The Serapion Brethren Volume Ii Part 24

"'Well, well; perhaps you're right. There's a great deal to be picked up at the Baron's. I'll talk to him about you, and I think it very likely that he will accord you _les entrees_. He is very much interested in young musicians.'

"A short time afterwards, I had been playing some very difficult duetts with Haak. As he laid his fiddle down, he said, 'Now, Carl, put your Sunday coat on to-night, and your silk stockings. We will go together to the Baron's. There won't be many there, and it will be a good opportunity to introduce you to him.'

"My heart throbbed with delight, for I expected to meet with things unheard-of and extraordinary, though I did not know why this was my expectation.

"We arrived there. The Baron, a rather small gentleman, advanced in age, wearing an old Frankish embroidered gala dress, came to meet us as we entered the room, and shook my master cordially by the hand. Never had I felt, at the sight of a man of rank, more sincere reverence, a more infelt, sincere, pleasant attraction. His face expressed the most genuine kindliness, whilst from his eyes flashed that darksome fire which so often indicates the artist who is, in verity, penetrated by his art. All that diffidence with which I, as an inexperienced neophyte, would otherwise have had to contend, fled from me instantly.

"'How are you, my dear Haak?' the Baron said. 'How are you getting on?

Have you been having a right good study at my concerto? Good, good; we shall hear tomorrow. Oh, I suppose this is the young virtuoso you were telling me about?'

"I cast my eyes down bashfully. I felt that I blushed over and over again.

"Haak mentioned my name, praised my natural talent, and lauded the rapid progress which I had made in a short time.

"'And so you have chosen the violin as your instrument,' said the Baron. 'Have you considered, my son, that the violin is the most difficult of all instruments ever invented, and that it is one which, whilst it seems, in its extreme simplicity, to comprehend in itself the most luxuriant richness of music, is, in reality, an extraordinary mystery, which only discloses itself to a rare few, specially organized by nature to comprehend it? Do you know of a certainty, does your spirit tell you with distinctness, that you will be the master of that marvellous mystery? Many a one has thought this, and has remained a miserable bungler all his days. I should not wish, my son, that you should swell the ranks of those wretched creatures. However, at all events, you can play me something, and then I will tell you what you are like, what state you are in as regards this matter, and you will follow my counsel. Perhaps it is with you as it was with Carl Staunitz, who thought he was going to turn out a marvellous virtuoso. When I opened his eyes, he threw his fiddle behind the stove, and took to the Tenor and Viol d'Amour, and a very good job he made of them. On them he could stamp about with those broad stretching fingers of his, and play quite fairly well. But, however, just now I want to hear _you_, my little son.'

"This first somewhat extraordinary speech of the Baron's to me was calculated to render me somewhat anxious and abashed. What he said went deep into my soul, and I felt, not without inward sorrow, that in devoting my life to the most difficult of all instruments I had, perhaps undertaken a task beyond my powers.

"Just then, four of the artists then present sat down to play the last three quartettes of Haydn, which had just appeared in print. My master took his violin out of its case; but scarcely had he pa.s.sed his bow over the strings, in tuning, when the Baron, stopping his ears with both hands, cried out, like a man possessed, 'Haak, Haak, tell me, for G.o.d's sake! how can you annihilate all your skill in playing by making use of a miserable screaking, caterwauling fiddle like that?'

"Now it happened that my master's violin was one of the most splendid and glorious ever to be met with. It was a genuine Antonio Stradivari, and nothing could enrage him more than when any one failed to render due homage to this darling of his. However, knowing pretty well what was going to happen, he put it back into its case with a smile.

"Just as he was taking the key out of the lock of his fiddle-case, the Baron, who had left the room for a moment, came in, bearing in both arms (as if it had been a babe going to be baptized) a violin-case, covered with scarlet velvet, and bound with gold cords.

"'I wish to do you an honour, Haak,' he said; 'tonight you shall play on my oldest, most precious violin. This is a genuine Granuelo. Your Stradivarius, his pupil, is only a bungler in comparison with him.

Tartini would never put his fingers on any violin but a Granuelo. So please to collect yourself, and pull yourself together, so that the Granuelo may be pleased to allow itself to unfold all the gloriousness which dwells within it.'

"The Baron opened the violin-case, and I beheld an instrument whose build bore witness to its immense antiquity. Beside it lay a most marvellous-looking bow, whose exaggerated curvature seemed to indicate rather that it was intended for shooting arrows from than for bringing tone out of violin strings. With solemn carefulness the Baron took the instrument out of its case and handed it to my master, who received it with equal solemnity.

"'I'm not going to give you the bow,' said the Baron, tapping my master on the shoulder with a pleasant smile, 'you haven't the slightest idea how to manage it; and that is why you will never, in all your life, attain to a proper style of bowing.

"'This was the sort of bow,' continued the Baron, taking it from the case, and contemplating it with a gleaming glance of inspiration, 'which the grand, immortal Tartini made use of; and now that he is gone there are only two of his pupils left in the whole wide world who were fortunate enough to possess themselves of the secret of his magnificent, marrowy, toneful manner of bowing, which affects the whole being of people, and can only be accomplished with a bow of this kind.

One of those pupils is Narbini, who is now an old man of seventy, capable only of inward music; and the other, as I think, gentlemen, you are aware, is myself. Consequently, I am now the sole individual in whom the true art of violin-playing survives; and my zealous endeavours will, I trust and believe, not fail to perpetuate that art which found its creator in Tartini. However, let us set to work, gentlemen.'

"The Haydn quartettes were then played through, and with a degree of perfection which, it need not be said, left nothing to be desired. The Baron sat with closed eyes, swaying backwards and forwards; occasionally he would get up from his chair, go closer to the players, peer at the music with wrinkled brow, and then go very gently back to his seat, lean his head on his hand, sigh, groan--

"'Stop, stop!' he cried suddenly at a melodious pa.s.sage in one of the adagios, 'by all the G.o.ds! that was Tartini-ish melody, or I know nothing about it. Play it again, please.'

"And the masters, smiling, repeated the pa.s.sage, with a more sostenuto and cantabile effect of bowing, while the Baron wept and sobbed like a child.

"When the quartettes were ended, the Baron said, 'A heavenly fellow, this Haydn; he knows how to touch the heart; but he has not an idea of writing for the violin. Perhaps he does not wish to do it; for if he did, and wrote in the only true manner, as Tartini did, you would never be able to play it.'

"It was now my turn to play some variations which Haak had written for me.

"The Baron stood close behind me, looking at the notes. You may imagine the agitation with which I commenced, having this severe critic at my elbow. Presently, however, a stirring allegro movement carried me away.

I forgot all about the Baron, and managed to move about with all freedom within the sphere of skill and power which stood then at my command.

"When I had finished, the Baron patted me on the shoulder, and said, 'You may stick to the violin, my son; but as yet you have not an idea of bowing or expression, probably because, up to this time, you haven't had a proper master.'

"We then sat down to table, in another room, where there was a repast laid out and served, which, especially as regarded the rare and marvellous wines, was to be characterized as very extravagant. The musicians dipped deeply into everything set before them. The talk, which waxed more and more animated, was almost entirely on the subject of music. The Baron emitted complete treasures of the most marvellous information. His opinions and views, most keen and penetrating, proved him to be not only the most instructed of connoisseurs, but also the most accomplished, talented, and tasteful of artists. What was specially striking to me was a sort of portrait gallery of violinists which he went through to us in description. So much of it as I remember I will tell you.

"'Corelli,' said the Baron, 'was the first to break out the path. His compositions can only be played in the real Tartini manner, and that is sufficient to prove how well he knew the true art of violin-playing.

Pugnani is a pa.s.sable player. He has tone, and plenty of brains, but, although he has a tolerable amount of appogiamento, his bowing is too feeble altogether. What have not people told me of Geminiani! and yet, when I heard him last, some thirty years ago in Paris, he played like a somnambulist striding about in a dream, and one felt as if one were in a dream one's self. It was all mere tempo rubato; no sort of style or delivery. That infernal tempo rubato is the ruin of the very best players; they neglect their bowing over it. I played him my sonatas; he saw his error, and asked me to give him some lessons, which I was very glad to do. But he was too far sunk into his old method. He had grown too old in it--he was ninety-one. May G.o.d forgive Giardini, and not punish him for it in eternity; but he it was who first ate the apple of the tree of knowledge, and brought sin upon all subsequent players. He was the first of your tremolandoists and flourishers. All he thinks about is his left hand, and those fingers of his that have the power of jumping hither and thither. He has no idea of the important fact that it is in the _right_ hand that the soul of melody lies--that from every throb of its pulses stream forth the powers that awaken the feelings of the heart. Oh! that every one of those "flourishers" had a stout old Jomelli at his elbow to rouse him out of his craziness by a good sound box on the ear--as Jomelli actually did--when Giardini, in his presence, spoilt a glorious pa.s.sage of melody by jumps, trills, and "mordenti." Lulli, too, conducts himself in a preposterous way. He is one of your d.a.m.nable perpetrators of jumps. An adagio he can't play, and his sole quality is that for which ignoramuses, without sense or understanding, admire him with their stupid mouths agape. I say it again: with Narbini and me will die the true art of the violinist.

Young Viotti is a fine fellow, full of promise. He is indebted to me for what he knows, for he was a most industrious pupil of mine. But what does it all amount to? No endurance! No patience! He wouldn't go on studying with me. Now, Kreutzer I still hope to get hold of and make something of. He has availed himself a.s.siduously of my lessons, and will again, when I get back to Paris. That concerto of mine which you are studying, Haak, he played not at all badly a short time since. But he hasn't the hand, yet, to wield my bow. Giarnovichi shall never cross my doorstep again. There's a stupid c.o.xcomb for you! A fellow who has the effrontery to turn up his nose at the grand Tartini--master of all masters--and despises my lessons. What I should like to know is, what that boy Rhode will turn out after he has had lessons from me? He promises well, and I have an idea that he will master my bow.'

"The Baron turned to me, saying, 'He is about your age, little son, but of a more serious, deep-thoughted nature. You appear to me--don't take it ill if I say so--to be a little bit of a--well, I mean, you lack purpose. However, no matter. Now you, dear Haak, I have great hopes of.

Since I have been teaching you you have become quite another man. Keep up your unresting zeal and industry. Never waste a single hour. You know that is what distresses me.'

"I was turned to stone with amazement and admiration at what I heard. I could not wait the necessary time to ask the concert-meister if it was all true---if the Baron was, really, the greatest violinist of the day--if he, my master himself, did actually take lessons from him.

"'Undoubtedly,' Haak said, 'he had no hesitation in accepting the profitable instruction which the Baron placed at his disposal; and he told me that I should do well if I went, some morning, to him myself, and asked him to let me have some lessons from him too.'

"To all the questions which I then put to him concerning the Baron and his artistic talent, Haak would give me no direct reply, but kept on telling me that I ought to do as he advised me, and I should then find out all about it myself.

"The peculiar smile which pa.s.sed over Haak's face as he said this did not escape me. I did not understand the meaning of it, and it excited my curiosity to the highest point.

"When I bashfully made my request to the Baron, a.s.suring him that the most unbounded zeal, the most glowing enthusiasm for my art inspired me, he looked at me seriously and fixedly. But soon his face put on an expression of the most benevolent kindliness. 'Little son! little son!' he said, 'that you have betaken yourself to me--the only real violin-player now living--proves that you possess the true artistic spirit, and that the ideal of the genuine violin-player has come into existence within you. I should be delighted to give you lessons; but the time--the time! where to find it? Haak occupies me a great deal, and then I have got this young man Durand here just now, he wants to be heard in public, and knows that he need not try that till he has had a good course of lessons from me. However, wait a moment, between breakfast and lunch, or at lunch time--yes. I have still an hour at liberty then. Little son, come to me at twelve exactly every day, and I will fiddle with you for an hour until one; then Durand comes.'

"You can imagine how I hastened, with a throbbing heart, to the Baron's the next forenoon at the appointed hour.

"He would not let me play a single note on my own violin, which I had brought with me, but placed in my hands a very old instrument by Antonio Amati. Never had I had any experience of a violin like this.

The celestial tone which streamed from its strings altogether inspired me. I let myself go, and abandoned myself to a stream of ingenious 'pa.s.sages,' suffering the river of music to surge and swell, higher and higher, in mighty waves and billows of sound, and then die down and expire in murmuring whispers. My own belief is that I was playing exceedingly well; much better than I often did afterwards.

"When I had done, the Baron shook his head impatiently, and said: 'My little son! my little son! you must forget all that. In the first place, you hold your bow most abominably,' and he showed to me, practically, how the bow ought to be held, according to the manner of Tartini. I thought I should never be able to bring out a single tone whilst so holding it; but great was my astonishment when I found that, on repeating my 'pa.s.sages' at the Baron's desire, the amazing advantage of holding the bow as he told me to hold it was strikingly manifest, after two or three seconds.

"'Good!' said the Baron. 'Little son, let us begin the lesson. Commence upon the note G, above the line, and hold out that note as long as you can possibly hold it. Economize your bow; make the very utmost of it that you possibly can. What the breath is to the singer, the bow is to the violinist.'

"I did as I was directed, and was greatly delighted to find that, in this manner of dealing with matters, I was enabled to bring out a tone of exceptional powerfulness; to swell it out to a marvellous fortissimo, and make it die down to a very soft pianissimo, with an excessively long stroke of the bow.

"'You see, do you not, little son?' cried the Baron. 'You can play all kinds of "pa.s.sages," jumps, and new-fangled nonsense of that sort, but you can't properly sustain a note as it ought to be done.'

"He took the instrument from my hands, and laid the bow across the strings, near the bridge--and the simple truth is, that words completely fail me to describe to you what then came to pa.s.s.

"Laying that trembling bow of his close to the bridge, he went sliding with it up and down on the strings, as it quivered in his hands, jarringly, whistlingly, squeakingly, mewingly; the tone he produced was to be likened to that of some old woman, with spectacles on nose, vainly attempting to hit the tune of a hymn.

"And all the time he raised enraptured eyes to heaven, like a man lost in the most celestial blissfulness; and when at length he left off sc.r.a.ping with his bow up and down between the bridge and the finger-board, and laid the violin down, his eyes were s.h.i.+ning, and he said, in deep emotion: 'That is tone! that is tone!'

"I felt in a most extraordinary condition: although the inward impulse to laugh was present with me, it was killed by the aspect of that venerable man, glorified by his inspiration. At the same time the whole affair had a most eery effect upon me, and I felt very much affected by it, and could not utter a syllable.

"'Don't you find, little son,' asked the Baron, 'that that goes to your heart? Had you ever any idea that such magic could be conjured out of that little thing there, with its four simple strings? Well, well! take a gla.s.s of wine, little son.' He poured me out a gla.s.s of Madeira. I had to drink it, and also to take some of the pastry and cakes which were upon the table. Just then the clock struck one.

"'This will have to do for to-day,' said the Baron. 'Go, go, little son! Here, here! put that in your pocket.'

"And he placed in my hand a little paper packet, in which I found a beautiful, s.h.i.+ning ducat.

"In my amazement I ran to the concert-meister and told him all that had happened. He, however, laughed aloud, and said: 'Now you know all about our Baron and his violin lessons. He looks upon you as a mere beginner, so that you only get a ducat per lesson; but as the masters.h.i.+p, in his opinion, increases, so does the pay. He gives me a Louis, and I think Durand gets a couple of ducats.'

"I could not help expressing my opinion that it was anything but an honourable style of going to work, to mystify this kind gentleman in such a fas.h.i.+on, and pocket his money into the bargain.