Chapter XXVIII: Section XV: Anecdotes and Miscellanea connected with the Violin (1)

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--

"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--

"On stirrup-side, he gaz'd about
Portending blood, like blazing star,
The beacon of approaching war.

. . . . .

Ralpho rode on, with no less speed
Than Hugo in the forest did;
But far more in returning made,
For now the foe he had survey'd
Rang'd, as to him they did appear,
With van, main battle, wings, and rear.
I' th' head of all this warlike rabble,
Crowdero marched, expert and able.
Instead of trumpet and of drum,
That makes the warrior's stomach come,
Whose noise whets valour sharp, like beer
By thunder turn'd to vinegar;
(For if a trumpet sound, or drum beat,
Who has not a month's mind to combat?)
A squeaking engine he apply'd
Unto his neck on north-east side,[1]
Just where the hangman does dispose,
To special friends, the knot or noose;
For 'tis great grace, when statesmen straight
Dispatch a friend, let others wait.
His warped ear hung o'er the strings,
Which was but souse to chitterlings;[2]
For guts, some write, ere they are sodden,
Are fit for music, or for pudding;[3]
From whence men borrow ev'ry kind
Of minstrelsy, by string or wind.
His grisly beard was long and thick,
With which he strung his Fiddle-stick;
For he to horse-tail scorned to owe
For what on his own chin did grow.

. . . . .

And now the field of death, the lists,
Were enter'd by antagonists,
And blood was ready to be broach'd,
When Hudibras in haste approach'd
With Squire and weapons, to attack 'em;
But first thus from his horse bespoke 'em,
'What rage, O citizens! What fury
Doth you to these dire actions hurry?

. . . . .

In name of King and Parliament
I charge ye all--no more foment.

. . . . .

... first surrender
The Fiddler as the prime offender,
Th' incendiary vile, that is chief
Author and engineer of mischief;
That makes division between friends
For profane and malignant ends.[4]
He and that engine of vile noise
On which illegally he plays,[5]
Shall (_dictum factum_) both be brought
To condign punishment, as they ought.'

. . . . .

This said he clapped his hand on sword,
To show he meant to keep his word.

. . . . .

He drew up all his force into
One body and into one blow.

. . . . .

The Knight, with all its weight, fell down

. . . . .

Like a feather bed betwixt a wall
And heavy brunt of cannon ball.

. . . . .

Crowdero only kept the field,
Not stirring from the place he held;
Though beaten down and wounded sore,
I' th' Fiddle, and a leg that bore
One side of him--not that of bone,
But much its better, th' wooden one.
He spying Hudibras lie strew'd
Upon the ground, like log of wood,

. . . . .

In haste he snatch'd the wooden limb
That, hurt in th' ankle, lay by him,
And, fitting it for sudden fight,
Straight drew it up, t' attack the Knight;

. . . . .

Vowing to be reveng'd, for breach
Of Crowd and skin, upon the wretch,[6]
Sole author of all detriment
He and his Fiddle underwent.

. . . . .

When Ralpho thrust himself between,
He took the blow upon his arm,
To shield the Knight from further harm,
And, joining wrath with force, bestow'd
On th' wooden member such a load,
That down it fell and with it bore
Crowdero, whom it propp'd before.
To him the Squire right nimbly run,
And setting his bold foot upon
His trunk, thus spoke: 'What desp'rate frenzy
Made thee, thou whelp of sin, to fancy
Thyself, and all that coward rabble,
To encounter us in battle able?
How durst th', I say, oppose thy curship
'Gainst, arms, authority, and worship,
And Hudibras or me provoke,

. . . . .

... but first our care
Must see how Hudibras doth fare.'
This said, he gently rais'd the Knight,

. . . . .

To rouse him from lethargic dump,
He tweak'd his nose with gentle thump,
Knock'd on his breast, as if't had been
To raise the spirits lodg'd within;
They, waken'd with the noise, did fly
From inward room to window eye,
And gently op'ning lid, the casement,
Look'd out, but yet with some amazement.
This gladded Ralpho much to see,
Who thus bespoke the Knight; quoth he,
Tweaking his nose, 'You are, great sir,
A self-denying conqueror;
As high, victorious, and great
As e'er fought for the churches yet.

. . . . .

... The foe, for dread
Of your nine-worthiness, is fled;
All, save Crowdero, for whose sake
You did th' espous'd cause undertake;
And he lies pris'ner at your feet,
To be disposed as you think meet,
Either for life, or death, or sale,
The gallows, or perpetual jail;
For one wink of your powerful eye
Must sentence him to live or die;
His Fiddle is your proper purchase,
Won in the service of the Churches;
And by your doom must be allow'd
To be or be no more, a _Crowd_.'

. . . . .

... The Knight began to rouse,
And by degrees grew valorous;
He stared about, and seeing none
Of all his foes remain, but one,
He snatch'd his weapon that lay near him,
And from the ground began to rear him,
Vowing to make Crowdero pay
For all the rest that ran away.
But Ralpho now, in colder blood,
His fury mildly thus withstood.
'Great sir,' quoth he, 'your mighty spirit
Is raised too high; this slave doth merit
To be the hangman's business sooner
Than from your hand to have the honour
Of his destruction; I, that am
A nothingness in deed and name,
Did scorn to hurt his forfeit carcase,
Or ill entreat his Fiddle or case;

. . . . .

Will you employ your conq'ring sword
To break a Fiddle, and your word?

. . . . .

... I think it better far
To keep him prisoner of war.'

. . . . .

He liked the squire's advice, and soon
Resolved to see the business done.

. . . . .

Ralpho dispatched with speedy haste,
And having ty'd Crowdero fast,
He gave Sir Knight the end of cord,
To lead the captive of his sword.

. . . . .

The Squire in state rode on before,
And on his nut-brown whinyard bore
The Trophy-Fiddle, and the case
Leaning on shoulder, like a mace.[7]
The Knight himself did after ride,
Leading Crowdero by his side,
And tow'd him if he lagg'd behind,
Like boat against the tide and wind.
Thus grave and solemn they march on,
Until quite thro' the town th' had gone,
At further end of which there stands
An ancient castle, that commands[8]
Th' adjacent parts; in all the fabric
You shall not see one stone nor a brick
But all of wood, by powerful spell
Of magic made impregnable.

. . . . .

Thither arriv'd, th' advent'rous Knight
And bold Squire from their steeds alight
At th' outward wall, near which there stands
A bastile, built t' imprison hands;

. . . . .

On top of this there is a spire
On which Sir Knight first bids the Squire
The Fiddle, and its spoils, the case,[9]
In manner of a trophy, place.
That done, they ope the trapdoor gate,
And let Crowdero down thereat;
Crowdero making doleful face,
Like hermit poor in pensive place.
To dungeon they the wretch commit,
And the survivor of his feet,
But the other that had broke the peace
And head of knighthood, they release,
Though a delinquent false and forged,
Yet b'ing a stranger, he's enlarged,
While his comrade that did not hurt
Is clapp'd up fast in prison for't;
So Justice, while she winks at crimes,
Stumbles on innocence sometimes."

[Footnote 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."]

[Footnote 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."]

[Footnote 3: Black pudding and sausages are placed in skins of gut.]

[Footnote 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

"... division between friends,
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."]

[Footnote 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."]

[Footnote 6: Crowd, a Fiddle, and therefore for injury done by "breach," or cracks, to Crowdero's instrument.]

[Footnote 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.]

[Footnote 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_.]

[Footnote 9: Dr. Nash suggests the following rendering: "His spoils, the Fiddle, and the case."]

GEORGE HERBERT'S REFERENCES TO MUSIC.

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--

"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--

"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--

"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--

"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."

VIOLINS FROM A MEDICAL POINT OF VIEW.

"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 Bicetre, 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_."

"A MUSICIAN

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_.

ORIGIN OF TARTINI'S "DEVIL'S SONATA."

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 AND THE VIOLIN.

"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_."

DR. JOHNSON ON THE DIFFICULTY OF PLAYING THE FIDDLE.

"_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_."

DR. JOHNSON'S EPITAPH ON PHILLIPS, THE WELSH VIOLINIST.

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:--

"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:--

"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:--

Near this place lies
Charles Claudius Phillips,
Whose absolute contempt of riches,
and inimitable performances upon the Violin,
made him the admiration of all that knew him.
He was born in Wales,
made the tour of Europe,
and, after the experience of both kinds of fortune,
Died in 1732.

DR. JOHNSON'S KNOWLEDGE OF MUSIC.

He said he knew "a drum from a trumpet, and a bagpipe from a guitar, which was about the extent of his knowledge of music." He further tells us that "if he had learnt music he should have been afraid he should have done nothing else but play. It was a method of employing the mind, without the labour of thinking at all, and with some applause from a man's self." These remarks are better appraised and understood when we bear in mind Dr. Johnson's own estimate of his musical knowledge together with his having derived pleasure from listening to the sounds of the bagpipes. If a performance on those droning instruments was in the Doctor's mind when he said that the reflective powers need not be exercised in performing on a musical instrument, there might be some truth in the observation. The labour of thinking, however, cannot be dispensed with in connection with playing most musical instruments, and least of all the Violin.

DR. JOHNSON ON FIDDLING AND FREE WILL.

"_Johnson_: 'Moral evil is occasioned by free will, which implies choice between good and evil. With all the evil that there is, there is no man but would rather be a free agent, than a mere machine without the evil; and what is best for each individual must be best for the whole. If a man would rather be the machine, I cannot argue with him. He is a different being from me.'

"_Boswell_: 'A man, as a machine, may have agreeable sensations; for instance, he may have pleasure in music.'

"_Johnson_: 'No, sir, he cannot have pleasure in music; at least no power of producing music; for he who can produce music may let it alone; he who can play upon a Fiddle may break it: such a man is not a machine.'"--"_Tour to the Hebrides_."

HAYDN IN LONDON.--A "SWEET STRADIVARI." (BY PERMISSION OF MR. JOHN MURRAY.)

The following extracts, taken from "A Country Clergyman of the Eighteenth Century," a pleasant and entertaining book (consisting of selections from the correspondence of the Rev. Thomas Twining, M.A.), cannot fail to interest the reader. The Rev. Thomas Twining was born in 1735. He was an excellent musician, both in theory and practice, and a lover of the Violin. He had collected much valuable information with regard to music, with a view to writing a history of the subject. Upon learning that Dr. Burney was engaged on his History of Music, he not only generously placed his valuable notes at the service of the Doctor, but revised the manuscript of his friend's History. Dr. Burney, in the preface of his work, says: "In order to satisfy the sentiments of friendship, as well as those of gratitude, I must publicly acknowledge my obligations to the zeal, intelligence, taste, and erudition of the Rev. Mr. Twining, a gentleman whose least merit is being perfectly acquainted with every branch of theoretical and practical music."

The publication of the volume containing the interesting correspondence between Dr. Burney and his friend not only serves to enlighten us relative to the substantial aid given to our musical historian, but also makes us acquainted with an English eighteenth century amateur and votary of the Fiddle of singular ability and rare humility:--

"COLCHESTER, _February_ 15, 1791.

"To DR. BURNEY,--

"... And now, my dear friend, let's draw our stools together, and have some fun. Is it possible we can help talking of Haydn first? How do you like him? What does he say? What does he do? What does he play upon? How does he play?... The papers say he has been bowed to by whole orchestras when he has appeared at the play-houses. Is he about anything in the way of composition? Come, come! I'll pester you no more with interrogations; but trust to your generosity to gratify my ardent curiosity in your own way. I have just--and I am ashamed to say but just--sent for his 'Stabat Mater.' Fisin[10] told me some quartetts had, not long ago, been published by him. He has written so much that I cannot help fearing he will soon have written himself dry. If the resources of any human composer could be inexhaustible, I should suppose Haydn's would; but as, after all, he is but mortal, I am afraid he must soon get to the bottom of his genius-box. My friend Mr. Tindal is come to settle (for the present at least) in this neighbourhood. He is going to succeed me in the curacy of Fordham. He plays the Fiddle well, the Harpsichord well, the Violoncello well. Now, sir, when I say 'well,' I can't be supposed to mean the wellness that one should predicate of a professor who makes the instrument his study; but that he plays in a very ungentlemanlike manner, exactly in time and tune, with taste, accent, and meaning, and the true sense of what he plays; and, upon the Violoncello, he has execution sufficient to play Boccherini's quintettos, at least what may be called very decently. But ask Fisin, he will tell you about our Fiddling, and vouch for our decency at least. I saw in one of the public prints an insinuation that Haydn, upon his arrival in London, had detected some forgeries, some things published in his name that were not done by him. Is that true? It does not seem very unlikely."

[Footnote 10: James Fisin was born in Colchester; was intimate with Dr. Burney, and well known as a Professor of Music.]

. . . . .

Haydn left Vienna December 15, 1790, and arrived with Salomon in London on New Year's Day, 1791. The Rev. Thomas Twining's interrogations addressed to Dr. Burney respecting him were therefore made but a few weeks after Haydn's first arrival in England. Between the months of January and May much had been seen and heard of Haydn, information of which Dr. Burney gave to his friend, as seen in the following letter:--

"COLCHESTER, _May_ 4, 1791.

"To DR. BURNEY,--

"How good it was of you to gratify me with another canto of the 'Haydniad'! It is all most interesting to me. I don't know anything--any musical thing--that would delight me so much as to meet him in a snug quartett party, and hear his manner of playing his own music. If you can bring about such a thing while I am in town, either at Chelsea, or at Mr. Burney's, or at Mr. Salomon's, or I care not where--if it were even in the Black Hole at Calcutta (if it is a good hole for music)--I say, if by hook or crook you could manage such a thing, you should be my Magnus Apollo for the rest of your life. I mention Salomon because we are a little acquainted. He has twice asked me to call upon him, and I certainly will do it when I come to town. I want to hear more of his playing; and I seem, from the little I have seen of him, to like the man. I know not how it is, but I really receive more musical pleasure from such private _cameranious_ Fiddlings and singings, and keyed instrument playings, than from all the _appret_ of public and crowded performances.

"I have lately had a sort of Fiddle mania upon me, brought on by trying and comparing different Stainers and Cremonas, &c. I believe I have got possession of a sweet Stradivari, which I play upon with much more pleasure than my Stainer, partly because the tone is sweeter, mellower, rounder, and partly because the stop is longer. My Stainer is undersized, and on that account less valuable, though the tone is as bright, piercing, and full, as of any Stainer I ever heard. Yet, when I take it up after the Stradivari it sets my teeth on edge. The tone comes out plump, all at once. There is a comfortable reserve of tone in the Stradivari, and it bears pressure; and you may draw upon it for almost as much tone as you please. I think I shall bring it to town with me, and then you shall hear it. 'Tis a battered, shattered, cracky, resinous old blackguard; but if every bow that ever crossed its strings from its birth had been sugared instead of resined, more sweetness could not come out of its belly. Addio, and ever pardon my sins of infirmity.

"Yours truly, "T. T."

GAINSBOROUGH AS A MUSICIAN.

William Jackson, organist of Exeter Cathedral, was intimate with Gainsborough, and besides being a thorough musician, painted with ability. He was also the author of many essays. In one of these he makes us acquainted with the character of Gainsborough's musical abilities. He says, "In the early part of my life I became acquainted with Thomas Gainsborough, the painter, and as his character was perhaps better known to me than to any other person, I will endeavour to divest myself of every partiality, and speak of him as he really was. Gainsborough's profession was painting, and music was his amusement--yet, there were times when music seemed to be his employment, and painting his diversion.

"When I first knew him he lived at Bath, where Giardini had been exhibiting his then unrivalled powers on the Violin. His excellent performance made Gainsborough enamoured of that instrument; and conceiving, like the servant-maid in the _Spectator_, that the music lay in the Fiddle, he was frantic until he possessed the very instrument which had given him so much pleasure--but seemed much surprised that the music of it remained behind with Giardini. He had scarcely recovered this shock (for it was a great one to _him_) when he heard Abel on the Viol da Gamba. The Violin was hung on the willow; Abel's Viol da Gamba was purchased, and the house resounded with melodious thirds and fifths from 'morn to dewy eve!' Many an Adagio and many a Minuet were begun, but none completed; this was wonderful, as it was Abel's _own_ instrument, and, therefore, _ought_ to have produced Abel's own music!

"Fortunately my friend's passion had now a fresh object--Fischer's Hautboy[11]--but I do not recollect that he deprived Fischer of his instrument; and though he procured a Hautboy, I never heard him make the least attempt on it. The next time I saw Gainsborough it was in the character of King David. He had heard a Harper at Bath--the performer was soon Harpless--and now Fischer, Abel, and Giardini were all forgotten--there was nothing like chords and arpeggios! He really stuck to the Harp long enough to play several airs with variations, and would nearly have exhausted all the pieces usually performed on an instrument incapable of modulation (this was not a pedal Harp), when another visit from Abel brought him back to the Viol da Gamba. He now saw the imperfection of sudden sounds that instantly die away--if you wanted staccato, it was to be had by a proper management of the bow, and you might also have notes as long as you please. The Viol da Gamba is the only instrument, and Abel the prince of musicians! This, and occasionally a little flirtation with the Fiddle, continued some years; when, as ill-luck would have it, he heard Crosdill, but by some irregularity of conduct he neither took up nor bought the Violoncello. All his passion for the Bass was vented in descriptions of Crosdill's tone and bowing."

[Footnote 11: Fischer was a celebrated Oboe-player. He made his first appearance in London in 1768. Gainsborough painted two portraits of him, one of which is at Hampton Court.]

Gainsborough's fondness for fresh instruments is alluded to by Philip Thicknesse, who says that during his residence at Bath, Gainsborough offered him one hundred guineas for a Viol da Gamba, dated 1612. His offer was declined, but it was ultimately agreed that he should paint a full-length portrait of Mr. Thicknesse for the Viol da Gamba. Gainsborough was delighted with the arrangement, and said "Keep me hungry; keep me hungry! and do not send the instrument until I have finished the picture." The Viol da Gamba was, however, sent the next morning, and the same day the artist stretched a canvas. He received a sitting, finished the head, rubbed in the dead colouring, &c., and then it was laid aside--no more was said of it or done to it, and he eventually returned the Viol da Gamba.

Jackson tells us that Gainsborough "disliked singing, particularly in parts. He detested reading; but was so like Sterne in his letters, that, if it were not for an originality that could be copied from no one, it might be supposed that he had formed his style upon a close imitation of that author. He had as much pleasure in looking at a Violin as in hearing it. I have seen him for many minutes surveying, in silence, the perfections of an instrument, from the just proportion of the model and beauty of workmanship. His conversation was sprightly; his favourite subjects were music and painting, which he treated in a manner peculiarly his own. He died with this expression--'We are all going to heaven, and Vandyke is of the party.'"

GARRICK AND CERVETTO.

Cervetto, the famous Violoncello-player, occupied the post of principal Violoncello at Drury Lane for many years. His fame as a performer was almost matched by the celebrity of his nasal organ, the tuberosity of which often caused the audience in the gallery to exclaim, "Play up, Nosey!" In Dibdin's "Musical Tour," 1788, we are told that "When Garrick returned from Italy, he prepared an address to the audience, which he delivered previous to the play he first appeared in. When he came upon the stage he was welcomed with three loud plaudits, each finishing with a huzza. As soon as this unprecedented applause had subsided, he used every art, of which he was so completely master, to lull the tumult into a profound silence; and just as all was hushed as death, and anxious expectation sat on every face, old Cervetto, who was better known by the name of 'Nosey,' anticipated the very first line of the address by--aw----a tremendous yawn. A convulsion of laughter ensued, and it was some minutes before the wished-for silence could be again restored. That, however, obtained, Garrick delivered his address in that happy, irresistible manner in which he was always sure to captivate his audience; and he retired with applause, such as was never better given, nor ever more deserved. But the matter did not rest here; the moment he came off the stage, he flew like lightning to the music-room, where he encountered Cervetto, and began to abuse him vociferously. 'Wha--why--you old scoundrel. You must be the most----' At length poor Cervetto said, 'Oh, Mr. Garrick! vat is the matter--vat I haf do? Oh! vat is it?' 'The matter! Why you senseless idiot--with no more brains than your Bass-Viol--just at the--a--very moment I had played with the audience--tickled them like a trout, and brought them to the most accommodating silence--so pat to my purpose--so perfect--that it was, as one may say, a companion for Milton's visible darkness.' 'Indeed, Mr. Garrick, it vas no darkness.' 'Darkness! stupid fool--but how should a man of my reading make himself understood by--a---- Answer me--was not the house very still?' 'Yes, sir, indeed--still as a mouse.' 'Well, then, just at that very moment did you not--with your jaws extended wide enough to swallow a sixpenny loaf--yawn?' 'Sare, Mr. Garrick--only if you please hear me von vord. It is alvay the vay--it is, indeed, Mr. Garrick--alvay the vay I go ven I haf the greatest _rapture_, Mr. Garrick.' The little great man's anger instantly cooled. The readiness of this Italian flattery operated exactly contrary to the last line of an epigram--the honey was tasted, and the sting forgot."

THE KING AND THE PLAYER.

George the Third was frequently at Weymouth, and often strolled about the town unattended. On the day of Elliston's benefit (at which His Majesty had expressed his intention of being present) he had been enjoying one of his afternoon wanderings, when a shower of rain came on. Happening to be passing the theatre door, in he went. Finding no one about, he entered the Royal box, and seated himself in his chair. The dim daylight of the theatre and slight fatigue occasioned by his walk, induced drowsiness: His Majesty, in fact, fell into a doze, which ultimately resolved itself into a sound sleep. In the meantime Lord Townsend met Elliston, of whom he inquired if he had seen the King, as His Majesty had not been at the palace since his three o'clock dinner, it being then nearly five. Elliston being unable to give his lordship any information, Lord Townsend sought His Majesty in another direction, and the comedian made his way to the theatre, in order to superintend the necessary arrangements for the reception of his Royal patrons. Upon reaching the theatre, Elliston went at once to the King's box, and seeing a man fast asleep in His Majesty's chair, was about recalling him to his senses somewhat roughly, when, happily, he discovered who it was that had so unexpectedly taken possession of the Royal chair. What was to be done? Elliston could not presume to wake His Majesty--to approach him--speak to him--touch him--impossible! and yet something was necessary to be done, as it was time to light the theatre, and, what was of still more importance, to relieve the anxiety of the Queen and family. Elliston hit on the following expedient: Taking up a Violin from the orchestra he stepped into the pit, and placing himself beneath his exalted guest, struck up _dolcemente_--

The expedient produced the desired effect. The sleeper was loosened from the spell which bound him. Awakened, His Majesty stared at the comedian full in the face, ejaculated, "Hey, hey, hey!--what, what--oh, yes! I see--Elliston--ha, ha! Rain came on--took a seat--took a nap. What's o'clock?" "Nearly six, your Majesty." "Say I'm here. Stay, stay! This wig won't do--eh, eh! Don't keep the people waiting--light up; light up; let them in--fast asleep. Play well to-night, Elliston." The theatre was illuminated; messengers were despatched to the Royal party, which, having arrived in due course, Elliston quitted the side of the affable Monarch, and prepared himself for his part in the performance.

SIR WALTER SCOTT ON MUSIC AND FIDDLES.

"I do not know and cannot utter," said Sir Walter, "a note of music; and complicated harmony seems to me a babble of confused, though pleasing sounds; yet simple melodies, especially if connected with words and ideas, have as much effect on me as on most people. I cannot bear a voice that has no more life in it than a pianoforte or bugle-horn. There is in almost all the fine arts a something of soul and spirit, which, like the vital principle in man, defies the research of the most critical anatomist. You feel where it is not, yet you cannot describe what it is you want." Sir Joshua, or some other great painter, was looking at a picture on which much pains had been bestowed. "Why--yes," he said, in a hesitating manner; "it is very clever--very well done. Can't find fault, but it wants something--it wants--it wants--d--n me, it wants that!" throwing his hand over his head, and snapping his fingers. In talking of his ignorance of music, Scott said he had once been employed in a case where a purchaser of a Fiddle had been imposed on as to its value. He found it necessary to prepare himself by reading all about Fiddles in the encyclopaedias, &c., and having got the names of Stradivari, Amati, &c., glibly on his tongue, got swimmingly through his case. Not long after this, dining at the Duke of Hamilton's, he found himself left alone after dinner with the Duke, who had but two subjects he could talk of--hunting and music. Having exhausted hunting, Scott thought he would bring forward his lately acquired learning in Fiddles, upon which the Duke grew quite animated, and immediately whispered some orders to the butler, in consequence of which there soon entered the room about half-a-dozen tall servants, all in red, each bearing a Fiddle case, and Scott found his knowledge brought to no less a test than that of telling by the tones of each Fiddle, as the Duke played it, by what artist it was made. "By guessing and management," said he, "I got on pretty well, till we were, to my great relief, summoned to coffee."[12]

[Footnote 12: Lockhart's "Life of Sir Walter Scott."]

I have frequently heard of the Duke's passion for Violins, and also that he had a great number of them at Hamilton Palace. Among these instruments there appears to have been a singularly perfect Tenor by the brothers Amati. Signor Piatti has often spoken to me of having seen this instrument several years since in the possession of the family. The Hamilton collection of Fiddles was doubtless dispersed long before the rare MSS., the Beckford Library, the inlaid cabinets, and other treasures which served to make Hamilton Palace renowned throughout the world of art and letters.

Returning to the subject of Sir Walter Scott's references to music, it will be seen that his barristers possess among their gentlemanly embellishments a knowledge of stringed instruments. Who can forget that the young Templar, Master Lowestoffe ("Fortunes of Nigel," chap. xvi. 138) "performed sundry tunes on the Fiddle and French Horn" in Alsatia; and that Counsellor Pleydell, on the eventful night, in "Guy Mannering" (chap. xlix. 255), being a "member of the gentlemen's concert in Edinburgh," was performing some of Scarlatti's sonatas with great brilliancy upon the Violoncello to Julia's accompaniment upon the harpsichord?

A CINDERELLA VIOLONCELLO.

A somewhat curious change in the ownership of a Violoncello occurred many years since. My father (Mr. John Hart) was walking along Oxford Street, when he heard the sounds of a Violoncello, a Violin, and a Cornet, which were being played in a side street. His curiosity being excited, he became one of the group of listeners. The appearance of the Violoncello greatly pleased him; it was covered with a thick coat of resin and dirt, but its author was clearly defined nevertheless. When the players had concluded their performance, Mr. Hart asked the wandering Violoncellist if he was disposed to sell his instrument. "I have no objection, if I can get enough to buy another and something over," was the answer. The terms not being insurmountable, a bargain was struck, and the dealer in Fiddles walked away, taking his newly-acquired purchase under his arm. The itinerant trio, having become a duet, gave up work for that day.