The Violin Part 16

The Duke of Buckingham, Charles the Second's rattling favourite, so noted for the versatility of his acquirements, is characterized, in one of Pope's summary lines, as

Chemist, _Fiddler_, Statesman, and Buffoon;

and the amount of his qualification in the two _latter_ respects has been pretty nicely weighed and exhibited; but what kind of a _fiddler_ was he? History is ashamed to say-but her silence is well understood by philosophy to signify contempt: it is a silence more expressive than words-than even those memorable words, "So much for Buckingham!"

Dr. Johnson, whose habit of sound judgment has marked itself on almost every subject that came within the grasp of his comprehensive mind, appears to have duly appreciated the exemplary labours which distinguish the Violinist by _profession_. We all know how little _music_ there was in the great Doctor's soul; but, even as regards the mechanical part of musical practice, few of us have given him credit for such a readiness to estimate fairly, as he has been really recorded to have shewn. The fact is, that he was a prodigiously hard-working man himself, and had an honest admiration for hard work, in whatever career manifested. "There is nothing, I think" (quoth he) "in which the power of art is shewn 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. A man will saw a piece of wood, and make a box, though a clumsy one; but-_give him a fiddle and a fiddle-stick, and he can do nothing_."

If a _learned man_ can thus calculate the value of professional application, a _child_ can feel its results, and, feeling, can discern between the practised player and the deficient dilettante-as we have already seen in the little story which had for its hero the infant Earl of Mornington.

From the very marked disparity subsisting, of necessity, between the Professor and the Amateur-a disparity greater as respects the Violin, than is observable as to any other instrument-it should follow that modesty was a general characteristic of the non-professional cla.s.s. Yet, as if to confirm the truth of the current axiom, that "a little knowledge is a dangerous thing," it occurs too often that the deference due to laborious attainment is withheld, and that the Amateur, content with a mode of playing as noisy as it is shallow, a.s.sumes a prominence which exposes him to ridicule, and gives pain to his friends, on _his_ account, if not on their own. If he do not err after this fas.h.i.+on, he will perhaps affect to hold cheap the talent which he finds it were _dear_ to imitate. It has been found, in the matter of hand-writing, that lordly personages have sometimes scrawled illegibly, rather than write in such fairer characters as might make them seem to possess a knowledge in common with clerks and schoolmasters. In like manner, certain dandy dilettanti, so far from regarding the interval of merit between themselves and the accomplished professor as a "hiatus valde deflendus," or at least as a reason for becoming diffidence on their own part, have curled the lip of disdain, while hinting that _their_ style of playing was not that of people who _played to live_;-as if, by a strange contrariety of ideas, it were _de_preciation to perform for a price! There is something to our purpose on this head in the first volume of Anecdotes, &c. by Miss Hawkins: and here is the pa.s.sage:-

"Dr. Cooke, the composer, was giving lessons on the violin to a young man of a n.o.ble family. The young man was beginning to play; but, in the common impetuosity of a novice, he pa.s.sed over all the _rests_. He therefore soon left his master far behind him. 'Stop, stop, Sir!' said the Doctor, 'just take me with you!' This was a very unpleasant check to one who fancied he was going on famously; and it required to be more than once enforced; till at length it was necessary to argue the point, which the Doctor did with his usual candour, representing the _necessity_ of these observances. The pupil, instead of shewing any sign of conviction, replied rather coa.r.s.ely, 'Ay, ay, it may be necessary for _you_, who get your living by it, to mind these trifles; but _I_ don't want to be so exact!'"

The strong contrast afforded by the glare of pretension, against the opaqueness of incapacity, may often furnish forth a diverting picture.

Michael Kelly, in his "Reminiscences," has drawn such a one, from an original who _flourished_ about sixty years since. "The Apollo, the Orpheus, of the age," says he, "was the redoubted and renowned Baron Bach, who came to Vienna to be heard by the Emperor. He, in his own conceit, surpa.s.sed Tartini, Nardini, &c. This _fanatico per la musica_ had just arrived from Petersburg, where he went to make his extraordinary talents known to the Royal Family and Court. Now, I have often heard this man play, and I positively declare that his performance was as bad as any blind fiddler's at a wake in a country-town in Ireland: but he was a man of immense fortune, and kept open house. In every city which he pa.s.sed through, he gave grand dinners, to which all the musical professors were invited: at Vienna, myself among the rest.

One day, having a mind to put his vanity to the test, I told him that he reminded me of the elder Cramer. He seemed rather disappointed than pleased with my praise;-he acknowledged Cramer had some merit, adding that he had played with him out of the _same book_ at Mannheim, when Cramer was First Violin at that Court; but that the Elector said _his_ tone was far beyond Cramer's, for Cramer was tame and slothful, and _he_ was all fire and spirit-and that, to make a comparison between them, would be to compare a dove to a game c.o.c.k! In my life, I never knew any man who snuffed up the air of praise like this discordant idiot. After he had been heard by the Emperor (who laughed heartily at him), he set off for London, in order that the King of England might have an opportunity of hearing his dulcet strains!"

Another curious story is that related elsewhere of an Amateur in Paris, who began each day of his existence by studying practically a sonata, but, in doing so, did not give himself the trouble to _quit his bed_, or to lay aside his cotton night-cap and its pertaining yellow ribbon, which might seem to represent on his brow the laurels and crown of the Cynthian Apollo!

The more clumsy and hard-going sort of those who play _pour se distraire_, ought not to distract their _friends_ with their playing; but, when an Amateur is so _bad_ as to be insensible of the fact, he is only the more apt to appeal to his acquaintance-not for advice, of course, but approval. If, in that state, he have any _discernment_ connected with the object of his grand mistake, it is just of that kind and degree which enables him to select, for auditors, those of his friends who happen to be the most distinguished for patience and mildness of character. They, poor souls! at each preparatory screw of the fiddle-pegs, conscious of coming torture, wince and draw in their breath; at every saw of the sharp-set bow, they sigh with fear, or perspire with agony; for well do they know that

Some are _sometimes_ correct, through chances boon, But Ruffman never _deviates into_ tune!

Their sufferings, however, are silent; until peradventure, when 'the operation' is at length over, they do such discredit to their conscience as to stammer out a tremulous "bravo!" or a "very well!" in accents of courtesy that seem to sicken at their own import. Your _very_ bad player, be it remarked, is hardly ever content with plain toleration-he must have the sugared comfits of praise[63].

Admitting, as a reluctant principle, that we should lend our ears _at all_ to those fanciers of the instrument who are so bad as to be out of sight of mediocrity, and below the point where improvement _begins_, it is clearly of urgent consequence that we should demand (or beseech) to be indulged with the _shortest_ infliction that may be-an air _without_ the variations, or a quick movement _without_ the prefatory adagio. The Horatian precept, 'Es...o...b..evis,' was never more applicable than here; but, alas! in no case is it less heeded. "As you are strong, be merciful," says Charity; but the spirit of this fine recommendation is reversed by the Amateur belonging to "le genre ennuyeux"-reversed in conformity with his own predicament. As he is weak, he is cruel. He will not abate one minim, nor afford a single bar's rest. He goes on and on, with no other limit, oftentimes, than that which is eventually imposed by the laws of physics, in the shape of personal fatigue. Such, in his _worst_ state, is the Young Pretender!

But if so much is to be endured from an individual tormentor-from _one_ exercise of a

"violon faux, qui jure sous l'archet,"

_what_ are the sufferings which may be produced by a _combination_ of such barbarous bowmen-_all_ eager and emulous, _all_ rough and ready?-The multiplication of discord _thus_ generated, who shall calculate? It is past all understanding: it is the Babel of the tongues of instruments! _This_ species of compound misery is too painful to dwell upon, unless in mollified a.s.sociation with the ludicrous. Under this impression, I will proceed to give a sketch of an affair of Amateur Chamber-Music-being the description of a _Quartett-Party_, freely drawn from the French of an eminent living writer, whose lively and graphic powers in the delineation of familiar scenes have procured him very extensive admiration among his own countrymen, and some share of credit _parmi nous autres Anglais_. Here then is the exposition: but let imagination first draw up the curtain, and place us in view of the convened guests at a musical _soiree_, given by some people of middling condition, but somewhat ambitious pretensions, in a private apartment somewhere in Paris:-

"After several hours of the evening had worn away in lengthened expectation, till the a.s.sembled party, tired of speculating and talking, began to _yawn_, the old gentleman who usually undertook the _ba.s.s_ instrument, was seen to look at his watch, and was heard to murmur between his teeth, 'What a bore is this! How am I to get home by eleven, if the time goes on in this do-nothing way-and I here since seven o'clock, too! So much for your early invitations;-but they sha'nt catch _me_ again.'

"At length, the host, who had been pa.s.sing the evening in running about to borrow instruments, and collect the 'disjecta membra' of the music, reappears, with a scarlet countenance, and in the last state of perspiring exhaustion-his small and feeble figure tottering beneath the weight of sundry large music-books and a tenor fiddle. 'Here I am again,' exclaims he, with an air that is rendered perfectly wild by his exertions: 'I've had a world of trouble to get the _parts_ together; but I've managed the business. Gentlemen, you may commence the quartett.'

"'Ay, ay,' said Mons. Pattier, the ba.s.s-fiddle man, 'let us begin at once, for we've no time to lose-but where's _my_ part?'

"'There, there, on the music-desk.'-

"'Come, gentlemen, now let us _tune_.'

"The const.i.tuent Amateurs proceed accordingly to the labour of getting into mutual agreement; during which process, the auditory shuffle about, and insert themselves into seats as they can. Already are yawning symptoms of impatience visible among the ladies, to whom the very mention of a quartett furnishes a pretence for the vapours, and who make no scruple to _talk_, for diversion's sake, with the loungers behind their chairs. Whispering, laughing, quizzing, are freely indulged in, and chiefly at the special expense of the musical _executioners_ themselves.

"The enterprising _four_, at length brought into unison, plant themselves severally before their desks. The elderly _ba.s.so_ has stuck his circlet of green paper round the top of his candle, for optical protection from the glare: the tenor has mounted his spectacles: the second violin has roughened his bow with a whole ounce of rosin; and the _premier_ has adjusted his cravat so as to save his neck from too hard an encounter with his instrument.

"These preliminaries being arranged, and the host having obtained something of a 'lull' among the a.s.sembly, by dint of loud and repeated exclamations of _hus.h.!.+_-the First Violin elevates his ambitious bow-arm, directs a look of command to his colleagues, and stamps with his foot.

'Are we _ready_?' he enquires, with a determined air.-

"'_I_ have been ready any time these two hours,' replies Mons. Pattier, with a malcontent shrug of his shoulders.-

"'Stay a moment, gentlemen,' cries the Second Fiddle; 'my treble string is down. 'Tis a new string-just let me bring it up to pitch again.'

"The Tenor takes advantage of this interval, to _study_ a pa.s.sage that he fears is likely to 'give him pause;' and the Ba.s.s takes a consolatory pinch of snuff.

"'I've done it now,' e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es at length the Second Violin.-

"'That's well, then; attention again, gentlemen, if you please! Let us play the _allegro_ very moderately, and the _adagio_ rather fast-it improves the effect.'-

"'Ay, ay, just as you like; only, you must beat the time.'

"The signal is given; the First Violin starts off, the rest follow, after their peculiar fas.h.i.+on. It becomes presently evident that, instead of combination, all is contest; notwithstanding which evidence of honorable rivalry, somebody has the malice to whisper, pretty audibly, 'The rogues are in a conspiracy to flay our ears!'

"Presently, the First Violin makes a dead halt-'There's some mistake: we're all wrong.'

"'Why, it seems to _go_ well enough,' observes the Tenor.

"'No, no, we're out _somewhere_.'-

"'Where is it then?'

"'Where? That's more than I can tell.'-

"'For my part,' says the Second Violin, 'I have not missed a note.'-

"'Nor I either.'-

"'Nor I.'-

"'Well, gentlemen, we must try back.'

"'Ay, let us begin again; and pray be particular in beating the time.'

"'Nay, I think I mark the time _loud_ enough.'

"'As for _that_,' exclaims the hostess, 'the person who lodges below has already talked about complaining to the landlord.'

"The business is now resumed, but with no improved success, although the First Violin works away in an agitation not very dissimilar to that of a maniac. The company relax into laughter-and the performers come to a stand-still!

"'This is decidedly _not_ the thing,' says the conducting violinist, Monsieur Longuet,-'There is doubtless some error-let us look at the ba.s.s part.-Why, here's a pretty affair!-_you_ are playing in B flat, and we are in D.'

"'I only know that I've been playing what you told me-the first quartett in the first book'-replies old Monsieur Pattier, florid with rage.

"'_How_ on earth _is_ it then? let us see the t.i.tle-page. Why, how is this? a quartett of _Mozart's_, and _we_ are playing one of _Pleyels_!

Now really that is too good!'

"Renewed laughter is the result of this discovery, and the abortive attempt ends with a general merriment, the contagion of which, however, fails to touch old Monsieur Pattier, who can by no means turn into a _joke_ his indignation at a mistake that has effectually put a stop to the performance of _the Quartett_."