Kitabı oku: «The Violin», sayfa 18

Mr. Dando first appeared as a member of the Philharmonic orchestra, in 1831: since which time he has held an uninterrupted engagement in its front rank of violins. As an orchestral leader, himself, he has had a long and honourable career, as well in the provinces as in London and its suburban offshoots. In the City, he has almost exclusively occupied that post. At the great concerts given by the amateurs at the London Tavern; at those of the “Classical” and “Choral Harmonists ” Societies; also at others brought out on a less extensive scale, at the “Horn Tavern,” Doctors’ Commons, the “Albion,” and “London” Tavern, his qualifications have been fully admitted, and the highest credit awarded. As to his peculiar manner, or style, it may doubtless be averred that, as a pupil, he must have profited largely by the example of his master, Mori; although, finally, his talents have become conspicuous in a very distinct school. Fire and vigour, more than feeling, were the characteristics of style in the one, while the other has become remarkable for the elegance of his expression, and the neatness of his execution – a neatness which is by no means unattended by the amount of vigour occasionally requisite to express the passion of an inspired author. In his hands, the violin has oftentimes become almost vocal, and his performance on that most expressive of instruments has been very characteristically described by an accomplished public critic, as “soul-satisfying in the extreme.”

Henry C. Cooper, a fine solo-player, indoctrinated by Spagnoletti, holds a distinguished place among our Violinists. In the absence of materials for treating of him in extenso, his laurels, green and vigorous as they are, can at present only be recognized – not displayed – in these ministering pages.

Edward William Thomas, of Welsh parentage, was born in 1814. His commencement with the Violin was under Mr. W. Thomas, formerly Leader of Covent Garden Theatre. It was said that he was too old to “do any good” (being then twelve years of age), but the prediction – like many other such familiar croakings – came happily to nothing.

Leaving Mr. W. Thomas, his young name-sake was placed at the Royal Academy of Music, under Oury, Cramer, Mori, and Spagnoletti; the result of which multiplication of masters was, that he no sooner began to feel the good effects of the endeavours of one, than he lost them under the different system pursued by another. To remedy this, he became a resident pupil in the house of the kind-hearted Spagnoletti, to whom, as well as to his first master (Thomas), he always evinced a feeling of grateful attachment.

His first appearance, as a Solo-player, was at “Russian Field’s” Concert, at Her Majesty’s Theatre, in 1832, when he played Spohr’s Dramatic Concerto: this was also the year of his first engagement (by Mr. Monck Mason) at Her Majesty’s Theatre, where he remained until the establishment of the Royal Italian Opera, which he left in 1850, to become the Leader of the Liverpool Philharmonic.

Bream Thom, a native of Portsmouth, dating his days from 1817, made his first approaches to the Violin at eight years of age, having from infancy evinced a predilection for music, although no other member of his family was that way inclined. He studied hard, and, at seventeen, was appointed Leader of the Orchestra at the Portsmouth Theatre. He appeared, in 1838, at the Hanover Square Concert-Room, in London, and was favourably received. Shortly afterwards (by the advice of Mr. Oury), he went to Paris, and placed himself under Monsieur Robretch, a professor to whom belongs the credit of having had some share in the tuition of De Beriot, and of Artot. Returning to England, he settled eventually at Brighton, where he has for some time officiated as Leader at the Theatre, Amateur Concerts, &c.

Charles Frederick Hall, five years a member of Her Majesty’s Theatre, and the present Musical Director of the Royal Marionette Theatre, London, was born at Norwich, in 1820.

When a mere child, his melodious voice attracted the attention of the Norwich denizens; but his early predilection for the stage induced his family to accept an engagement for him from Elliston, in 1829, for the purpose of bringing him out in juvenile operas (at the Surrey Theatre, London), in which Master Burke, Miss Coveney, Miss Vincent, and Master Henry Russell, &c. shared with our youthful vocalist the favours of the public. Eighteen months after this period, his friends recalled him to his birth-place, and articled him to Mr. Noverre, a dancing-master in high repute, by whose advice he immediately commenced the study of the Violin – upon which instrument he made such rapid progress, that his friends were urged to cancel their agreement with Noverre, and destine the youth exclusively for the musical profession.

Although his attainments in singing, as well as on the piano and violin, seemed to point with sufficient clearness to his proper path, a passion for the stage developed itself in 1833, when he appeared on the boards of the Norwich Theatre, in the character of “Little Pickle,” in the farce of the Spoiled Child; by which personation he attracted such notice, that the manager of the Theatre engaged him to appear in that character at all the theatres belonging to the Norwich Circuit.

The family of our youthful musician, being anxious to wean him from a theatrical career, usually so trying to the principles of a young mind, placed him with a German Violinist (Herr Müller), of whose experience he availed himself to such extent as to become, in 1835, (when only 15 years of age) the Leader of the Norwich Theatre.

While on a tour with the Norwich Company, our young Violinist made acquaintance with Edmund Kean; and, but for the sudden demise of that rare but very rambling genius, would, in all probability, have been so fascinated by his society, as to have relinquished the steady pursuit of music. Soon after this event, however (in 1837), we find him residing at Norwich, as a Professor of the Violin, Piano, Guitar, and Singing, in which accomplishments he had the honour of instructing several families of distinction. He was also appointed Organist of one of the churches, and became the most eminent solo violinist of his own county, and its neighbourhood. The Rev. R. F. Elwin (for many years sole manager of the Norwich Festivals, and a great admirer of musical talent), was influential in placing the youthful Violinist at the head of the musical department in his native city.

Anxious to emulate the best musicians of the capital, Charles Hall, much against the wish of his family, repaired to London, in 1840, and became a student at the Royal Academy of Music, in which establishment he availed himself of the valuable instruction of the best masters belonging to the institution.

The late Mr. T. Cooke, when Musical Director of Drury Lane Theatre, induced Mr. Hall to accept an engagement there as Leader of the Ballets and Pantomimes, in which position he continued for the space of five years.

In 1844, this enterprising artist wrote and delivered some entertaining Musical Lectures at the Holborn Literary Institution, under the title of “Poesy and Minstrelsy.”

Mr. Balfe, the Composer and Musical Director of Her Majesty’s Theatre, being much pleased with Mr. Hall’s performance on the violin during the Jenny Lind Concerts, took great notice of him, and engaged him for five years at that large and fashionable establishment. In the first year of this engagement, Mr. Hall offered the “Swedish Nightingale” the sum of £1000 to sing at two Concerts in Norwich. That enchanting warbler accepted the offer – the Concerts were given, upon the most liberal scale – and our adventurous artist cleared nearly £800 by the speculation. The Lord Bishop of Norwich appropriated his palace to the use of the Queen of Song, and the whole city was a scene of excitement and rejoicing, during the lady’s sojourn. After recording Mr. Hall’s well-deserved profits on this occasion, it must be added, with regret, that a large musical speculation, in 1848, deprived him of the chief portion of what he had so acquired.

With an undaunted spirit, our persevering artist wrote another musical entertainment, entitled “The Romance of Village Life,” which he gave, in 1850, at various London Literary Institutions, and which was warmly applauded on each occasion. Mr. Hall is the author of an amusing burlesque description of the well-known opera of The Bohemian Girl. He is also the author and composer of several favourite ballads: and some of the finest musicians of the day, among whom are Mr. Balfe and Mr. Wallace, have wedded his verse to music. His last production, now in course of publication, is entitled “Sacred Lays on the Ten Commandments.”

To attempt a notice in detail of all the English Professors of the Violin who are yet pursuing their career, and seeking occasions to make, or to confirm, a reputation, is alike beyond my power, and beside my purpose. A few general remarks that here occur, shall be subjoined.

So little had instrumental chamber-music (until within the last sixteen years) been cultivated among us, that the Solo-player and the orchestral Leader were those to whom the public attention had been almost exclusively confined. To fill these two offices to the extent of all possible occasion, requires but a small number of individuals. Some musicians, possessing talents which, directed by an assiduous singleness of purpose, might qualify them to shine in either of these two capacities, were unwilling to encounter the toil of a competition, in which so very few of the candidates can meet with the recompense of election. Others, gifted with fine musical feeling and taste, and having sound notions of the art generally, but not fully possessed of the strength of nerve which gives confidence, or the manual suppleness essential for brilliant execution, were naturally still less willing to court the rarely accorded honours of prominent employ. Of these two classes, principally, were the men who filled the ranks of our best orchestras. In the Opera Band were found the names of Watts, Ella (well-known also for his taste and resources, as a caterer for the delight of our higher musical circles), Reeve, and Pigott, – in the Philharmonic, Wagstaff, Dando, Griesbach, and Moralt – good violinists, accomplished musicians, and forming an invaluable acquisition in an orchestra. It was one of the consequences to be anticipated from the Chamber Concerts at length introduced (and to which Fashion soon began to lend the stamp of her currency), that a clearer and higher appreciation of such men as these should be formed. That expectation has been partly realized; and, with its fuller accomplishment, we shall be sure to have good orchestras in goodly number.

– For its connection with the state and prospects of the Violin School in England, the institution of the “Royal Academy of Music” calls for a few words of notice in this place. The vocal art, through some unexplained defects in the system pursued there – certainly not from the want of fine voices in the country – has hitherto derived no very conspicuous advantage from the establishment in question; but the instruction communicated to instrumentalists must have been of a better kind, for results of some importance have been manifested. Of several of the students who have cultivated the powers of the violin with marked success, the most distinguishable, perhaps, in point of genius, is Mawkes, a performer of very great promise, who had the benefit of aid from the master-hand of Spohr. Suddenly, however, and much to the regret of those who were watching with interest the development of his fine capacity, he seceded from playing in public, and is now living in seclusion. To this strange sequestration of a valuable gift, he is said to have been induced by scruples of a religious nature. Why any branch whatsoever of the refined arts may not be followed, as a profession, in perfect compatibility with the higher and ulterior purposes of life, it is difficult to discover. A man does not, commonly, take his principles from his worldly calling: he brings them to it, and finds in it a field for their due employment and exercise. Objections, however, that refer us to the conscience, as their seat and source, must ever be respected, even when (as in this case) their essential force is not apparent.

Blagrove is another name that claims especial mention, among the trophies of the Academy. This professor, also, has fortunately enjoyed the highest means of accomplishment in his art, having superadded to his noviciate at the Academy, a later prosecution of his studies under the direction of Spohr, of the purity and refinement of whose style he exhibited delightful traces in the quartett-performances at the head of which he figured, when the merits of that delightful class of compositions were as yet but imperfectly known. Mr. Blagrove enjoys the unquestioned reputation of being one of the best of our living artists. – Seymour is another of the Academy pupils whose talent has become favourably known to the public. As leader of the “younger strengths” forming the Academy orchestra, he has shewn much steadiness and ability.

When it is remembered how large an amount of instrumental talent in France has owed its development to the fostering care and excellent system of the Conservatoire, a very happy augury may be drawn from the results in this kind that have as yet followed the institution of the English Royal Academy of Music. Supposing this establishment to be rightly and effectively conducted, one of its beneficial consequences as regards the Violin-Students (and that by no means the smallest) will be found in the harmonious unity of feeling and execution that will pervade our orchestras, supplied as they will then mainly be, from the same source. As a general fact, it has been remarked with regret by Spohr, the great German master, that the Violinists of an orchestra never originate from the same School; – the exceptions to this being in the Conservatories of Paris, Prague, and Naples, where the orchestras have been enabled to produce surprising effects, through this unity among the Violinists.

By way of tail-piece to this chapter, I am tempted to present a brief sketch of an individual in whose hands the Violin, as respects its lower range of capabilities, was long, and most conspicuously, illustrated. Having devoted our attention at some length to the instrument, under its English aspect, shall we refuse a passing glance at the Scotch Fiddle, in the person of one of its most restless and remarkable expositors?

Neil Gow – the head of a race of north-country instrumentalists, and one of the most zealous in the line where Music is the special handmaid of the Dance – was born in Strathband, Perthshire, in the year 1727, of humble parentage. His first efforts were made at the age of nine; but he had no instructor till, at thirteen, he was taken in hand by one John Cameron. Whilst yet a youth, he carried off the prize at a trial of skill among the best performers in that rather out-of-the-way district – on which occasion, one of the minstrels who was the umpire (a blind man) declared that he could distinguish the stroke of Neil’s bow among a hundred players! In process of time, while thus vigorously engaged in working his way, Neil obtained the patronage of the Athol family, and the Duchess of Gordon, whereby he became noticed and sought after in the fashionable world. He was eminent in one department of Scotch national music – the livelier airs belonging to the class of what are called the strathspey and the reel. The characteristic expression of the Highland reel depends materially on the power of the bow, and particularly on the upward (or returning) stroke; and herein Neil was truly great – “un homme marquant,” in a two-fold sense. His mode of bowing, indeed, by which he imparted the native Highland gout to certain Highland tunes (such as “Tulloch Gorum” for instance), was never fully attained by any other player. He was accustomed to throw in a sudden shout, as an addendum in the quick tunes, so as to electrify the dancers! In short, his fiddling – for its communication of saltatory fury to the heels of his countrymen – was like the bite of a tarantula.

This active promoter of activity was also a compiler of national airs and tunes, and dabbled occasionally in composition – his son Nathaniel arranging and preparing the whole for publication. Forcible humour, strong sense, knowledge of the world, propriety of general conduct, and simplicity in carriage, dress, and manners, were combined recommendations of Neil Gow, who has figured on the canvas of Raeburn and of Allan. His brother Donald, a “fidus Achates,” was of good service to him as his steady and constant Violoncello. Neil died in 1807, at Inver, near Dunkeld.

CHAPTER VII
AMATEURS

 
“Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb?” —
 

Beattie.

It is as plain to the understanding, as it is palpable to the ear, that Amateurs, or dilettante performers, on an instrument like the violin, so rich in its capabilities, but so exacting in its demands, are in a very trying situation. The amount of mere mechanical labour – the simple manipulation – which it is essential to employ, before the very finest mental disposition can express itself even passably on the violin, is a thing to startle the coolest enquirer. Giardini, when asked how long it would take to learn to play on the fiddle, answered, “twelve hours a day, for twenty years together.” There may be hyperbole in this – but it is only truth in too swelling a garb. There is the strongest meaning and reality in the sentiment of difficulty which the reply was intended to convey.⁶² It has been said of a professor of some eminence, who was current some years ago in London, that he has devoted himself for a month together, during the whole disposable hours of each day, to the practice of the passages contained in one single page of music; and many remarkable instances might be adduced (were the point sufficiently doubtful to require it) in proof of the prodigious exertions in private, that have indispensably preceded those public displays by which the excellence of great performers has been established. “Nocturnâ versate manu, versate diurnâ,” is indeed that precept whose spirit is the guide of the destined Violinist.

 
Ilium non rutilis veniens Aurora capillis
Cessantem vidit, non Hesperus!
 

His fiddle must be his inseparable companion, cultivated before all other society, beloved before all other worldly objects – the means and the end, the cause and the reward, of his assiduous toils. Such are the conditions on which the mastery of this “so potent art” depends. Through this road must they travel, who aspire to real excellence. Alas! what sort of compliance with such discipline are we to expect from the miscellaneous, fitful gentleman whom we designate too roundly by the term Amateur! What full conquest can we anticipate for him, who is the volatile lover of a mistress so jealous that she was never yet entirely won, save by the most refined arts of study, and by attentions the most persevering and the most delicate? No – there is no sane hope of consummate swam upon easy terms; and accordingly we find that, although Amateurs are sufficiently abundant, good players among them are not very numerous – and accomplished ones, positively few.

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 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!”

 
Chemist, Fiddler, Statesman, and Buffoon;
 

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 class. 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, assumes 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 fashion, 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 depreciation 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 passage: —

“Dr. Cooke, the composer, was giving lessons on the violin to a young man of a noble family. The young man was beginning to play; but, in the common impetuosity of a novice, he passed 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 coarsely, ‘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, surpassed 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 passed 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 cock! 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 praise⁶³.

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, ‘Esto brevis,’ 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 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 association 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 soirée, given by some people of middling condition, but somewhat ambitious pretensions, in a private apartment somewhere in Paris: —

 
“violon faux, qui jure sous l’archet,”
 

“After several hours of the evening had worn away in lengthened expectation, till the assembled party, tired of speculating and talking, began to yawn, the old gentleman who usually undertook the bass 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 passing 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.’