soon gained the ascendant over the whole circle of the sister
sciences. This is not so surprising as another strong propensity, which,
during his youth, much fascinated him. This was the love of fencing—an
art not likely to become necessary to the safety or honor of one
possessed of the pious and pacific disposition that belonged to him, and
one engaged, too, in a civil employment: yet he is said, even in this
art, to have equalled the master from whom he received instructions. In
1710, he was sent to the University of Padua, to pursue his studies as a
civilian; but, before he was twenty, having committed the sin of
sacrificing prudence to love, in a match which he entered into without
the parental _fiat_, he was forsaken, in return, and reduced to wander
about in search of an asylum. This, after many hardships, he found in a
convent at Assisi, where he was received by a monk, his relative, who,
commiserating his misfortunes, let him remain there till something
better might be done for him. While thus secluded and sorrowful, he took
up the violin, to “manage it against despairing thoughts”—an expedient
which the devotion of his soul to music must have lent some efficacy to.
Not only his solace, but, by a singular turn of fortune, his rescue
also, was connected with his violin. On a certain great festival, when
he was in the orchestra of the convent, he was discovered, through the
accident of a remarkably high wind, which, forcing open the doors of the
church, blew aside the orchestral curtain, and exposed all the
performers to the sight of the congregation. His recognition, under
these circumstances, by a Paduan acquaintance, led to the accommodation
of differences; and he then settled with his wife, for some time, at
Venice[24]. This lady proved to be of that particular race which has
never been wholly extinct since the time of Xantippe; but as,
fortunately, poor Tartini was more than commonly Socratic in wisdom,
virtue and patience, her reign was unmolested by any domestic war, or
useless opposition to her supremacy.
His residence at Venice was rendered memorable to him, by the arrival of
the celebrated Veracini (the younger) in that city. The performance of
this “homme marquant” awakened a vivid emulation in Tartini, who, though
he was acknowledged to have a powerful hand, had never heard a great
player before, nor conceived it possible for the _bow_ to possess such
varied capabilities for energy and expression. Under this feeling, he
quitted Venice with prompt decision, and proceeded to Ancona, in order
to study the use of the bow in greater tranquillity and with more
convenience than at Venice, as he had a place assigned him in the
operatic orchestra, of that city. In the same year (1714), his studious
application enabled him to make a discovery—that of the phenomenon of
the _third sound_—which created a great sensation in the musical world,
both in his own time and long afterwards, though it has led to no
important practical results. This phenomenon of the third sound is the
sympathetic resonance of a third note, when the two upper notes of a
chord are sounded. Thus, if two parts are sung in thirds, a sensitive
ear will feel the simultaneous impression of a bass or lower part. This
effect may be more distinctly heard, if a series of consecutive thirds
be played on the violin perfectly in tune. “If you do not hear the
bass,” said Tartini to his pupils, “the thirds or sixths which you are
playing are not perfect in the intonation[25].” This mysterious
sympathy, by which sound is enabled to call up a fellowship of sound,
may be fancifully expressed in a line from the old poet, Drayton:—
“One echo makes another to rejoice!”
His diligence and exemplary devotion to his art, while at Ancona, led
also to another prominent occurrence in his career—the appointment, in
1721, to the distinguished place of first violin, and master of the
band, to the church of St. Anthony, of Padua. To St. Anthony, as his
patron saint, he consecrated himself and his instrument, with a species
and a constancy of attachment, that may find not only their excuse, but
their credit, in the nature and sentiment of the times he lived in. His
extending fame brought him repeated offers from Paris and London, to
visit those capitals; but, holding to his conscientious allegiance, he
uniformly declined entering into any other service, and was, like St.
Anthony himself, a pattern of resistance to temptation.
By the year 1728, he had made many excellent scholars, and established a
system of practice, for students on the violin, that was celebrated all
over Europe, and increased in reputation to the end of his life. Great
numbers of young men resorted to Padua from different countries, in
order to receive instruction from him in music, but chiefly in the
practice of the violin.
In the early part of his life, he published “_Sonate a Violino e
Violoncello, o Cembalo, Opera Prima_.” This, and his Opera Seconda, of
_Six Sonatas_ or _Solos_ for the same instrument, and another work
entitled “_XVIII Concerti a cinque Stromenti_,” were all published by Le
Cène, of Amsterdam, and prove him to have been a truly excellent
composer. Such, however, was the ascendancy of Corelli’s name, and so
ambitious was Tartini of being thought a follower of the precepts and
principles of that master, that, during the zenith of his own
reputation, he refused to teach any other music to his pupils, till they
had studied the _Opera Quinta_, or _Solos_, of Corelli; and the
excellence of this foundation was made manifest by the result. His
favorite pupils were Bini and Nardini. These, as well as others of
Tartini’s _élèves_, formed, in their turn, scholars of great abilities,
who contributed to spread his reputation and manner of playing all over
Europe.
Tartini’s own first master was an obscure musician, of the name of
Giulio di Terni, who afterwards made a fitting change of position, and
descended into the pupil of his own scholar—a circumstance related by
Tartini himself, who used to say that he had studied very little till
after he was thirty years of age[26]. At the age of fifty-two, Tartini
made a marked alteration in his style of playing, from extreme
difficulty (or what was _then_ so considered) to grace and expression.
His method of executing an adagio has been represented by his
contemporaries as inimitable, and was almost, in their idea,
supernatural—an impression to which the idea of the patron saint must
have not a little conduced.
The particulars that have been preserved respecting his scholar,
Pasquale Bini, are not without interest. Recommended to him at the age
of fifteen, by Cardinal Olivieri, Tartini found him a youth after his
own heart, possessing excellent moral dispositions, as well as musical;
and he accordingly cherished a very marked regard for him. This young
musician practised with such assiduity, that, in three or four years, he
vanquished the most difficult of Tartini’s compositions, and executed
them with greater force than the author himself. When he had finished
his studies, his patron, Cardinal Olivieri, took him to Rome, where he
astonished all the Professors by his performance,—particularly
Montagnari, at that time the principal violinist there; and it is
generally believed, that Montagnari was so mortified by the superiority,
as to have died of grief! When informed that Tartini had changed his
style and taste in playing, Bini returned to Padua,
“Nil actum reputans, si quid superesset agendum,”—
and placed himself for another year under that excellent and worthy
master; at the end of which period, so intense had been his application,
that he played with a degree of certainty and expression truly
wonderful.
On a certain occasion, in recommending a scholar to him, after his
return to Rome, Tartini expressed his sense of Bini’s powers and
character, and gave evidence of his own modest and ingenuous
disposition, in the following words:—“Io lo mando a un mio scolare chi
suona più di me; e me ne glorio, per essere un angelo di costume, e
religioso.”—“I recommend him (the applicant) to a scholar of mine, who
plays better than myself; and I am proud of it, as he is an angel in
religion and morals.” Such praise has its value enhanced by the source
whence it proceeds; for it was truly “laudari a laudato viro.”
The death of Tartini occurred at Padua, on the 26th of February, 1770,
to the general regret of the people of that city, where he had resided
nearly fifty years, and not only was regarded as its most attractive
ornament, but, owing to the serious and contemplative turn of his mind,
had attained the estimation of being a saint and a philosopher.
Of the general character of Tartini’s compositions, Dr. Burney, who
appears to have studied them closely, has given the following
judgment:—“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 bases, which were never casual, or the effect of habit
or auricular prejudice and expectation, but learned, judicious and
certain. And yet I must, in justice to others, own that, though the
adagio and solo playing, in general, of his scholars are exquisitely
polished and expressive, yet it seems as if that energy, fire, and
freedom of bow, which modern symphonies and orchestra-playing require,
were wanting.”
The applicability of the latter remark is, of course, considerably
greater in these days than in the Doctor’s time. Another and more recent
critical opinion is subjoined:—
“Tartini’s compositions, with all the correctness and polish of
Corelli’s, are bolder and more impassioned. His slow movements, in
particular, are remarkably vocal and expressive; and his music shows a
knowledge of the violin, both in regard to the bow and the finger-board,
which Corelli had not been able to attain. His works, therefore, though
no longer heard in public, are still prized by the best musicians; a
proof of which is, that some of them have been recently reprinted for
the use of the _Conservatoire_ of Paris. He has frequently injured
their effect, to modern ears, by the introduction of trills and other
ornaments, which, like the flounces and furbelows of the female dress of
his day, have become old-fashioned; but, at the same time, his
compositions are full of beauties, which, belonging to the musical
language of nature and feeling, are independent of the influence of
time.”
Few of my readers have failed, probably, to hear or read of “The Devil’s
Sonata,” that forms so singular a “passage” in the experience of this
remarkable man, and is to be met with in Records, Musical, Literary, and
Pictorial. Monsieur De Lalande informs us that he had, from Tartini’s
own mouth, the following singular anecdote, which conveys an account of
it, and shows to what a degree his imagination was inflamed by the
genius of composition. “He dreamed, one night, in the year 1713, that he
had made a compact with the Devil, who promised to be at his service on
all occasions; and, during this vision, every thing succeeded according
to his mind; his wishes were anticipated, and his desires always
surpassed, by the assistance of his new servant. At length, he imagined
that he presented to the Devil his violin, in order to discover what
kind of a musician he was; when, to his great astonishment, he heard him
play a _solo_, so singularly beautiful, and executed with such superior
taste and precision, that it surpassed all the music he had ever heard
or conceived in his life! So great was his surprise, and so exquisite
his delight, upon this occasion, as to deprive him of the power of
breathing. He awoke with the violence of his sensations, and instantly
seized his instrument, in hopes of expressing what he had just heard;
but in vain. He, however, then composed a piece, which is, perhaps, the
best of all his works, and called it the _Devil’s Sonata_; but it was so
inferior to what his sleep had produced, that he declared he would have
broken his instrument, and abandoned music for ever, if he could have
subsisted by any other means.”
This remarkable legend, under its obvious associations with the fearful
and the grotesque, is so inviting for poetic treatment, that I have
ventured on the following attempt:—
TARTINI’S DREAM.
Grim-visag’d Satan on the Artist’s bed
Sat—and a cloud of sounds mirific spread!
Wild flow’d those notes, as from enchantment’s range,
“Wild, sweet, but incommunicably strange!”
Soft Luna, curious, as her sex beseems,
Shot through the casement her enquiring beams,
Which, entering, paler grew, yet half illum’d
The shade so deep that round the Arch-One gloomed:
And listening Night her pinions furled—for lo!
The Devil’s Soul, O![27] breathed beneath that bow!
Tranquil as death Tartini’s form reclin’d,
And sealing sleep was strong his eyes to bind;
But the wild music of the nether spheres
Was in a key that did unlock his ears.
Squat, like a toad or tailor, sat the Fiend,
And forward, to his task, his body leaned.
His griffin fingers, with their horny ends,
Hammer the stops; the bow submissive bends:
His lengthy chin, descending, forms a vice
With his sharp collar-bone, contrariwise,
To grasp the conscious instrument, held on
With ’scapeless gripe;—and, ever and anon,
As flows the strain, now quaint, and now sublime,
He marks, with beatings of his tail, the time!
Snakes gird his head; but, in that music’s bliss,
Enchanted, lose the discord of their hiss,
And twine in chords harmonic, though all mute,
As if they owned the sway of Orpheus’ lute.
Satan hath joy—for round his lips awhile
Creeps a sharp-set, sulphuric-acid smile;
And, at the mystic notes, successive sped,
Pleas’d, winketh he those eyes of flickering red,
And shakes the grizzly horrors of that head!
List! what a change! Soft wailings fill the air:
Plaintive and touching grows the demon-play’r.
Doth Satan mourn, with meltings all too late,
The sin and sorrow of his own sad state?
* * * * *
Night flies—the dream is past—and, pale and wan,
Starts from his spell-freed couch the anxious man.
Is it a marvel greater than his might,
Those winged sounds to summon back from flight?
To clutch them _whole_, in vain fond Hope inclin’d,
For Memory, overburthen’d, lagged behind,
Partly the strain fell ’neath Oblivion’s pall,
But it had partly “an _un_-dying fall;”
And, in that state defective, to the light
Brought forth—it lives—a relic of that night!
The next name for notice, in connexion with the Italian School of the
instrument, is that of
FRANCESCO MARIA VERACINI (the younger), a great,
but somewhat eccentric performer, who was born at Florence, at the close
of the 17th century. Unlike his contemporary, Tartini, whose sensitive
and modest disposition led him to court obscurity, Veracini was vain,
ostentatious, and haughty. Various stories have been current in Italy
about his arrogance and fantastic tricks, which obtained for him the
designation of _Capo pazzo_. The following anecdote is sufficiently
characteristic of him.
Being at Lucca at the time of the annual “Festa della Croce,” on which
occasion it was customary for the principal professors of Italy, vocal
and instrumental, to meet, Veracini put down his name for a Solo
Concerto. When he entered the choir, to take possession of the principal
place, he found it already occupied by the Padre Girolamo Laurenti,[28]
of Bologna, who, not knowing him, as he had been some years absent,
asked him whither he was going? “To the place of first violin,” was the
impetuous answer. Laurenti then explained that _he_ had been always
engaged to fill that post himself; but that if he wished to play a
concerto, either at vespers or during high mass, he should have a place
assigned to him. Veracini turned on his heel with contempt, and went to
the lowest place in the orchestra. When he was called upon to play his
concerto, he desired that the hoary old father would allow him, instead
of it, to play a solo at the bottom of the choir, accompanied on the
violoncello by Lanzetti. He played this in so brilliant and masterly a
manner as to extort an _e viva!_ in the public church; and, whenever he
was about to make a close, he turned to Laurenti, and called out, _Così
si suona per fare il primo violino_—“This is the way to play the first
fiddle!”
Another characteristic story respecting this performer is the
following:—
Pisendel, a native of Carlsburg, and one of the best violinists of the
early part of the eighteenth century, piqued at the pride and hauteur of
Veracini, who thought too highly of his own powers not to disdain a
comparison of them with those of any performer then existing,
determined, if possible, to mortify his conceit and self-consequence.
For this purpose, while both were at Dresden, he composed a very
difficult concerto, and engaged a _ripienist_, or inferior performer, to
practise it till he had conceived the whole, and rendered the most
intricate passages as familiar to his bow and finger as the more
obvious and easy parts of the composition. He then took occasion, the
practitioner being present, to request Veracini to perform it. The great
executant condescended to comply; but did not get through the task
without calling into requisition all his powers. When he had concluded,
the _ripienist_, agreeably to his previous instructions, stepped up to
the desk, and began to perform the same piece; upon which Veracini, in a
passion, tore him away, and would have punished on the spot his perilous
presumption, had not Pisendel actively interfered, and persuaded him,
were it only for the jest of the thing, to “let the vain creature expose
himself.” Veracini became pacified, the ripienist began again, and
executed the whole even more perfectly than his precursor, who stamped
on the floor with rage, swore he would never forgive Pisendel, and,
scarcely less abashed than tormented, immediately quitted Dresden.
Veracini would give lessons to no one, except a nephew, who died young.
The only master he himself had was his uncle, Antonio Veracini, of
Florence; but, by travelling all over Europe, he formed a style of
playing peculiar to himself. Besides being in the service of the King of
Poland, he was for a considerable time at the various courts of Germany,
and twice in England, where he composed several _operas_, and where Dr.
Burney had the opportunity of witnessing and commenting on the bold and
masterly character of his violin performance. Soon after his being here
(about 1745), he was shipwrecked, and lost his two famous Steiner
violins, reputed the best in the world, and all his effects. In his
usual light style of discourse, he used to call one of these instruments
St. Peter, and the other St. Paul.
As a composer, he had certainly a great share of whim and caprice; but
he built his freaks on a good foundation, being an excellent
contrapuntist; and indeed it is probable enough that these very freaks,
if tested by a contact with some of the fiddle _capriccios_ and
_pots-pourris_ of our own day, would fall very much in the measure of
extravagance, and leave us to wonder at what constituted a wonder in the
more sober musical times of Burney and Hawkins. The peculiarities in his
performance were his bow-hand, his shake, his learned arpeggios, and a
tone so loud and clear that it could be distinctly heard through the
most numerous band of a church or theatre[29].
PIETRO NARDINI, a noted Tuscan Violinist, was born at Leghorn, in 1725.
Instructed by Tartini, he soon became his most distinguished pupil;—nor
as such only was he regarded by that great master, who, besides loving
and admiring his rising genius, found in him a congeniality of character
and sentiment, that served to establish a firm mutual friendship. In
this instance, as in that of his other favourite pupil, Bini, we may
remark the exemption of Tartini’s mind from that sordid spot of
jealousy, that too often dims the lustre of professional talent.
Attached, in 1763, to the Chapel of the Duke of Wirtemberg, Nardini soon
evinced abilities that made him conspicuous. On the reduction or
suppression of that establishment, a few years afterwards, he returned
to Leghorn, where he composed almost all his works. In 1769, he went to
Padua, to revisit Tartini, whom he attended in his last illness, with
attachment truly filial. On his return to Leghorn, the generous offers
of the Grand Duke of Tuscany determined him to quit that city, and enter
the Duke’s service. Joseph the Second, when he visited Italy, was
greatly struck with the execution of this distinguished virtuoso, and
made a curious gold snuff-box the memorial of his admiration. In 1783,
the president, Dupaty, being in Italy, listened to him with a rapture
which occasioned his exclaiming, “His violin is a voice, or possesses
one. It has made the fibres of my ear to tremulate as they never did
before. To what a degree of tenuity Nardini divides the air! How
exquisitely he touches the strings of his instrument! With what art he
modulates and purifies their tones!”
Michael Kelly makes reference to this distinguished artist, in speaking
of a private concert at Florence. “There,” observes he, “I had the
gratification of hearing a sonata on the violin played by the great
Nardini. Though very far advanced in years, he played divinely. He spoke
with great affection of his favourite scholar, Thomas Linley, who, he
said, possessed powerful abilities.”—Kelly adds, that Nardini, when
appealed to on that occasion, as to the truth of the anecdote about
Tartini and the Devil’s Sonata, gave distinct confirmation of it, as a
thing he had frequently heard the relation of from Tartini himself.
Like some other masters of the old school, Nardini exhibited his powers
to most advantage in the performance of _adagios_; and a high tribute
to his capacity for expression is conveyed in what has been recorded of
the magic of his bow—that it elicited sounds, which, when the performer
was concealed from view, appeared rather those of the human voice than
of a violin. Of his Sonatas, now almost consigned to oblivion, the style
is ably sustained, the ideas are clear, the motive well treated, and the
expression natural, though of a serious cast, as was the character of
the composer.
Nardini died at Florence, in 1796, or, according to others, in 1793.
Among the compositions of this pupil of Tartini, are to be reckoned six
concertos for the violin; six solos for the same instrument (opera
seconda); six trios for the flute; six other solos for the violin; six
quartetts, six duetts; and, in manuscript, many concertos for the same
instrument.
LUIGI BOCCHERINI, a composer of distinguished talents, to whom, and to
Corelli, stands assigned the honour of being considered the fathers of
_chamber-music_ for stringed instruments, was a native of Lucca, and
born in the year 1740. His first lessons in music and on the violoncello
were imparted by the Abbate Vanucci. His disposition for music was early
and strong; and his father, himself an ingenious musician, after
attending with care to the cultivation of his son’s talent, sent him to
Rome, where he soon acquired a high reputation for the originality and
variety of his productions. Returning, a few years afterwards, to Lucca,
he gave there the first public performance of his Sonatas. It chanced
that another Lucchese, Manfredi, a pupil of Nardini’s, was also present
at the time of Boccherini’s return from Rome; and they executed
together, with great public success, the Sonatas of the latter for
violin and violoncello—his seventh work. The two professors, becoming
further associated in friendship, as well as in the musical art, quitted
Italy together for Spain, where they met with such encouragement as
determined Boccherini to establish himself in that country. Basking in
the sunshine of royal favour, the only condition required of Boccherini
for the continuance of its rays, was that he should work enough to
produce, annually, nine pieces of his composition, for the use of the
Royal Academy at Madrid; and he adhered faithfully to the engagement. He
appears to have passed through life smoothly, as well as with honour.
His death occurred at Madrid, in 1806, at the age of 66.
The compositions of this master, which have been of marked importance in
connection with the progress of stringed instruments, are characterized
by a noble sweetness, a genuine pathos, deep science and great nicety of
art. It belongs to him, as a distinction, to have first fixed (about
1768) the character of three several classes of instrumental
composition—the _trio_, the _quartett_, and the _quintett_. In the trio,
he was followed by Fiorillo, Cramer, Giardini, Pugnani, and Viotti; and
in the quartett, by Giardini, Cambini, Pugnani, and, in another style,
by Pleyel, Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven; while, in his quintetts for
_two_ violoncellos, he may be said to have no successor but Onslow. His
productions of this last species, of which he has left no fewer than
ninety-three—for he was little inferior to Haydn in fecundity of
genius—are particularly deserving of study; and it was the remark of Dr.
Burney, that he had supplied the performers on bowed instruments, and
the lovers of music in general, with more excellent compositions than
any other master belonging to that time, except Haydn. His manner, as
the same writer adds, “is at once bold, masterly and elegant; and there
are movements in his works of every style, and in the true genius of the
instruments for which he wrote, that place him high in rank among the
greatest masters who have ever written for the violin or violoncello.”
“As in the symphonies of Haydn,” says a writer in the _Harmonicon_, “so
in the quintetts of Boccherini, we observe the genuine stamp of genius,
differing in the manner, but alike in the essence. Boccherini had
studied, profoundly and thoroughly, the nature and capabilities of the
_violoncello_. He composed nearly the whole of his music for this
instrument, and was the first who wrote quintetts for two violoncellos.
Striving to impart to these productions the sweet, pathetic, and, if the
expression may be allowed, the religious character which distinguished
most of his works, he conceived the idea of giving the _leading_ part to
the _violoncello_, and of throwing the harmony into the violin, alto and
bass; the second violoncello, in the mean time, sometimes accompanying
the first, and occasionally playing the air in concert with it.”
The beautiful style of his quintetts, and the exquisite manner in which,
in some of them, he has thus combined the two violoncellos, constrained
an impassioned amateur to compare them to the music of the angels.
Boccherini’s first work was published at Paris, where it excited the
highest admiration: his _Stabat Mater_ is worthy of being placed by the
side of that of Pergolesi, of Durante, or of Haydn; and to his genius
for composition he added so much executive skill on the violin,
violoncello and pianoforte, that a musical enthusiast said (with a
rapture probably too honest to be regarded as altogether profane), “If
God chose to speak to man, he would employ the music of Haydn; but, if
he desired to hear an earthly musician, he would select Boccherini:”—and
Puppo, the celebrated violinist, has described him thus:—“The tender
Boccherini is the softer second self of Haydn.” It is said, indeed, that
Boccherini kept up a regular correspondence with Haydn,—these two great
musicians endeavouring to enlighten each other respecting their
compositions.
FELICI GIARDINI, by the novel powers and grace of his execution, appears
to have made, in England, almost as great a sensation as that created,
eighty years later, by Paganini, with whom, also, he may be placed in
competition, on the score of a capricious and difficult temper. He was
born at Turin, in 1716; his musical education was received, at Milan,
under Paladini, and subsequently, for the violin in particular, at
Turin, under Somis, one of the best scholars of Corelli. At the age of
17, animated by the hope of fame, he went to Rome, and afterwards to
Naples. At the latter city, he obtained, by the recommendation of
Jomelli, a post far too humble for his large ambition—that of one of the
_ripieni_, or make-weights, in the opera orchestra. Here his talents,
nevertheless, began to appear, and he was accustomed to flourish and
change passages, much more frequently than he ought to have done.
“However,” said he himself, in relating the circumstance to Dr. Burney,
“I acquired great reputation among the ignorant for my impertinence;
till, one night, during the opera, Jomelli, who had composed it, came
into the orchestra, and seated himself close by me, when I determined to
give the _Maestro di Capella_ a touch of my taste and execution. In the
symphony of the next song, which was in a pathetic style, I gave loose
to my fingers and fancy; for which I was rewarded by the composer with—a
violent slap in the face; which (added Giardini) was the best lesson I
ever received from a great master in my life.” Jomelli, after this, was
very kind, in a different and less indirect way, to this young and
wonderful musician.
After a short continuance at Naples, followed by visits professional to
the principal theatres in Italy, and by an enthusiastic reception at
Berlin, Giardini came to England, and arrived in London in the year
1750. Here his performance on the violin, in which, at that time, he was
considered to excel every other master in Europe, was heard, both in
public and in private, with the most rapturous applause. His first
public performance in London afforded a scene memorable among the
triumphs of art. It was at a benefit Concert for old Cuzzoni, who sang
in it with a thin, cracked voice, which almost frightened out of the
little Theatre in the Haymarket the sons of those who had, perhaps,
heard her, at the Great Theatre of the same street, with ecstacy
supreme. But when Giardini came forward, and made a display of his
powers in a solo and concerto, the applause was so long, loud and
furious, as nothing but that bestowed on Garrick had probably ever
equalled. His tone, bowing, execution, and graceful carriage of himself
and his instrument, formed a combination that filled with astonishment
the English public, unaccustomed to hear better performers than Festing,
Brown and Collett.
Such was the estimation accruing to Giardini from his talents, that, in
1754, he was placed at the head of the opera orchestra. Two years
afterwards, he joined the female singer Mingotti in attempting that
labyrinth of disaster, the management of the Italian Opera; but,
although they acquired much fame, their management was not attended with
success. During this time, Giardini composed several of the dramas that
were performed. In leading the Opera band, he had the merit of
introducing improved discipline, and a new style of playing, much finer
in itself, and more congenial with the poetry and music of Italy, than
the level and languid manner of his predecessor, Festing, who had
succeeded Castrucci (Hogarth’s “Enraged Musician”), and had since, with
inadequate powers, continued to maintain the post, with the exception of
one or two seasons, during which Veracini had been in the ascendant.
Fashion, in the folly of its excess, has not often been seen to cut so
extravagant a figure as on the occasion of the associated performances
in private by Giardini and Mingotti, during the “high and palmy state”
of their credit. The absolutism of Mrs. Fox Lane (afterwards Lady
Bingley) over the fashionable world, as the enthusiastic patroness of
these two artists, is a thing that satire might feast on. Rank, wealth,
manhood, and beauty, prostrate before the domination of this “pollens
matrona,” were content (lest, forsooth! they should have “argued
themselves unknown”) to pay tax and tribute to her two favourites, and
take a passport to the notice of “the town,” in the shape of a
benefit-ticket. At such scenes, it is not using too strong a figure to
say that Folly must have clapped her hands, displayed her broadest grin,
and given an extra jingle to the bells on her cap. To all who reflect,
it scarcely needs to be observed that the false raptures and artificial
stimulus, belonging to a system like this, are nearly as injurious as
they are absurd; that to pamper thus the artist, is not only to spoil
him, but to injure the interests of the art, by making it the object of
popular ridicule or disgust.
The contrast afforded by the close of Giardini’s career with the
brilliancy of its middle course, makes one think of Johnson’s bitter
association of “the patron and the jail.” Those were, truly, the days
when patronage was a thing of rank luxuriance, that sometimes overgrew
and choked the flowers of genius to which it fastened itself. The case
is now, happily, become somewhat different—the free and fostering breath
of general opinion being the air in which talent has learned to seek and
attain its full growth; and a more limited resort being had to the
forcing influence of the aristocratic temperature.[30]
The losses that Giardini had sustained on that ready road to ruin, the
Italian Opera, drove him back to the resources of his own particular
talent; and he entered upon the occupation of teaching in families of
rank and fashion, at the same time continuing unrivalled as a leader, a
solo-player, and a composer for his favourite instrument.
Mr. Gardiner, of Leicester, has made the following record concerning
him, in his “_Music and Friends_,” on the occasion of a concert at the
above town, in 1774:—“There I heard the full and prolonged tones of
Giardini’s violin. He played a concerto, in which he introduced the then
popular air “Come, haste to the wedding,” which moved the audience to a
state of ecstacy, but now would disgust every one by its vulgarity. He
was a fine-figured man, superbly dressed in green and gold; the breadth
of the lace upon his coat, with the three large gold buttons on the
sleeve, made a rich appearance, which still glitters on my imagination.”
Giardini resided in England until the year 1784, when he went to Naples,
under the protection and patronage of Sir William Hamilton. There he
continued five years, and then returned to this country; but his
reception was not what it had formerly been. Fashion is a goddess of so
gay a turn as cannot assort with infirmity; and an old favourite is but
too likely to find that favour easily gets a divorce from age. The
health of the Italian was greatly impaired, and sinking fast under a
confirmed dropsy. With a dimmer eye, a feebler hand, and doubtless an
aching heart, he found himself still doomed to the prosecution of his
calling, when all his former excellence was lost. Instead of _leading_
in all the most difficult parts, he now played in public only the tenor
in quartetts that he had recently composed. After attempting,
unsuccessfully, a burletta opera at the little Theatre in the Haymarket,
he was at length (in 1793) induced to go to St. Petersburgh, and
afterwards to Moscow, with his burletta performers. The most cruel
disappointment, however, attended him in each of these cities; in the
latter of which, he died, at the age of 80, in a state (as far as it
could be discovered) of poverty and wretchedness.
It is certain that the wayward and splenetic character evinced by this
brilliant artist, was his bane through the greater part of his life. To
enquire how much of that character was indigenous to the man, and how
much the evil fruit of the private-patronage system, were, perhaps, to
consider too curiously. That he was careless of his own interest, and
that he quarrelled with some of his most valuable friends, can excite
little surprise, when we note the furor of favoritism, the perversity of
petting, that were thrust upon him. We must not expect, in the _morale_
of the musician
“Made drunk with honor, and debauch’d with praise,”
that “sterner stuff,” which we look for in the philosopher.
As a composer for the instrument on which he shone, Giardini is not
entitled to rank very high. His Solos and Concertos, numerous, pleasing
and of neat effect, were not of so marked a character as to ensure any
great duration to their popularity; nor did they admit of any severe
analysis as to science in their structure. It is from his _playing_ that
his high reputation is derived; and he confirmed into triumph, by more
than thirty years of brilliant performance, the previously growing
favour of the instrument in England, where indeed he may be said to have
completely reformed the Violin system. A living testimony to the
excellence of his playing, with a few words as to its manner, has been
given, not long since, by Parke, the oboist, who heard him in 1776, and
states that he displayed a fund of grace and expression—that his tone
united sweetness with power—and (an odd addendum) that he made use of
strings so large as to give rise to the idea that his fingers must have
been blistered by the necessary pressure he gave them.
ANTONIO LOLLI, born at Bergamo, in 1728, attained eminence in his own
country, and afterwards (from 1762 to 1773) became Concert-Master to the
Duke of Wurtemburg. Subsequently he went to Russia, where he obtained,
from the Empress, Catherine II, a signal token of her admiration, in the
shape of a violin-bow, made for him by her order, and bearing on it an
inscription in her own potential autograph:—“_Archet fait par ordre de
Catherine II, pour l’incomparable Lolli_.” In 1785, he visited England,
whence he proceeded to Spain, and thence to Paris, where he performed at
the _Spirituel_ and other Concerts. In 1788, he returned to Italy, where
he glorified his own name with the title of Concert-Master to the
Empress of Russia; and in 1794, he was at Vienna, ascribing himself
under the same character to the King of Naples. He died, after a
lingering illness, at Naples, in 1802. His excellence in practice was
chiefly evinced in quick movements: he was rarely inclined to exhibit in
an adagio.[31] An anecdote in proof of his professional assiduity is
recorded by Gerber. When he entered on his engagement at Stuttgard, in
1762, he found a superior there, in the person of Nardini. This
circumstance roused all his energies, which speedily took a settled
purpose. He requested the Duke to allow him a year’s leave of absence,
to travel; instead of which, he retired, diligent, but disingenuous, to
a secluded village, and applied himself indefatigably to his instrument.
At the end of the accorded absence, he returned from his pretended
journey, “clarior è tenebris,” and shone forth with such effect, that
Nardini gave up the contest, and returned to Italy.
With regard to the compositions of Lolli, it is known that he never
wrote more than the theme, and obtained from other hands the bass, or
the parts for the several instruments: yet it is curious to note that he
gives difficult passages, of considerable compass, to be executed on the
_fourth string_ only. There are extant various sets of his Solos, a
Preceptive Treatise on the Violin, &c.
GAETANO PUGNANI, first violinist to the King of Sardinia, was born at
Turin, in the year 1728. At a very early age, he began to practise the
instrument on which he was destined to excel. His first tutor was Somis,
his countryman, already named as one of the most distinguished scholars
of Corelli. After displaying his extraordinary abilities at the
Sardinian Court, Pugnani went to Paris, and received the highest
applause at the _Concert Spirituel_, as an admitted rival of J. Stamitz,
Gavinies, and Pagin.
Pugnani afterwards visited many parts of Europe, and remained a
considerable time in England. It was here that he composed a great
portion of his violin music. In 1770, he returned to Italy; and, at
Turin, founded a school for violinists, as Corelli had at Rome, and
Tartini at Padua. From this practical academy issued the first
performers of the latter part of the eighteenth century; among whom were
Viotti, Bruni and Oliveri. Pugnani’s style of execution is recorded to
have been broad and noble, and characterized by that commanding sweep of
the bow which afterwards formed so grand a feature in the performance of
Viotti; the germs of whose high qualities are clearly traceable to his
master. It has been remarked, that all the pupils of Pugnani proved
excellent leaders. To lead well, was his most distinguishing excellence;
and he possessed the art of transmitting it to others. In the orchestra,
says Rangoni, he commanded like a general in the midst of his soldiers.
His bow was the baton of authority, which every performer obeyed with
the most scrupulous exactitude. With a single stroke of this bow, he
could correct the erroneous, or animate the lethargic. He even indicated
to the _actors_ the tone and sentiment in which they ought to deliver,
their respective melodies, and brought every thing to that harmony of
expression, without which the operatic scene fails of its most powerful
charm. His strong and acute mind possessed with the great object to
which every leader ought to attend, he promptly and powerfully seized
all the grand points, the character, the style and taste of the
composition, and impressed it upon the feelings of the performers, both
vocal and instrumental.
Pugnani, in addition to the display of brilliant and powerful abilities
as a performer, gave, in his compositions, evidence of a free and
elegant imagination. His several instrumental pieces, which consist of
solos, trios, quartetts, quintetts and overtures, were published
variously, in London, Amsterdam and Paris. On the Continent, they are
still in some request, but are become very scarce. They display an
eloquence of melody, and an animated and nervous manner. The ideas are
natural, both in themselves and in their succession; and, however
pointed and striking, never desert the style of the _motivo_. The operas
of this distinguished master, seven or eight in number, were all highly
successful; and there is scarcely a theatre in Italy, at which some of
them have not been performed.
Amongst the anecdotes that have been related of Pugnani, are the
following. In his early youth, but when already much advanced on the
violin, feeling far from satisfied with the degree of excellence he had
attained, he resolved to quit Paris for Padua, in order to see Tartini,
to consult him on his playing, and to improve himself under his
instruction. Desired by that great master to give him a specimen of his
performance, he requested of him, beforehand, to express frankly his
opinion of his style and manner. Before he had played many bars, Tartini
suddenly seized his arm, saying, “Too loud, my good friend; too loud!”
Pugnani began afresh; when, arriving at the same passage, his auditor
again stopped him short, exclaiming, “Too soft, my good friend; too
soft!” He immediately laid down his instrument, and solicited Tartini to
admit him among his scholars. His request was granted; and, excellent
violinist as he really already was, he began his practice _de novo_,
and, under the guidance of his new instructor, soon became one of the
first performers of his time. Not long after this, at the house of
Madame Denis, Pugnani heard Voltaire recite a poetical composition, in a
style that enchanted him; and he, in his turn, at the lady’s request,
began to perform on his violin; when, vexed at the interruption and
ill-breeding of Voltaire’s loud conversation,[32] he suddenly stopped,
and put his violin into the case, saying, “M. Voltaire fait très-bien
les vers, mais, quant à la musique, il n’y entend pas le diable.” Once,
in performing a concerto before a numerous company, he became so
excited, on arriving at an _ad libitum_ passage, and so lost in
attention to his playing, that, thinking himself alone, he walked about
the room, “turbine raptus ingenii,” till he had finished his very
beautiful cadence.
Pugnani died at the city of his birth, in 1798. The violinist, Cartier,
has written his eulogium in few words, but of strong import:—“He was the
master of Viotti.”
GIOVANNI MANE GIORNOVICHI (or Giarnovick, or Jarnowick, as he has been
variously called) was born at Palermo, in 1745, and had Antonio Lolli
for his preceptor. Resorting to Paris for his first public display, he
appeared at the _Concert Spirituel_, with indifferent success, but, by
perseverance, soon turned the scale of opinion in his favour so
effectually, that, during a space of ten years, the style of Giornovichi
was in fashion in the French capital. His sway there was terminated by
the superior power of Viotti, and he quitted France about the year 1780,
proceeding to Prussia, where, in 1782, he was engaged as first violin in
the Royal Chapel of Potsdam. He was, subsequently, for some time in
Russia.[33] Between the years 1792 and 1796, he was in high vogue in
various parts of England, but lost his popularity through a dispute with
an eminent professor, in which the sense of the public went against him.
A residence of some years in Hamburgh, a shorter stay at Berlin, and
then a change to St. Petersburgh, brought him to the end of his career.
He died of apoplexy, in 1804.
The eccentricity which marked the character of this artist, is shown in
various anecdotes that have been current respecting him. On one
occasion, at Lyons, he announced a concert, at six francs a ticket, but
failed to collect an audience. Finding the Lyonnese so retentive of
their money, he postponed his performance to the following evening, with
the temptation of tickets at half the price. A crowded company was the
result; but their expectations were suddenly let down by the discovery
that “the advertiser” had quitted the town _sans cérémonie_. At another
time, being in the music-shop of Bailleux, he accidentally broke a pane
of glass.
“Those who break windows must pay for them,” said Bailleux. “Right,”
replied the other; “how much is it?” “Thirty sous.” “Well, there’s a
three-franc piece.” “But I have no small change.” “Never mind that,”
Giornovichi replied; “we are now quits!” and immediately dashed his cane
through a second square—thus taking _double panes_ to make himself
disagreeable.
The authoress of the “Memoirs of the Empress Josephine” has furnished an
anecdote connected with his sojourn in London. He gave a concert, which
was very fully attended. On the commencement of a concerto which he had
to perform, the company continued conversing together, while their
whispering was intermingled with the clattering of tea-cups and
saucers—for it was then customary to serve the company with tea
throughout the evening, during the performance as well as in the
intervening pauses. Giornovichi turned to the orchestra, and desired the
performers to stop. “These people,” said he, “know nothing about music.
I will give them something better suited to their taste. Any thing is
good enough for _drinkers of warm water_.” So saying, he immediately
struck up the air, “J’ai du bon tabac.” The best of the matter was, he
was overwhelmed with applause; the second piece was listened to with
great attention, and the circulation of the tea-cups was actually
suspended until its conclusion.
“Giornovick,” says Michael Kelly, again, in his “Reminiscences,” “was a
desperate duellist, quarrelled with Shaw, the leader of the Drury Lane
orchestra, at an oratorio, and challenged him. I strove all in my power
to make peace between them. Giornovick could not speak a word of
English[34], and Shaw could not speak a word of French. They both
agreed that I should be the mediator between them. I translated what
they said to each other, most faithfully; but, unfortunately, Shaw, in
reply to one of Giornovick’s accusations, said, “Pooh! pooh!”—“Sacre!”
said Giornovick, “what is the meaning of dat ‘pooh! pooh?’ I will not
hear a word until you translate me ‘pooh! pooh!’” My good wishes to
produce harmony between them, for some time, were frustrated, because I
really did not know how to translate ‘pooh! pooh!’ into French or
Italian. I, however, at last succeeded in making them friends; but the
whole scene was truly ludicrous.”[35]
The mettlesome _vivacity_ of this strange being was further shown in his
intercourse with the Chevalier St. George, who was expert at the sword,
as well as the _bow_. Giornovichi often disagreed with this formidable
master of fence, and, one day, in the heat of a dispute, dealt him a box
on the ear. Instead of resenting it, however, by means of his “so potent
art,” St. George turned round, with laudable self-restraint, to a person
who was present, and said, “_J’aime trop son talent pour me battre avec
lui!_” (“I am too fond of his talent, to fight him.”)
“Jarnowick,” says a recent critic, “was a sort of erratic star or
meteor, which cannot be brought into the system of the regular planets
of the violin. Slightly educated, and shallow as a musician, his native
talent, and the facility with which he was able to conquer mechanical
difficulties, rendered him so brilliant and powerful a player, that, for
a time, he was quite the rage, both in France and England. We have been
told, by a gentleman who knew him well,” adds this writer, “that he has
seen him, with his violin in his hand, walking about his room, and
groping about on the strings for basses to the melodies he was
composing. His concertos are agreeable and brilliant, but destitute of
profundity and grandeur, and are, therefore, totally thrown aside. His
performance was graceful and elegant, and his tone was pure. He was
remarkably happy in his manner of treating simple and popular airs as
_rondos_, returning ever and anon to his theme, after a variety of
brilliant excursions, in a way that used to fascinate his hearers. But,
both as a composer and a performer, the effect he produced was
ephemeral, and has left no trace behind it. He contributed nothing
either to the progress of music, or to that of the instrument which he
cultivated.”
In giving the reverse side of the picture, there appears to be here a
little exaggeration of its defects. That so eminent a performer should
have contributed _nothing_ to the progress of his instrument, is
scarcely to be held probable. The crowds he drew, and the admiration he
excited, must surely have been the means of diffusing some increased
regard for the instrument of whose single powers he made such brilliant
exhibition. To the steady advancement of the art, through the formation
of pupils, he might contribute nothing; but he must have added
something to its success, by stimulating the public disposition to
encourage it. To create admirers, is of less importance than to make
proficients; and yet it is an achievement of _some_ value, inasmuch as
it promotes the _demand_ for proficients. Even when the public, for
personal reasons, withdrew their patronage from Giornovichi, they only
transferred, in favor of others, the admiration for violin solo-playing,
which he had been one of the agents to instil into them: and thus it is
that no performer of great abilities, unless, by introducing a vicious
style, he corrupts taste (which has not been charged upon Giornovichi),
can be justly said to be destitute of advantageous influence upon his
art.
GIOVANNI BATTISTA VIOTTI, the first violinist of his age, and the
enlightened originator of the modern order of violin-playing, was born
in 1755, at Fontaneto, a small village in Piedmont. Possessing the
happiest dispositions for his art, the progress he made under Pugnani
was so rapid, that, at the age of twenty, he was chosen to fill the
situation of first violinist to the Royal Chapel of Turin. After about
three years’ residence there, he proceeded on his travels, having
already attained maturity of excellence. From Berlin, he directed his
course towards Paris, where he displayed his talents in the _Concert
Spirituel_, and speedily obliged Giornovichi, who was then figuring as a
star of the first pretensions, to “pale his ineffectual fire.” The
concertos of Giornovichi, agreeable and brilliant as they were, and
supported by his graceful and elegant playing, lost their attraction
when brought into rivalry with the beauty and grandeur of Viotti’s
compositions, aided by the noble and powerful manner in which he
executed them.
Viotti’s fame very soon drew on him the notice of the French Court; and
he was sent for to Versailles by Marie Antoinette. A new concerto of
his own composition, to be performed at a courtly festival, was to
afford a treat worthy of Royalty; and every one of the privileged was
impatient to hear him. At the appointed hour, a thousand lights
illumined the magnificent musical saloon of the Queen; the most
distinguished symphonists of the chapel-royal, and of the theatres
(ordered for the service of their Majesties) were seated at the desks
where the parts of the music were distributed. The Queen, the Princes,
the ladies of the royal family, and all the persons belonging to their
Court, having arrived, the concert commenced. The performers, in the
midst of whom Viotti was distinguished, received from him their impulse,
and appeared to be animated by the same spirit. The symphony proceeded
with all the fire and all the expression of him who conceived and
directed it. At the expiration of the _tutti_, the enthusiasm was at its
height; but etiquette forbade applause; the orchestra was silent. In the
saloon, it seemed as if every one present was forewarned by this very
silence to breathe more softly, in order to hear more perfectly the
_solo_ which he was about to commence. The strings, trembling under the
lofty and brilliant bow of Viotti, had already sent forth some prelusive
sounds, when suddenly a great noise was heard from the next apartment.
_Place à Monseigneur le Comte d’Artois!_ His Highness entered, preceded
by servants carrying flambeaux, and accompanied by a numerous train of
bustling attendants. The folding-doors were thrown open, and the concert
was interrupted. A moment after, the symphony began again; “Silence!
Viotti is going to play.” In the meantime, the _Comte d’Artois_ cannot
remain quietly seated: he rises, and walks about the room, addressing
his discourse loudly to several ladies. Viotti looks round with
indignant surprise at the interruption, puts his violin under his arm,
takes the music from the stand, and walks off, leaving the concert, her
Majesty and his Royal Highness, to the reproaches of all the
audience—and leaving his biographers, afterwards, in some doubt whether
a just independence of spirit, or a petulance beyond the occasion,
should be regarded as the motive to this premature _finale_. Of those
who read the anecdote, some may associate it with the story of “the
_bear_ and fiddle,” while others, siding with Viotti, may consider the
interruption that provoked him as something parallel to Beranger’s
ironical summons of
Bas, bas!
Chapeau bas!
Place au Marquis de Carabas!
It has never been satisfactorily discovered what were the reasons which
induced Viotti, at an early period of his life, to relinquish all idea
of ever performing in public. Some have referred to the incident above
narrated, as the cause of this; but they who pretended to be well
acquainted with his character, have asserted that he disdained the
applause of the multitude, because it was afforded, almost
indiscriminately, to superiority of talent, _and_ to presumptuous
mediocrity. It is well known that he rejected the solicitations of
people who were termed of the great world, because he would have no
other judges than such as were worthy of appreciating him; and that,
notwithstanding the pretensions asserted by the great and fashionable
persons of his day, on the score of knowing every thing, and of being
the supreme arbiters of arts, of artists, and of taste, he observed that
it was very rare to find among them men capable of a profound sentiment,
or who could discover in others any thing beyond their exterior, and
judge of things otherwise than by the same superficial admeasurement.
He, however, yielded again to the eagerness which was evinced for
hearing him,—but on two occasions only; of which the one did honour to
his heart; and the other, as it serves to acquaint us more intimately
with his character, may be here related.
On the fifth story, in a little street in Paris, not far from the _Place
de la Révolution_, in the year 1790, lodged a deputy of the Constituent
Assembly, an intimate and trusty friend of Viotti’s. The conformity of
their opinions, the same love of the arts and of liberty, an equal
admiration of the genius and works of Rousseau, had formed this
connection between two men who thenceforward became inseparable. It
was during the exciting times of enthusiasm and of hope, that the ardent
heart of Viotti could not remain indifferent to sentiments which
affected all great and generous minds. He shared them with his friend.
This person solicited him strongly to comply with the desire which some
of the first personages in the kingdom expressed to hear him—if only for
once. Viotti at last consented, but upon one condition—namely, that the
concert should be given in the modest and humble retreat of _the fifth
floor! La fortune passe par tout_—‘We have,’said he, ‘long enough
descended to _them_: but the times are changed; they must now mount, in
order to raise themselves to _us_.’ This project was no sooner thought
of, than prepared for execution. Viotti and his friend invited the most
celebrated artists of the day to grace this novel festival:—Garat, whom
nature had endowed with a splendid voice, and a talent of expression
still more admirable—Herman, Steibelt, Rode (the pupil of Viotti). To
Puppo was confided the direction of the orchestra; and to Bréval, the
office of seconding Viotti. Among the great female _artistes_ of the
day, were Madame Davrigny, with Mandini, Viganoni, and Morichelli, a
lady as celebrated for her talents as for her charms. On the appointed
day, all the friends arrived. The bust of Rousseau, encircled with
garlands of flowers, was uncovered, and formed the only ornament of this
novel music-saloon. It was there that Princes, notwithstanding the pride
of rank; great ladies, despite the vanity of titles; pretty women, and
superannuated fops, clambered for the first time up to the _fifth
story_, to hear the almost celestial music of Boccherini, performed by
Viotti; and, that nothing might be wanting to complete the triumph of
the artist, there was not one of these persons who, after the concert,
descended without regret, although it was the lot of some of them to
return to sumptuous palaces, and into the midst of etiquette, luxury and
splendour.
Among those friends who enjoyed the envied privilege of hearing this
great artist in private, was Madame Montgerault, who had a country-house
in the valley of Montmorency. Some of his most brilliant ideas had their
access in the society of this amiable and gifted woman, in whom he found
an enthusiasm for the art equal to his own. She would frequently seat
herself at the piano, and begin a Concerto _all’improvviso_; while
Viotti, catching in an instant the spirit of the _motivo_, would
accompany her extemporaneous effusions, and display all the magic of his
skill.
The spirit and honesty of Viotti’s character are not ill shewn in the
following anecdote. Giuseppe Puppo, who possessed no mean command over
the violin, and whose talents were acknowledged by Viotti with the
readiest candour, cherished the more than foolish vanity of boasting
himself a scholar of the great Tartini, which was known to be an
untruth, or, as a French term leniently expresses such deviations, “une
inexactitude.” On some public occasion, when M. Lahoussaye chanced to be
present (who was really a disciple, and an enthusiastic one, of
Tartini’s), Viotti begged him, as a favor, to give him a specimen of
Tartini’s manner of playing. “And now,” said he, in a tone loud enough
to be heard by all the company—“now, Signor Puppo, listen to my friend,
Monsieur Lahoussaye, and you will be enabled to form an idea as to how
Tartini played!”
Viotti’s stay in Paris was abruptly terminated by the bursting of the
revolutionary storm in 1790, which drove him to England. His début in
London, at the memorable concerts under the management of Salomon, was
as brightly marked as it had been in Paris. The connoisseurs were
delighted by his originality and felicitous boldness, tempered as these
qualities were by a pure and exalted taste. In the years 1794 and 1795,
he had some share in the management of the King’s Theatre, and
subsequently became leader of the band in that Temple of (occasional)
Concord. But, as an ancient author has said, success is a thing of
glass, and, just when it begins to wear its brightest looks, it
provokingly meets with a fracture. The quiet and blameless habits of
life of the great musician had not sufficed to exempt him from the
officious visitations of political suspicion, prompted, it has been
supposed, by some whispering tale of slander, from professional envy.
The result was, that poor Viotti suddenly received an order from the
Government to leave England immediately. By what subtle ingenuity of
apprehension, the proceedings of a violin-player came to be associated,
at the Home-Office, with the Revolutions of Empires, is as yet a mystery
more dark than Delphos. Possibly some future D’Israeli, enquiring for
“farther particulars within,” may find the means of enlightening the
world on this transaction, which certainly does seem, at present, to
afford scantier material for the historian than for the epigrammatist.
Thus expelled from the country which had evinced towards others so many
generous proofs of hospitality, Viotti passed over to Holland, and
subsequently fixed himself in the seclusion of a beautiful spot near
Hamburgh, named Schönfeld. Here he gave up his mind to the cares of
composition, as most likely to displace or diminish those more painful
ones which harassed his sensitive mind, on account of the treatment he
had been subjected to. Some of his best works were the product of this
retreat; including his celebrated _Six Duetts Concertante_, for two
violins; in the preface to which, he touches on the circumstance that
was still affecting him:—“Cet ouvrage est le fruit du loisir que le
malheur me procure. Quelques morçeaux ont été dictés par la peine,
d’autres par l’espoir;”—and indeed it has been justly remarked that it
would be difficult to find any musical work that should seem to have
proceeded more directly from a feeling heart, than these exquisite
Duetts.
In Hamburgh, he met with his former competitor, Giornovichi, who, like
himself, had been compelled to fly from Paris, the scene of his pristine
glories. The latter gave two concerts in this place, attended with the
meed of money, as well as that of praise; but the graver-minded Viotti
could not be persuaded to appear in public, and imitate his example.
In 1801, Viotti found himself at liberty to return to London. Having
determined to relinquish the musical profession, he devoted his
resources, like Carbonelli of foregone fame, to the ministry of
Bacchus, and associated himself with a respectable member of the
wine-trade. Disappointment was the issue, however, of this undertaking;
and, after years of endeavour, he discovered that his whole fortune was
gone. Thus reduced, he prevailed with his own struggling spirit to
solicit some appointment from the French Court, and received, from Louis
XVIII, the nomination to the management of the Grand Opera. Impelled
anew by what Byron calls
“The various joltings of life’s hackney coach,”
he proceeded to Paris, and entered upon the office; but neither his age,
nor his quiet character, was congenial with the temper of such a scene;
and he retired, unsuccessful, but with the grant of a pension. He then
came over to end his days in England, loving rather to be an _habitué_
of London, than a citizen of the world; for he had become closely
familiarized with the ways and habits of our metropolis, and seemed to
have cherished an almost Johnsonian attachment to it. His previous cares
and misfortunes, however, had left him little power to continue the race
of life, already a protracted one; and, after visibly declining for some
time, he died on the 3rd of March, 1824.
Viotti’s long retirement from the profession of that art on which his
fame was built, had not impaired his love of it, nor his inclination to
support it. On the institution of the Philharmonic Society, that “decus
et tutamen” of instrumental music in this country, he was one of the
original members, and, as an honorary performer, not only led the band
in turn with Salomon, F. Cramer, Yaniewicz, Spagnoletti and Vaccari,
but, like them, interchanged direction and submission, by taking his
seat, on the other nights, among the _ripieni_; thus assisting to form
an orchestral phalanx that certainly never was witnessed before, and is
little likely to be surpassed.
Viotti was a person of feelings and sentiments far less artificial than
are commonly produced in men whose intercourse with society is fostered
by their powers of contributing to its amusement. Mixing, of necessity,
a great deal with the world, he seems, nevertheless, in a remarkable
degree, to have preserved himself from its corrupting influence; and
though, as just remarked, he loved London much, there is very
interesting evidence to shew that he loved nature more. The purity and
rectitude of his taste—its association with the poetic and the
true—stand thus recorded by one who had good opportunities of
appreciating him:—“Never did a man attach so much value (says M. Eymar)
to the simplest gifts of nature; and never did a child enjoy them more
passionately. A simple violet, discovered in its lowly bed among the
grass, would transport him with the liveliest joy; a pear, a plum,
gathered fresh by his own hands, would, for the moment, make him the
happiest of mortals. The perfume of the one had always something new to
him, and the taste of the other something more delicious than before.
His organs, all delicacy and sensibility, seemed to have preserved,
undiminished, their youthful purity. In the country, everything was, to
this extraordinary man, an object of fresh interest and enjoyment. The
slightest impression seemed communicated to all his senses at once.
Every thing affected his imagination; every thing spoke to his heart,
and he yielded himself at once to its emotions.”
The natural bias of his character receives further illustration in the
sketch which he himself has given, descriptive of his picking up one of
the varieties of the popular _Ranz des Vaches_, among the mountains of
Switzerland.
“The _Ranz des Vaches_ which I send you,” says he to a friend, “is
neither that with which our friend Jean Jacques has presented us, nor
that of which M. de la Borde speaks, in his work upon Music. I cannot
say whether it is known or not; all I know is, that I heard it in
Switzerland, and, once heard, I have never forgotten it since.
“I was sauntering alone, towards the decline of day, in one of those
sequestered spots where we never feel a desire to open our lips. The
weather was mild and serene; the wind (which I detest) was hushed; all
was calm—all was unison with my feelings, and tended to lull me into
that melancholy mood which, ever since I can remember, I have been
accustomed to feel at the hour of twilight.
“My thoughts wandered at random, and my footsteps were equally
undirected. My imagination was not occupied with any particular object,
and my heart lay open to every impression of pensive delight. I walked
forward; I descended the valleys, and traversed the heights. At length,
chance conducted me to a certain valley, which, on rousing myself from
my waking dream, I discovered to abound with beauties. It reminded me of
one of those delicious retreats so beautifully described by Gesner:
flowers, verdure, streamlets, all united to form a picture of perfect
harmony. There, without being fatigued, I seated myself mechanically on
a fragment of rock, and again fell into that kind of profound reverie,
which so totally absorbed all my faculties, that I seemed to forget
whether I was upon earth.
“While sitting thus, wrapped in this slumber of the soul, sounds broke
upon my ear, which were sometimes of a hurried, sometimes of a prolonged
and sustained character, and were repeated, in softened tones, by the
echoes around. I found they proceeded from a mountain-horn; and their
effect was heightened by a plaintive female voice. Struck, as if by
enchantment, I started from my lethargy, listened with breathless
attention, and learned, or rather engraved upon my memory, the _Ranz des
Vaches_ which I send you. In order to understand all its beauties, you
ought to be transplanted to the scene in which I heard it, and to feel
all the enthusiasm that such a moment inspired.”
This susceptibility of pure and simple emotions, which it is delightful
to recognize as one of the attributes of real genius, was in Viotti
associated with a clear and cultivated intellect. He passed much of his
life in the society of the accomplished, the literary, and the
scientific; and his active mind gathered strength and refinement from
the intercourse. If the Horatian dictum be right, that
“Principibus placuisse viris haud ultima laus est,”
it may be added to the sum of Viotti’s personal merits, that he gained
the respect and esteem of the great, with whom he mixed on proper terms,
not forgetful of their rank as persons of birth and fortune, nor of his
own, as a man of rare talent. The strictest integrity and honour
regulated his transactions; and his feelings were kind and benevolent.
Thus it may be seen that his character, as a man, was calculated to give
increased dignity and influence to his name as a musician.
In the latter capacity, it has, with great truth, been remarked of him,
that though the _virtuosi_ of the present day contrive to execute manual
difficulties exceeding those which were attempted in his time, he has
never been surpassed in all the _highest_ qualities that belong to
performance on his instrument. His compositions for it remain, to this
day, unrivalled in spirit and grandeur of design, graceful melody, and
variety of expression; and they still furnish, when performed by the
surviving disciples of his school, one of the most delightful treats
which a lover of the great and beautiful in music can receive. The
_Concerto_, in particular, which attained some of its improvements in
the hands of the elegant Jarnowick, and the sweetly-expressive Mestrino,
derived a marked advancement from Viotti, who gave to this style the
character which seems so peculiarly its own, and brought it to a degree
of elevation which it seems incapable of surmounting. The specimens of
his composition in this line, that principally claim the attention of
the amateurs of instrumental music, are those in G, in A minor, in D,
and in E minor. The theme of the Concerto in D is in the highest degree
brilliant, though it must not be forgotten that it is taken from a trio
of Pugnani’s in E flat.
It has been well suggested, as a hint to the solo-players at our London
Concerts, that Viotti’s Concertos offer material far more desirable for
their use than those eternal “Airs with Variations,” which convey to the
feelings of the auditor so little sense of variety, and in general tend
to exhibit nothing beyond the dexterity of what the Italians call a
_spacca-nota_, or note-splitter.
The most popular of his _Trios_ are Op. 16, 17, and 18. The whole of his
_Duos_ are admirable, as respects both invention and energy: they may be
called Concertos in miniature[36].
Among the disciples of the school of this great master, may be
enumerated Rode (on the whole regarded as the best), Alday, Labarre,
Vacher, Cartier, Pixis, Madame Paravicini, Mademoiselle Gerbini, and our
countryman, Mori.
FRANCESCO VACCARI, born at Modena, about the year 1772, commenced his
practice of the instrument at the infantine age of five years, under the
tutelage of his father, who, delighted with his quickness of
apprehension, would frequently encourage him to play at sight, not by
the gauds and “immoment toys” that are the common habits of childhood,
but by gifts of new music. After four years of domestic study, he was
introduced by his father to Pugnani, who, with a natural mistrust of
precocious powers, did not like, at first, to be troubled with
“child’s-play,” although, on hearing him, he could not refrain from
applauding his execution. The boy went afterwards to Florence, and had
instructions from Nardini. The habit so early instilled into him by his
father, of playing at first sight, procured him a triumph at Mantua,
when he was yet but thirteen; for he was enabled to execute, without
hesitation, a new Concerto which Pichl, its composer, placed before him.
In 1804, after he had visited most of the great towns in Italy, he
obtained from the King of Spain the appointment of First Violin of his
chamber-band. The disturbed state of that country drove him into
Portugal; and he was, at two several periods, performing in England.
Vaccari was distinguished by purity of tone and of taste, a tender
expression, execution without trick, and a nice exactitude of
intonation.
MASONI, a Florentine, born 1799, attained very brilliant powers of
execution, which he displayed chiefly in foreign countries—quitting
Italy in 1817, for South America, from whence, after various migratory
musical labours, he passed over to India, and stirred to liveliest
emotion the languid people of Calcutta. In the spring of 1834, he
visited England, where his _tours de force_, and surprising dexterities
of bowing, would have won for him a more copious admiration than they
did, if, instead of coming so closely in the rear of the Genoese
“Miracle of Man,” who had well nigh exhausted our stock of musical
sympathies, he had been his antecedent. I would here ask the gentle
reader’s indulgence towards the following bit of measured hyperbole,
perpetrated at the above time, and admitted into a weekly publication of
Mr. Leigh Hunt’s:—
If your soul be not too _drony_,
Haste, to hear renowned Masoni!
Scarce Napoleon (nick-named Boney)
Was more wondrous than Masoni!
‘Pollo’s pet, Euterpe’s crony,
Is the exquisite Masoni.
All the sweets that live in honey
Are concentred in Masoni!
Fiddlers _should_ be rich and _toney_—
This—and _more_, is great Masoni.
Swifter, far, than hare or poney,
Run the triplets of Masoni—
And Astonishment bends _low_ knee
To the flights of high Masoni!
Utterly _himself_ unknown he
Should be, who _not_ knows Masoni.
Dead must be the heart, and _stony_,
That is moved not by Masoni!
Money, without ceremony,
_Shower’d_ should be on Masoni!
E’en from Greece Colocotroni
Well might come, to hear Masoni!
So, again I tell ye, _on’y_
Go, and listen to Masoni!
The length to which these notices of the artists of Italy has already
extended, is one of the reasons precluding detail with respect to some
others of the later names belonging to that country. Paganini, however,
is neither to be thus dismissed, nor to be here briefly treated of at
the end of a chapter. To him, as standing alone in the history and
practice of his art, and as forming an object of very widely-diffused
curiosity, I propose devoting a separate notice in the ensuing chapter.
I cannot, in the mean time, omit wholly to advert to the name of
Spagnoletti, whose taste and refinement, in the conspicuous situation
which he filled for so many years in London, rendered him a highly
valued model for the attention of our own cultivators of the instrument.
Who is there amongst those who were frequenters of the King’s Theatre,
during his time of office, that will not recollect, with feelings of
interest, the delicate grace of Spagnoletti’s playing—his obviously
intense, yet not obtrusive, enthusiasm—and his oft-repeated sidelong
depressions of the head, as if to drink in more fully, at the left ear,
the delicious tones which he enticed from his own instrument? His
peculiar sensitiveness under the impression of a false note, and his
liberality of spirit, and readiness to speak commendingly of his
brethren of the bow, are among the further traits which denoted him to
those who had the opportunity of closer observation. Spagnoletti’s
original name is said to have been Paolo Diana. I have heard an anecdote
which, if it may be depended on, exemplifies his quickness of temper. It
was to the effect that Spagnoletti, having chanced to quarrel one
morning with Ambrogetti, challenged him on the spot; and that the singer
put aside the abrupt invitation, by the phlegmatic remark that he had
_not breakfasted_!
CHAPTER III.
PAGANINI.
“Natura il fece, e poi ruppe la stampa.”—_Ariosto._
“The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.”—_Pope._
Who has not heard of Paganini—and who, that boasts of an ear, has not
heard Paganini himself? Fame, catching up the echoes of his glory, has
caused them to reverberate through her trump, and to _far furore_ even
to the uttermost parts of the civilized world; and the hero himself,
following in her rear, has gone forth to fulfil her proclamations, to
reap his laurels, to achieve the general conquest of ears, and to
receive in gold the tribute of admiring nations! Tongues and pens have
vied with each other in celebrating his name; and _‘Ercles’ vein_ has
been drawn upon in
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/40289