To describe the character and beauties of Bach's Violin writings is within neither my province nor capacity. As an amateur Violinist and an observer of all that relates to the Violin, I may refer, however, to the vast amount of good which the compositions of Bach have exercised upon the cultivation of Violin-playing, and the marvellous development that they have received at the hands of many of our leading Violinists. For this happy state of things we are largely indebted to Herr Joachim; but for him these treasures might have remained hidden behind a cloud of airs variés, fantasias, and what not, for many a year to come. Herr Joachim has made the Sonatas of Bach familiar to thousands who a few years since scarcely knew of their existence. The difficulties which abound in these solid writings could only have been written by a master perfectly acquainted with the capabilities of the instrument. Many a tyro who plunges into the stream of Bach's crotchets and quavers soon finds himself encompassed by a whirlpool of seeming impossibilities, and is frequently heard to exclaim that the passages are impracticable. Vain delusion! Bach was himself a Violinist, and never penned a passage the rendering of which is impossible. The ease and grace with which a Joachim makes every note heard and felt, induces many a one to wrestle with Bach, the more so when it is found that the great author has confined himself to the lower positions of the instrument. Vain delusion number two! Bach exacts more on terra firma than many later writers have claimed in their wildest aerial flights.
From Bach to Handel is an easy step in our discourse. They were born within a year of each other, and were possessed of minds of similar calibre, though differently exercised. It would not, perhaps, be over-strained to call them respectively the Nelson and Wellington of music. The compositions of Handel materially advanced the Violin. His Overtures, Trios, Sonatas, and Concertos, were all received with the utmost attention, and led on to works by later composers, which would probably have never existed but for Handel's example.
We now reach the time when the Symphony was perfected by Haydn, who, following the steps of Bach, brought this branch of the art to a degree of perfection hitherto unknown. The influence of this composer on the progress of the Violin cannot be over-estimated. The Quartettes of Haydn are too well known to need more than mention here. The Quartettes of Giardini and Pugnani were laid aside to give place to these inspired compositions. The following amusing comparison, drawn by a lady, between the Quartettes of Haydn and the speech of articulate humanity appears in Bombet's "Letters on Haydn," and, though pretty well known, will lose nothing by repetition:—
"In listening to the Quartettes of Haydn, this lady felt as if present at a conversation of four agreeable persons. She thought that the first Violin had the air of an eloquent man of genius, of middle age, who supported a conversation, the subject of which he had suggested. In the second Violin she recognised a friend of the first, who sought by all possible means to display him to advantage, seldom thought of himself, and kept up the conversation rather by assenting to what was said by the others than by advancing any ideas of his own. The Alto was a grave, learned, and sententious man. He supported the discourse of the first Violin by laconic maxims, striking for their truth. The Bass was a worthy old lady, rather inclined to chatter, who said nothing of much consequence, and while she was talking the other interlocutors had time to breathe. It was, however, evident that she had a secret inclination for the Alto, which she preferred to the other instruments."
It may be said that the foregoing extract is more funny than just. Probably this is the case; however, I make use of it as throwing some light on the enjoyment derivable from listening to a Quartette, without reference to its critical bearings.
Resuming our subject again: Haydn wrote eight easy Sonatas for Violin and Pianoforte, but they are not of sufficient importance to cause them to be much played. Haydn used frequently to take the Tenor parts in his Quartettes.
Leopold Mozart, born in 1719, the father of the illustrious musician, was a Violinist, and wrote a "Method" for his instrument. He died in 1787.
To the great Mozart Violinists owe much; his compositions for the instrument raised its standing considerably. It is unnecessary to give here a detailed list of those of his writings in which the Violin takes part—they are happily known to most players. Mozart played the Violin from boyhood, and was taught by his father. It is gratifying to know that nearly all the great composers played upon stringed instruments, if not with proficiency, yet enough to enable them to make pleasurable use of their acquirements. Sebastian Bach, Handel, and Schubert were Violin-players; Haydn and Mendelssohn could take their Tenor part in a Quartette; and lastly, Beethoven used to amuse himself with the Double-Bass. Their compositions evidence a practical knowledge of stringed instruments, as distinct from theory. The glorious compositions of Beethoven for the Violin need no comment here; their beauties have formed the theme of the ablest critics; and I have no desire to contribute my humble mite to their exhaustive remarks.
With Fesca we again come amongst the Violinists. He was born at Magdeburg, in 1789. His Quartettes are very pleasing compositions; they are chiefly "Solo Quartettes."
The next Violinist claiming attention is the highly gifted Louis Spohr, the greatest composer for the Violin that ever lived, who combined in his own person high executive powers with a rare fecundity of classical composition. The Concertos of Spohr belong to an entirely different class from those of Viotti, Kreutzer, and others, inasmuch as Spohr's music is written so as not only to display the beauties of the instrument, but also to give the noblest specimens of its orchestration. His Duets for two Violins, his Tenor and Violin Duets and Quartettes, are all too well known to need more than passing mention.
From Spohr has grown up a school of Violin-playing of a very distinctive character. Bernard Molique was endowed with great powers, both as a performer and a composer for his instrument. His Concertos are compositions of the highest character, and require for their rendering a finished artist.
Joseph Mayseder was a Violinist of an order distinct from that of Spohr or Molique. His style was exceedingly brilliant. Mayseder may also be said to have created a school of his own, and, owing to the circulation that his compositions obtained in England, his style was introduced among a great number of our countrymen. Kalliwoda wrote and played very much in the Mayseder manner. His Airs and Variations are especially brilliant compositions; his Overtures are also much admired for their sparkling and dramatic character.
I come now to notice one of the greatest artistes of our time—Herr Ernst—whose playing was impassioned in the highest degree. He made the Violin express his innermost thoughts in tones of delicious tenderness, such as his hearers can never forget. By nature noble, generous, and affectionate, the shade and substance of each trait was faithfully reflected in his exquisite playing. His compositions are among the finest solo writings we have. To mention his "Otello," "Airs Hongrois," "Le Prophète," and his "Studies," will be sufficient to call to the mind of most Violinists the high character of his compositions.
It now only remains for me to briefly allude to the German artists each Concert Season makes us familiar with. First and foremost, the mighty Herr Joachim, a host in himself. His able coadjutor, Herr Strauss, was justly admired for his intellectual rendering of the great masters, and the artistic spirit he invariably displayed. Herr Wilhelmj was regarded as one of the first players of our time, his executive powers being of the highest order.
SECTION XV
Anecdotes and Miscellanea connected with the Violin
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HUDIBRAS AND THE CHAMPION CROWDERO.
The important part played by the renowned Champion Crowdero in Butler's inimitable satire has never failed to give keen enjoyment to all lovers of wit and humour. This being so, his exploits should be doubly appreciated by the votaries of the Fiddle, since it was he who valiantly defended the cause of Fiddling against the attacks of Hudibras—
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"When civil dudgeon first grew high, And men fell out, they knew not why; When hard words, jealousies, and fears Set folks together by the ears, And made them fight, like mad or drunk. · · · · · Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling, And out he rode a-colonelling." |
The absurdities into which the genius of Cervantes hurried Don Quixote and Sancho served to moderate the extravagances of knight-errantry. The adventures of Hudibras and Ralpho, undertaken to extinguish the sports and pastimes of the people, aided greatly in staying the hand of fanaticism, which had suppressed all stage plays and interludes as "condemned by ancient heathens, and by no means to be tolerated among professors of the Christian religion."
With Crowdero we are taken back upwards of two centuries in the history of the Violin; from times wherein it is held in the highest esteem and admiration, to days when it was regarded with contempt and ridicule. Crowdero (so called from crowd, a Fiddle) was the fictitious name for one Jackson, a milliner, who lived in the New Exchange, in the Strand. He had served with the Roundheads, and lost a leg, which brought him into reduced circumstances, until he was obliged to Fiddle from one alehouse to another for his existence. Hudibras—
1 Several explanations of this passage have been set forth by Butler's commentators. Dr. Grey asks, "Why the north-east side? Do Fiddlers always, or most generally, stand or sit according to the points of the compass?" Dr. Nash suggests the poet may have had in view "a conceit," which is in Brown's "Vulgar Errors," viz., that the body of man is magnetical, and being placed in a boat will never rest till the head respecteth the north. Dr. Nash remarks, "Now, the body lying on its back with its head towards the north, or standing upright with the face towards the east, the reader will find the place of the Fiddle on the left breast to be due north-east."
2 Dr. Nash says, "Souse is the pig's ear, and chitterlings the pig's guts; the former alludes to Crowdero's ear, which lay on the Fiddle; the latter to the strings of the Fiddle, which are made of catgut."
3 Black pudding and sausages are placed in skins of gut.
4 This passage evidently refers to Violists meeting to make division to a ground, namely, in the words of Christopher Simpson, "A ground, subject, or bass (call it which you please) is prickt (written) down in two several papers, one for him who is to play the ground (upon an organ, harpsichord, or other instrument), the other for him who plays upon the Viol, who having the said ground before his eye (as his theme or subject) plays such variety of descant and division thereupon as his skill and present invention do then suggest to him." The poet's allusion to "Th' incendiary vile (Viol) that is chief author and engineer of mischief" humorously points to the popularity of the Viol. The poet's mention of persons meeting and performing on their Viols, thus making
For profane and malignant ends,"
is evidently a most humorous allusion to the case of the Royalist, Sir Roger L'Estrange, the friend of Butler, and to whom was given the names of the real persons shadowed under fictitious characters in the satire. Sir Roger, whilst in St. James's Park, heard an Organ being played in the house of one Mr. Hickson. His intense love of music prompted him to seek admittance. He found there a company of five or six persons, and being himself a good Violist, was prevailed upon to take a part. By-and-by Cromwell entered, without, Sir Roger explains in a pamphlet ("Truth and Loyalty Vindicated," printed the year before the first part of Hudibras was published, in 1662), "the least colour of a design or expectation." Sir Roger went on making division with his Viol, apparently regardless of the presence of the Protector and thus earned for himself the title of Oliver's Fiddler, besides giving rise to the report that he solicited a private conference with Cromwell under the pretext of "making division" with his Viol. Dr. Johnson has truly said of Hudibras, "The manners, being founded on opinions, are temporary and local, and therefore become every day less intelligible and less striking.... Much, therefore, of that humour which transported the century with merriment is lost to us, who do not know the sour solemnity, the sullen superstition, the gloomy moroseness, and the stubborn scruples of the ancient Puritans, ... and cannot, but by recollection and study, understand the lines in which they are satirised. Our grandfathers knew the picture from the life; we judge of the life by contemplating the picture."
5 Alluding to an ordinance made in 1658: "And be it further enacted by the authority aforesaid, that if any person or persons, commonly called Fiddlers, or minstrels, shall at any time after the said first day of July (1657) be taken playing, Fiddling, and making music in any inn, alehouse, or tavern, or shall be taken proffering themselves, or desiring, or intreating any person or persons to hear them play, &c., &c., shall be adjudged ... rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars."
6 Crowd, a Fiddle, and therefore for injury done by "breach," or cracks, to Crowdero's instrument.
7 The Fiddle-case referred to is one covered with leather, studded with nails, and with a lid opening at the end, and might be likened unto a mace.
8 "This is an enigmatical description of a pair of stocks and whipping-post. It is so pompous and sublime that we are surprised so noble a structure could be raised from so ludicrous a subject. We perceive wit and humour in the strongest light in every part of the description."—Note by Dr. Grey.
9 Dr. Nash suggests the following rendering: "His spoils, the Fiddle, and the case."
George Herbert, poet and divine, said of music, "That it did relieve his drooping spirits, compose his distracted thoughts, and raised his weary soul so far above earth, that it gave him an earnest of the joys of heaven before he possessed them." His worthy biographer, Izaak Walton, tells us—"His chiefest recreation was music, in which heavenly art he was a most excellent master, and did himself compose many divine hymns and anthems, which he set and sung to his Lute or Viol; and though he was a lover of retiredness, yet his love to music was such that he went usually twice every week, on certain appointed days, to the Cathedral Church in Salisbury, and at his return would say, 'That his time spent in prayer and Cathedral music elevated his soul, and was his heaven upon earth.' But before his return thence to Bemerton, he would usually sing and play his part at an appointed private music meeting; and, to justify this practice, he would often say, 'Religion does not banish mirth, but only moderates and sets rules to it.'"
In walking to Salisbury upon one occasion to attend his usual music meeting, George Herbert saw a poor man with a poor horse that was fallen under his load. He helped the man to unload and re-load; the poor man blessed him for it, and he blessed the poor man. Upon reaching his musical friends at Salisbury they were surprised to see him so soiled and discomposed; but he told them the occasion, and when one of the company said to him "He had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment," his answer was, "That the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight; and that the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord in his conscience whenever he should pass by that place; 'for if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far as it is in my power, to practise what I pray for; and though I do not wish for the like occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one day of my life without comforting a sad soul, or showing mercy; and I praise God for this occasion; and now let us tune our instruments.'"
Herbert's love of imagery was often curious and startling. In singing of "Easter" he said—
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"Awake my lute and struggle for thy part With all thy heart. The Cross taught all wood to resound His name, Who bore the same. His stretched sinews taught all strings, what key Is best to celebrate this most high day, Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song Pleasant and long: Or since all music is but three parts vied And multiplied, O let thy blessed spirit bear a part, And make up our defects with his sweet art." |
The Sunday before the death of "Holy George Herbert," Izaak Walton says, "he rose suddenly from his bed, or couch, called for one of his instruments, took it into his hand and said—
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"My God, my God, my music shall find Thee; And every string Shall have his attribute to sing." |
And having tuned it, he played and sung—
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"The Sundays of man's life, Threaded together on Time's string, Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternal, glorious King; On Sundays heaven's door stands ope, Blessings are plentiful and ripe, More plentiful than hope." |
The thought to which Herbert has given expression in his lines on Easter—that "All music is but three parts vied and multiplied"—was also in the mind of Christopher Simpson, who, in his work on "The Division Viol," 1659, uses it as a musical illustration of the doctrine of Trinity in Unity. He says: "I cannot but wonder, even to amazement, that from no more than three concords (with some intervening discords) there should arise such an infinite variety, as all the music that ever has been, or ever shall be, composed. When I further consider that these sounds, placed by the interval of a third one above another, do constitute one entire harmony, which governs and comprises all the sounds that by art or imagination can be joined together in musical concordance, that, I cannot but think a significant emblem of that Supreme and Incomprehensible Three in One, governing, comprising, and disposing the whole machine of the world, with all its included parts, in a most perfect and stupendous harmony."
It is interesting to notice an earlier and remarkable allusion to the union of sound from the pen of Shakespeare—
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"If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, By unions married, do offend thine ear, They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear. Mark how one string, sweet husband to another, Strikes each in each by mutual ordering, Resembling sire and child and happy mother, Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing." |
"Music and the sounds of instruments—says the lively Vigneul de Marville—contribute to the health of the body and the mind; they assist the circulation of the blood, they dissipate vapours, and open the vessels, so that the action of perspiration is freer. He tells the story of a person of distinction, who assured him that once being suddenly seized by violent illness, instead of a consultation of physicians, he immediately called a band of musicians, and their Violins played so well in his inside that his bowels became perfectly in tune, and in a few hours were harmoniously becalmed."—D'Israeli's "Curiosities of Literature."
Dr. Abercrombie recommends "Careful classification of the insane, so that the mild and peaceful melancholic may not be harassed by the ravings of the maniac. The importance of this is obvious; but of still greater importance," he continues, "it will probably be to watch the first dawnings of reason, and instantly to remove from the patient all associates by whom his mind might be again bewildered."
The following case, mentioned by Pinel, is certainly an extreme one, but much important reflection arises out of it:—
"A musician confined in the Bicêtre, as one of the first symptoms of returning reason, made some slight allusion to his favourite instrument. It was immediately procured for him; he occupied himself with music for several hours every day, and his convalescence seemed to be advancing rapidly. But he was then, unfortunately, allowed to come frequently in contact with a furious maniac, by meeting him in the gardens. The musician's mind was unhinged; his Violin was destroyed; and he fell back into a state of insanity which was considered as confirmed and hopeless."—Abercrombie's "Intellectual Powers."
is like an Echo, a retail dealer in sounds. As Diana is the goddess of the silver bow, so is he the Lord of the wooden one; he has a hundred strings in his bow; other people are bow-legged, he is bow-armed; and though armed with a bow he has no skill in archery. He plays with cat-gut and Kit-Fiddle. His fingers and arms run a constant race; the former would run away from him did not a bridge interpose and oblige him to pay toll. He can distinguish sounds as other men distinguish colours. His companions are crotchets and quavers. Time will never be a match for him, for he beats him most unmercifully. He runs after an Italian air open-mouthed, with as much eagerness as some fools have sought the philosopher's stone. He can bring a tune over the seas, and thinks it more excellent because far-fetched. His most admired domestics are Soprano, Siciliano, Andantino, and all the Anos and Inos that constitute the musical science. He can scrape, scratch, shake, diminish, increase, flourish, &c.; and he is so delighted with the sound of his own Viol, that an ass would sooner lend his ears to anything than to him; and as a dog shakes a pig, so does he shake a note by the ear, and never lets it go till he makes it squeak. He is a walking pillory, and crucifies more ears than a dozen standing ones. He often involves himself in dark and intricate passages, till he is put to a shift, and obliged to get out of a scrape—by scraping. His Viol has the effect of a Scotch Fiddle, for it irritates his hearers, and puts them to the itch. He tears his audience in various ways, as I do this subject; and as I wear away my pen, so does he wear away the strings of his Fiddle. There is no medium to him; he is either in a flat or a sharp key, though both are natural to him. He deals in third minors, and major thirds; proves a turncoat, and is often in the majority and the minority in the course of a few minutes. He runs over the flat as often as any Newmarket racehorse; both meet the same fate, as they usually terminate in a cadence; the difference is—one is driven by the whip-hand, the other by the bow-arm; one deals in stakado, the other in staccato. As a thoroughbred hound discovers, by instinct, his game from all other animals, so an experienced musician feels the compositions of Handel or Corelli.—Yours, TIMOTHY CATGUT, Stamford."—Monthly Mirror.
The following interesting account of this marvellous composition was given by Tartini to M. de Lalande, the celebrated astronomer:—
"One night in the year 1713, I dreamed that I had made a compact with his Satanic Majesty, by which he was received into my service. Everything succeeded to the utmost of my desire, and my every wish was anticipated by this my new domestic. I thought that on taking up my Violin to practise, I jocosely asked him if he could play on that instrument. He answered that he believed he was able to pick out a tune; and then, to my astonishment, began to play a sonata, so strange and yet so beautiful, and executed in so masterly a manner, that I had never in my life heard anything so exquisite. So great was my amazement that I could scarcely breathe. Awakened by the violent emotion, I instantly seized my Violin, in the hope of being able to catch some part of the ravishing melody which I had just heard, but all in vain. The piece which I composed according to my scattered recollection is, it is true, the best of my works. I have called it the 'Sonata del Diavolo,' but it is so far inferior to the one I heard in my dream, that I should have dashed my Violin into a thousand pieces, and given up music for ever, had it been possible to deprive myself of the enjoyments which I derive from it."
In the "Reminiscences of Michael Kelly" we are told that in the year 1779 Kelly was at Florence, and that he was present at a concert given at the residence of Lord Cowper, where, he says, he had "the gratification of hearing a sonata on the Violin played by the great Nardini; though very far advanced in years, he played divinely. Lord Cowper requested him to play the popular sonata, composed by his master, Tartini, called the 'Devil's Sonata.' Mr. Jackson, an English gentleman present, asked Nardini whether the anecdote relative to this piece of music was true. Nardini answered that 'he had frequently heard Tartini relate the circumstance,' and at once gave an account of the composition, in accordance with that furnished by M. de Lalande."
"Dr. Johnson was observed by a musical friend of his to be extremely inattentive at a concert, whilst a celebrated solo-player was running up the divisions and sub-divisions of notes upon his Violin. His friend, to induce him to take greater notice of what was going on, told him how extremely difficult it was. 'Difficult do you call it, sir?' replied the Doctor; 'I wish it were impossible.'"—Seward's "Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson."
"In the evening our gentleman farmer and two others entertained themselves and the company with a great number of tunes on the Fiddle. Johnson desired to have 'Let ambition fire thy mind' played over again, and appeared to give a patient attention to it; though he owned to me that he was very insensible to the power of music. I told him that it affected me to such a degree, as often to agitate my nerves painfully, producing in my mind alternate sensations of pathetic dejection, so that I was ready to shed tears; and of daring resolution, so that I was inclined to rush into the thickest part of the battle. 'Sir,' said he, 'I should never hear it if it made me such a fool.'"—Boswell's "Life of Johnson."
"Goldsmith: 'I spoke of Mr. Harris, of Salisbury, as being a very learned man, and in particular an eminent Grecian.'
"Johnson: 'I am not sure of that. His friends give him out as such, but I know not who of his friends are able to judge of it.'
"Goldsmith: 'He is what is much better; he is a worthy, humane man.'
"Johnson: 'Nay, sir, that is not to the purpose of our argument; that will as much prove that he can play upon the Fiddle as well as Giardini, as that he is an eminent Grecian.'
"Goldsmith: 'The greatest musical performers have but small emoluments; Giardini, I am told, does not get above seven hundred a year.'
"Johnson: 'That is indeed but little for a man to get, who does best that which so many endeavour to do. There is nothing, I think, in which the power of art is shown so much as in playing on the Fiddle. In all other things we can do something at first; any man will forge a bar of iron if you give him a hammer; not so well as a smith, but tolerably; and make a box, though a clumsy one; but give him a Fiddle and a Fiddlestick, and he can do nothing.'"—Boswell's "Life of Johnson."
Johnson and Garrick were sitting together, when among other things Garrick repeated an epitaph upon Phillips, by a Dr. Wilkes, which was very commonplace, and Johnson said to Garrick, "I think, Davy, I can make a better." Then, stirring about his tea for a little while in a state of meditation, he, almost extempore, produced the following verses:—
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"Phillips, whose touch harmonious could remove The pangs of guilty power or hapless love; Rest here, distress'd by poverty no more; Here find that calm thou gav'st so oft before; Sleep undisturbed within this peaceful shrine, Till angels wake thee with a note like thine!" |
Boswell says, "Mr. Garrick appears not to have recited the verses correctly, the original being as follows. One of the various readings is remarkable, and it is the germ of Johnson's concluding line:—
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"Exalted soul, thy various sounds could please The love-sick virgin, and the gouty ease; Could jarring crowds, like old Amphion, move To beauteous order and harmonious love; Rest here in peace, till angels bid thee rise, And meet thy Saviour's concert in the skies." |
Boswell's "Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides" contains the author's letter to Garrick asking him to send the "bad verses which led Johnson to make his fine verses on Phillips the musician." Garrick replied, enclosing the desired epitaph.
Boswell remarks, "This epitaph is so exquisitely beautiful that I remember even Lord Kames, strangely prejudiced as he was against Dr. Johnson, was compelled to allow it very high praise. It has been ascribed to Garrick, from its appearing at first with the signature G.; but I heard Mr. Garrick declare that it was written by Dr. Johnson."
The epitaph of Phillips is in the porch of Wolverhampton Church. The prose part of it is curious:—