The Violin

A new resource in difficulty.– The following graphic sketch – a piece of what our American brethren delight to designate as the real grit– is from Colonel Crockett’s “Adventures in Texas:” —

“As we drew nigh to the Washita, the silence was broken alone by our own talk and the clattering of our horses’ hoofs; and we imagined ourselves pretty much the only travellers, when we were suddenly somewhat startled by the sound of music. We checked our horses, and listened, and the music continued. ‘What can all that mean?’ says I. We listened again, and we now heard, ‘Hail, Columbia, happy land!’ played in first-rate style. ‘That’s fine,’ says I. ‘Fine as silk, Colonel, and leetle finer,’ says the other; ‘but hark, the tune’s changed.’ We took another spell of listening, and now the musician struck up, in a brisk and lively manner, ‘Over the water to Charley.’ ‘That’s mighty mysterious,’ says one; ‘Can’t cipher it out, no-how,’ says a third. ‘Then let us go ahead,’ says I, and off we dashed at a pretty rapid gait, I tell you – by no means slow.

“As we approached the river, we saw, to the right of the road, a new clearing on a hill, where several men were at work, and running down the hill like wild Indians, or rather like the office-holders in pursuit of the depositees. There appeared to be no time to be lost; so they ran, and we cut ahead for the crossing. The music continued all this time stronger and stronger, and the very notes appeared to speak distinctly, ‘Over the water to Charley!’

“When we reached the crossing, we were struck all of a heap at beholding a man seated in a sulky, in the middle of the river, and playing for his life on a fiddle. The horse was up to his middle in the water: and it seemed as if the flimsy vehicle was ready to be swept away by the current. Still the fiddler fiddled on composedly, as if his life had been insured, and he was nothing more than a passenger! We thought he was mad, – and shouted to him. He heard us, and stopped his music. ‘You have missed the crossing,’ shouted one of the men from the clearing. – ‘I know I have,’ returned the fiddler. – ‘If you go ten feet farther, you will be drowned.’ – ‘I know I shall,’ returned the fiddler. – ‘Turn back,’ said the man. – ‘I can’t,’ said the other. ‘Then how will you get out?’ – ‘I’m sure I don’t know.’

“The men from the clearing, who understood the river, took our horses, and rode up to the sulky, and, after some difficulty, succeeded in bringing the traveller safe to shore, when we recognised the worthy parson who had fiddled for us at the puppet-show at Little Rock. They told him that he had had a narrow escape; and he replied, that he had found that out an hour ago! He said he had been fiddling to the fishes for a full hour, and had exhausted all the tunes that he could play without notes. We then asked him what could have induced him to think of fiddling at a time of such peril; and he replied, that he had remarked, in his progress through life, that there was nothing in universal natur so well calculated to draw people together, as the sound of a fiddle; and he knew that he might bawl until he was hoarse for assistance, and no one would stir a peg; but they would no sooner hear the scraping of his catgut, than they would quit all other business, and come to the spot in flocks.”

A prejudice overcome.– Another story of a clergyman fond of fiddling – in this instance, a Scotchman – is to be found in Tait’s Magazine. – “A number of his parishioners considered it as quite derogatory to his calling, that he should play upon the fiddle; so a deputation of them waited upon him, and remonstrated against this crying enormity. He said – “Gentlemen, did you ever see my fiddle, or hear me play?” – “No!” – “You shall do both,” said he; and immediately brought a violoncello, on which he struck up a Psalm tone, asking if they had any objection to join him with their voices. They complied; and, when all was over, they expressed themselves perfectly satisfied of his orthodoxy. “A muckle, respectable, releegious-sounding fiddle like that, there was nae harm in. Na, na! it was nane o’ yer scandalous penny-weddin’ fiddles that they had heard o’!”

It will not have been forgotten, by some of my readers, that the musical propensities of the Rev. Charles Wesley were made a subject of stringent comment by the poet Cowper, who pointed his remarks by the line —

“With wire and catgut he concludes the day.”

It is recorded, however (if I rightly remember), that the candid and kind-hearted Cowper saw reason, afterwards, to alter his impressions on that head, and to regret that he had reflected, with such freedom of pen, on the harmless recreations of the earnestly pious minister.

– From the foregoing incidental references to men of the sacred calling, we pass, by no violent transition, into the church-yard. On a stone, in the porch at the southern entrance of the collegiate church, Wolverhampton, is the following singular epitaph. “Near this place lies Claudius Phillips, whose absolute contempt of riches, and inimitable performance upon the violin, made him the admiration of all that knew him. He was born in Wales, made the tour of Europe, and, after the experience of both kinds of fortune, died in 1733.”

Belonging to the same equivocal species of association with the grave, and by no means to be commended for its admixture of the quaint with the solemn, is the following “musician’s epitaph,” from whence gotten, I am unable to say: —

Ah! what avails, when wrapped in shroud and pall,Who jigged, who fiddled, or who sang the best?What are to me the crotchets, quavers, all,When I have found an everlasting rest?

Fifty Years’ Fiddling.– “An interesting jubilee was lately kept here (Mannheim). The scholars of our venerable Orchestra Director, M. Erasmus Eisenmenger, now in his 70th year, met to celebrate the fiftieth year of his life spent as an artist. It is worthy of remark that he played, in the same musical saloon, the same concerto on the violin that he had executed fifty years ago – as well as a double concerto of Viotti, which he played with his pupil, Chapel-master Frey, with a spirit and vigour quite wonderful at his age.” (Harmonicon, 1830.) – [The curious in coincidences ought to be informed whether it was also the same fiddle, as formerly, that was thus eloquent in the hands of the worthy old gentleman.]

Another fifty years of it!– Teobaldo Gatti, a native of Florence, died at Paris in 1727, at a very advanced age, after having been, for rather more than half a century, a performer on the bass-viol in the orchestra of the Opera there. Is it possible to be more completely identified with one’s instrument?

Glory made out of Shame.– A stranger, visiting Greenwich Hospital, saw a pensioner in a yellow coat, which is the punishment for disorderly behaviour. Surprised at the singularity of the man’s appearance, he asked him what it meant? “Oh, sir,” replied the fellow, “we who wear yellow coats are the music, and it is I who play the first fiddle.” (Hawkins’s anecdotes.)

Discrimination.– “Gentlemen,” said an auctioneer, addressing the bargain-hunters by whom his sale-room was crammed – “the next lot is a very fine-toned violin.” – “A violin, sir!” exclaimed his clerk, in surprise – “You must have made some mistake, sir, – the next lot is the fiddle!”

The Cremona Fiddle.– Messrs. Schramm and Karstens, the principals of a wealthy house of agency at Hamburg, were eager practitioners of the arts of accumulation. In the month of May, 1794, their extensive warehouse received the honour of a visit from an individual of unexceptionable appearance and costume, who, after bargaining for a certain number of ells of cloth, and ordering them to be cut off from the piece, found, on examination of his purse, that his instant coin was somewhat short of the sum required. He handed over, however, all the cash he had – took an acknowledgment for it – ordered the cloth to be laid aside for him, and arranged to return in a couple of hours with the balance of the money. “By the by, ” added he, “I may just as well leave with you this Cremona, which is rather in my way, while I’m running about the town. It is an instrument of particular value, for which I refused yesterday a matter of 300 ducats: place it there in the corner, on the top of the cloth, and it will be quite safe till my return.”

It happened, about an hour afterwards, that a handsome carriage stopped at the door of Messrs. S. and K.’s warehouse. A personage, dressed with the utmost attention to effect, and decorated with various knightly insignia, alighted under an escort of three lacqueys in livery. Mons. Schramm pressed forward to receive him, and conducted him into the warehouse. His highness purchased several small articles, and, whilst expressing his satisfaction at the arrangement and variety of the goods before him, chanced to rest his eyes on the violin. Caught by its appearance, he took it up, turned it over and over, contemplated it with a kindling eye, and, calling forward one of his lacqueys, ordered him to make trial of it. The domestic proceeded to do so in a masterly manner, and drew forth sounds of such harmony as to bring together, by the ears, a listening crowd of mute gapers at so extraordinary a virtuoso. Mons. Schramm and the clerks were warmed up into an admiration far above the commercial temperature; and the whole scene appeared to partake of enchantment. Presently, motioning his domestic to stop, the great man enquired of him, in the presence of all, what he thought of the instrument, and what estimate he should incline to form of its value. “Why, certainly,” said the livery-man, after a pause of examination, “if your Excellency could make it your Excellency’s own for 500 ducats, I should say that your Excellency would be in possession of the finest Cremona fiddle in the world!” The man of distinction took Mons. Schramm aside, and offered him 400: from that he ascended to 500; but the man of commerce told the man of distinction that the instrument belonged to a stranger, and explained the circumstances under which it had been left there. “Now, mark me, Mons. Schramm,” said the great man; “if you can secure me this violin, you shall not repent your having obliged me: do your utmost to make the purchase for me, and go to 500 ducats, if necessary; there’s my address, and I shall expect to see you at five, with the fiddle and the account.” – Mons. Schramm, full of protestations of his readiness to do all in his power, respectfully bows out his visitor.

In an hour or two, the impatiently-expected owner of the instrument makes his re-appearance, takes up his parcel and violin, and is about to depart. “Stay, sir,” said Mons. Schramm, a little embarrassed – “one word with you, if you please – would you feel inclined to s – , to sell that violin? I could make you a good offer for it – say 350 ducats, cash.” The proposition, however, is met by a short and dry answer in the negative, and a renewed movement to depart. Mons. Schramm then offers him 360, and so on, till in short, after considerable discussion, the stranger consents to part with the object of solicitation, – but still as a matter of regret, – for the sum of 470 ducats, and to give a receipt for 500. The bargain is completed, and Mons. Schramm, receiving the fiddle with a chuckle of delight, takes leave of the stranger with lavish civility.

Full of satisfaction at the idea of having made thirty ducats, and the friendly acquaintance of a great man, Mons. Schramm, at the exact hour of five, presented himself at the hotel of St. Petersburg, situated on the Jungfernstieg. With the violin in his hand, and the receipt for 500 ducats in his pocket, he demanded to speak to his Excellency the Baron De Strogonoff, Ambassador from Russia, to the Court of St. James’s – such being the address given him in the morning by the gentleman with the equipage. He was informed by the porter that he knew nothing of the said nobleman, inasmuch as he had not come to their hotel. Mons. Schramm hereupon insists and grows warm; the servants gather round, and the dispute at length draws forth the master of the hotel, who pledges his word, in positive terms, that the Ambassador in question is not at his establishment! Enquiry is then made at all the large hotels in the town – and, at all, the Baron De Strogonoff is unknown!

It was now high time for Mons. Schramm to consider himself as having been played upon! As for the rogues, they had so well concerted their measures, that all subsequent efforts to discover them proved abortive. Mons. Schramm had full leisure for maledictions upon his own credulity and ultra-commercial spirit; nor did he very speedily get rid of the jests and gibes of his fellow-townsmen, at the piquant fact of his having paid so handsome a sum, for a fiddle that was not worth much more than a ducat!

An apt Quotation.– The felicitous power of allusion which Dean Swift had at his command, was never more pointedly shown, than in his seizure of a line from Virgil, to fit the circumstances of a certain domestic disaster. Relating from memory, I give but the outline of the story. A lady’s gown (or mantua) accidentally caught fire, and damaged a gentleman’s fiddle, which was lying unfortunately near it. The Dean, either witnessing the accident, or informed of it, exclaimed pathetically,

“Mantua, væ! miseræ nimiùm vicina Cremonæ!”

The “Leading Instrument” victorious.– Anseaume, a French gentleman, of very limited income, hired a small house at Bagnolet, and invited his friends once or twice a-week to come and amuse themselves there. On these occasions, each brought some provisions: one, wine; another, cold meat; another, patties; another, game. It unluckily happened that Anseaume, as absent in mind as straitened in his finances, had forgotten, for a whole year, to pay his rent. The landlord made a descent upon him, precisely on the day when his friends Collé, Panard, Piron, Gillet, the painter Watteau, the musician Degueville, and other epicures, had assembled there. These gentlemen, according to custom, had brought plenty of provender, but no money; and the landlord imperiously demanded his rent of two hundred crowns. What was to be done, in order to assist their friend? They immediately set about cooking the meat and poultry; they levied contributions on the fruit and vegetables of the gardens; Watteau drew a beautiful and inviting sign, and Degueville borrowed a violin of the parish beadle; in short, they got up a cabaret and fête Champêtre. The appearance of these new cooks, who served their customers in habits of embroidered velvet, with swords by their sides, had a curious effect, and greatly diverted the company, which was so numerous, that the receipts amounted to five hundred crowns! Anseaume paid his landlord, and his distress was converted into joy and gladness. But now a question arose, that was discussed with no small earnestness and interest: – To which of his guests was the host most indebted? Those who played the part of cooks, declared that, without their labours, there would have been nothing for the public to eat; Watteau laid no little stress on the invitation held out by his sign; and Degueville insisted that, without his music, the people’s attention would not have been drawn to the sign; and that, even if they had noticed it, and come in, there would have been no mirth and spirit, little eaten, and that little scantily and reluctantly paid for. The dispute began to grow warm, when Degueville seized the violin, played them all into good humour, and was, at length, allowed to be the victor!

Sending for Time-Keepers.– In treating of the importance of adjusting the time of a composition to the sentiment and intention of the author, it is stated by Kandler, an able German writer, that Haydn was so offended at the rude and hurried manner in which he found his music driven by us English, when he first visited our country, as to send for the family of the Moralts from Vienna, to shew the Londoners the time and expression with which he intended his quartetts to be played. – Kiesewetter also, in leading Beethoven’s symphonies at the Philharmonic Concert (although himself a performer who particularly shone in rapid playing), is said to have insisted upon their being executed more slowly than that orchestra had been accustomed to perform them.

Musical Exaction.– A rich, but penurious personage, who somehow aspired to be thought a man of taste, was resolved, on one occasion, to make exhibition of this quality, by giving to his friends an entertainment of instrumental music. While the musicians were all at work, he seemed satisfied with the performance – but when the principal Violin came to be engaged upon an incidental solo, he enquired, in a towering passion, why the others were remaining idle? “It is a pizzicato for one instrument,” replied the operator. “I can’t help that,” exclaimed the virtuoso, who was determined to have the worth of his money – “Let the trumpets pizzicato along with you!” – This hopeful amateur may serve to recall the not unfamiliar anecdote about old Jacob Astley, of “horse-theatre” celebrity, who observed a violinist in his band to be in a state of temporary cessation from playing, during the continued activity of the others, and asked him what he meant by it. “Why, sir, here’s a rest marked in my part – a rest of several bars.” – “Rest!” shouted Astley (who had always a great horror of being imposed upon), “don’t tell me about rest, sir. I pay you to come here and play, sir, and not to rest!”

A Device for a Dinner.– Doctor Arne once went to Cannons, the seat of the late Duke of Chandos, to assist at the performance of an oratorio in the Chapel of Whitchurch, but such was the throng of company, that no provisions were to be procured at the Duke’s house. On going to the Chandos Arms, in the town of Edgeware, the Doctor made his way into the kitchen, where he found only a leg of mutton on the spit. This, the waiter informed him, was bespoken by a party of gentlemen. The Doctor (rubbing his elbow – his usual habit) exclaimed, “I’ll have that mutton – give me a fiddle-string.” He took the fiddle-string, cut it in pieces, and, privately sprinkling it over the mutton, walked out of the kitchen. Then, waiting very patiently till the waiter had served it up, he heard one of the gentlemen exclaim – “Waiter! this meat is full of maggots: take it away!” This was what the Doctor expected. – “Here, give it me.” – “O, sir,” says the waiter, “you can’t eat it – ’tis full of maggots.” – “Nay, never mind,” cries the Doctor, “fiddlers have strong stomachs.” So, bearing it away, and scraping off the catgut, he got a hearty dinner.

A “Practising” Coachman.– Too true it is that Nature has not gifted all mortals with a taste for music. Shakspeare tells us that the man who hath not music in his soul is fit for “broils;” and the Duchess of Ragusa appears to have inclined to his opinion, if we may judge from an occurrence in which she was concerned some years since. Finding herself offended that the coachman of a certain Miss Ozenne, her neighbour, should practise the violin too much in the vicinity of her ducal ears, she summoned the lady, the coachman, and the violin, before the Tribunal de Police, for making a “tapage injurieux et nocturne.” In vain the lady pleaded the right of her domestics to make musicians of themselves, if they could: the Duchess declared it was done solely and purely for her annoyance; the Commissaire du Quartier declared that the noise consisted of “sons aigus, bruyans, et dissonans;” and Miss Ozenne was condemned to be imprisoned one day, and to be fined to the amount of ten shillings. – (New Monthly Magazine.)

A Footman, to match.– “The following curiously illustrative anecdote may be relied on. A few days since, a footman went into Mori’s music-shop to buy a fiddle-string. While he was making his choice, a gentleman entered the shop, and began to examine various compositions for the violin. Among the rest, he found Paganini’s celebrated “Merveille —Duo pour un seul Violon,” and, perceiving the difficulties in which it abounded, asked the shopman if he thought that Mori himself could play it. The young man, a little perplexed, and unwilling to imply that his master’s powers had any limit, replied that he had no doubt he could perform it, provided he practised it for a week; upon which the footman, who stood intent on the conversation, broke in on the discourse, and swore that Mori could do no such thing, for that he himself had been practising the piece for three weeks, and could not play it yet!” – (Harmonicon, May, 1830.)

A Royal “Whereabout.”– Salomon, who gave some lessons on the violin to George the Third, said one day to his august pupil, “Fiddlers may be divided into three classes: to the first belong those who cannot play at all; to the second, those who play badly; and to the third, those who play well. You, Sire, have already reached the second.”

Precocious Performers.– The violin, in the hands of children, has been often rendered the theme of astonishment. In the foregoing pages, many instances have been given of eminent players, whose powerful maturity was prefigured, in the display of genius made in their tender youth. Many blossoms there are, however, which never pay their promise afterwards in fruit; and many an “acute juvenal, voluble and full of grace,” has made early flourishes on the fiddle, that have led to nothing of value in his fuller years. Apropos of this too commonly observable disproportion, a French writer has the following epigram: —

SUR LES PRODIGES À LA MODE.

Plus merveilleux que nos ancêtres,Ou peut-être plus singuliers,A dix ans nous avons des maîtres,Qui sont à vingt des écoliers!

Which may be thus freely paraphrased: —

Our’s is an age of wonders; – we beholdPrecocious prodigies, in passing plenty:We have our masters, now, at ten years old, —But then – they sink to scholars, when they’re twenty!

The Germans have an expressive denomination for these very early and forced exhibitants. They style them wunderkind, or wonder-children.

After hearing some violin variations rattled through at a Vienna Concert by a six-year old performer, son of a M. Birnbach, a prognosticator was heard to say, with a gravity that scarcely seemed unreasonable: “Well! I foresee that, before many years are passed, we shall have a symphony of Haydn’s performed by babes in swaddling-clothes!”

As a matter of curiosity, I will here subjoin a few records of early feats, without attempting to distinguish those which may belong simply to the class of wunder-kinde.

Weichsel, the brother of Mrs. Billington, played in public with his sister, when she was six years old, and himself a year older – their instruments being the violin and the pianoforte. – Balfe, the singer and composer, made a kind of début as a juvenile violin-player (according to the Harmonicon) at a theatrical benefit. – Two Hungarian boys, of the name of Ebner, one ten and the other eleven, played some of Mayseder’s difficult variations at a Concert at Berlin, in 1823. – A boy of twelve years of age, named Khayll, pupil of Jansa, introduced by Moscheles at a Concert at Vienna in 1827, played some admirable variations on the violin, in which he displayed an ease and solidity far beyond his years, and a great knowledge of his instrument. – At Limberg, in 1831, Apollinarino Conski, five years old, surprised all hearers by his execution of a concerto of Maurer’s; and the son of this last-named Artist, at the age of twelve, performed in the same year some of Mayseder’s variations, at his father’s Concerts at Berlin.

At Stutgardt, in 1831, the brothers Eickhorn, the elder nine, and the younger seven years of age, gave a Concert at one of the saloons, and astonished not only the public in general, but the connoisseurs, by their early proficiency on that most difficult of instruments here under notice. The elder played variations by Mayseder and Rode, and a potpourri with his younger brother, composed by Jacobi – and some variations of Kummer’s.