Chapter 11

Ilium non rutilis veniens Aurora capillisCessantem 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 themasteryof 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 yetentirelywon, save by the most refined arts of study, and by attentions the mostpersevering and the most delicate? No—there is no sane hope of consummate swam uponeasy terms; and accordingly we find that, although Amateurs are sufficiently abundant, good players among them are notverynumerous—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

Chemist,Fiddler, Statesman, and Buffoon;

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

Dr. Johnson, whose habit of sound judgment has marked itself on almost every subject that came within the grasp of his comprehensive mind, appears to have duly appreciated the exemplary labours which distinguish the Violinist byprofession. We all know how littlemusicthere 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 somethingat 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 sawa 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 alearned mancan thus calculate the value of professional application, achildcan 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, onhisaccount, 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 weredearto 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 thattheirstyle of playing was not that of peoplewhoplayed to live;—as if, by a strange contrariety of ideas, it weredepreciation 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 therests. 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 thenecessityof these observances. The pupil, instead of shewing any sign of conviction, replied rather coarsely, ‘Ay, ay, it may be necessary foryou, who get your living by it, to mind these trifles; butIdon’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 whoflourishedabout 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. Thisfanatico per la musicahad 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 wakein 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 thesame bookat Mannheim, when Cramer was First Violin at that Court; but that the Elector saidhistone was far beyond Cramer’s, for Cramer was tame and slothful, andhewas 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 toquit 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 playpour se distraire, ought not to distract theirfriendswith their playing; but, when an Amateur is sobadas 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 anydiscernmentconnected with the object of his grand mistake, itis 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 aresometimescorrect, through chances boon,But Ruffman neverdeviates intotune!

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. Yourverybad 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 earsat allto those fanciers of the instrument who are so bad as to be out of sight of mediocrity, and below the point where improvementbegins, it is clearlyof urgent consequence that we should demand (or beseech) to be indulged with theshortestinfliction that may be—an airwithoutthe variations, or a quick movementwithoutthe 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 hisworststate, is the Young Pretender!

But if so much is to be endured from an individual tormentor—fromoneexercise of a

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

whatare the sufferings which may be produced by acombinationof such barbarous bowmen—alleager and emulous,allrough and ready?—The multiplication of discordthusgenerated, who shall calculate? It is past all understanding: it is the Babel of the tongues of instruments!Thisspecies 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 aQuartett-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 creditparmi 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 musicalsoirée, given by some people of middling condition, but somewhat ambitious pretensions, in a private apartment somewhere in Paris:—

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

“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 thepartstogether; but I’ve managed the business. Gentlemen, you may commence the quartett.’

“‘Ay, ay,’ said Mons. Pattier, the bass-fiddle man, ‘let us begin at once, for we’ve no time to lose—but where’smypart?’

“‘There, there, on the music-desk.’—

“‘Come, gentlemen, now let ustune.’

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

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

“These preliminaries being arranged, and the host having obtained something of a ‘lull’ among the assembly, by dint of loud and repeated exclamations ofhush!—the First Violin elevates his ambitious bow-arm, directs a look of command to his colleagues, and stamps with his foot. ‘Are weready?’ he enquires, with a determined air.—

“‘Ihave been ready any time these two hours,’ replies Mons. Pattier, with a malcontent shrug of his shoulders.—

“‘Stay a moment, gentlemen,’ cries the Second Fiddle; ‘my treble string is down. ’Tis a new string—just let me bring it up to pitch again.’

“The Tenor takes advantage of this interval, tostudya passage that he fears is likely to ‘give him pause;’ and the Bass takes a consolatory pinch of snuff.

“‘I’ve done it now,’ ejaculates at length the Second Violin.—

“‘That’s well, then; attention again, gentlemen, if you please! Let us play theallegrovery moderately, and theadagiorather fast—it improves the effect.’—

“‘Ay, ay, just as you like; only, you must beat the time.’

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

“Presently, the First Violin makes a dead halt—‘There’s some mistake: we’re all wrong.’

“‘Why, it seems togowell enough,’ observes the Tenor.

“‘No, no, we’re outsomewhere.’—

“‘Where is it then?’

“‘Where? That’s more than I can tell.’—

“‘For my part,’ says the Second Violin, ‘I have not missed a note.’—

“‘Nor I either.’—

“‘Nor I.’—

“‘Well, gentlemen, we must try back.’

“‘Ay, let us begin again; and pray be particular in beating the time.’

“‘Nay, I think I mark the timeloudenough.’

“‘As forthat,’ exclaims the hostess, ‘the person who lodges below has already talked about complaining to the landlord.’

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

“‘This is decidedlynotthe thing,’ says the conducting violinist, Monsieur Longuet,—‘There is doubtless some error—let us look at the bass part.—Why, here’s a pretty affair!—youare playing in B flat, and we are in D.’

“‘I only know that I’ve been playing what you told me—the first quartett in the first book’—replies old Monsieur Pattier, florid with rage.

“‘Howon earthisit then? let us see the title-page. Why, how is this? a quartett ofMozart’s, andweare playing one ofPleyels! Now really that is too good!’

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

For the credit of English Amateurs, it is to be hoped that so elaborate a display of incompetence—so complete afiasco—as is presented in the foregoing sketch, has very rarely its parallel among ourselves.

Apropos of quartetts, it is related that His Most Catholic Majesty, Charles the Fourth, King of Spain, piqued himself not a little on his abilities as a violin-performer. Summer and winter, did this royal and reiterating practitioner perform, every morning, at six precisely, hisquatuor, with three other violins; himself, of course, the violinpar excellence: and, with the trifling drawbacks of missing his notes, and breaking his time (as if to mark his royal independence), he may indeed be said to have approved himself a king among fiddlers.

Another quartett-player of the class which Flattery herself can scarcely help frowning at, was the late Sir William Hamilton, whose acquirements in other ways must have contrasted oddly enough with his feebleness as a fiddler. “Sir William Hamilton, who was now at an advanced age,” says Ferrari, in his gossipping book, “was a kind and good-humoured man; but he used to bore us with his performance on theviola, especially in Giardini’s quartetts, which I verily believe derived their greatest value in his eyes from the circumstance of Giardini’s having been his master.”—Doubtless, with all his amiable qualities, Sir William had something of the obstinacy which belongs so closely to evil-doers on stringed instruments; doubtless there was no deterring him from “theuneventenorof his way.”

The about-to-be subjoinedsestettof condemnatory lines isnotintended to apply to Sir William Hamilton (who had, at least, the merit of fostering Giardini), but, generally, to him who, having no sort of summons from Apollo, no musical vocation whatsoever from Nature, has persisted, nevertheless, to the end of his days, in being what is called a tormentor of catgut. A person of this peculiar turn of mistake, may be said to fright the fiddle from its propriety—for surely, in his hands, it wholly loses its temper and character. Making his fiddle-bow the stalking-horse of his vanity, he walks over the strings in an adagio, or curvets in an andante, with action that has nothing of the graceful, and much of the ludicrous. Such a being is in the extreme of the wrong. He hunts after a shadow: like Ixion, he embraces a cloud. His pursuit is frivolous, because it is without a chance of attaining its object. Unable to play in time, he is perpetually out of season: unable to stop in tune, he is ever in a false position. He wearsout his existence in an unconscious dream; and his harsh discords and unpleasing sharps are as thesnoringthereof. He dies in a delusion; his ricketty crotchets and uneasy quavers are exchanged for one longrest; and here is the amount of hisvalue, in six lines—

ON AN AGED MUSICAL TRIFLER.The silly dilettante, whoA thankless violin doth woo,Tilloldhe looks as Saturn,Can (to denote just what heis)No name receive so fit as this—Aspoon, offiddle-pattern.

By way of disporting a little further on this theme, I have spun a few lines in which the reference is to that incongruous identity so often found within the circle of private life—a good man, and bad fiddler:—

Ralph Rasper is an honest man,Prone to do all the good he can;He never lets the piteous poorGo meatless from his open door:He loves his wife—he pays his bills—And with content his household fills.He seeks, in short, the rule of right,And keeps his conscience pretty white:But save, oh, save us from hisfiddling!It is so very—verymiddling!

Enough, however, of the indicative kind, as concerning the sins and follies of the Amateur species. Are they unpardonable? Nay—they claim indulgence through the verycausewhich produces them. It is the inspiring motive—the instrumental love, or love of the instrument—which redeems, in some sort, the errors to which it gives birth. We must not be too severe on the zeal which is indiscreet, lest we discountenance good faith, and nip affection in the bud. Shallwe excommunicate our brother, for that he is too fond of fiddling? Nay, rather, let us reserve our censure for him who hathnofiddling in his soul. Cease we, then, to dwell on deficiencies—let us “leave off discourse of disability,”—except so far as may be necessary towards administering any little further wholesome advice, with a friendly view to practical improvement. In the past observations, let me not be thought to have had no better purpose than that of playing the cynic for my own indulgence. Myself an Amateur, and one of by no means large calibre, I should indeed be doing what were equally graceless and witless, did I seek the damage of the class to which I belong—that is, to which Ihavebelonged, in practice, and still belong, by inclination and sympathy. My object is reform—the reform of acknowledged errors and proved abuses—but, while advocating the principles of that reform to the utmost extent that is compatible with reason and propriety, I will never consent to abandon my “order.”

Allusion has been made, at the commencement of this chapter, to the very large amount of time which theProfessormust devote to his art, as one of the absolute conditions of eminence. The ends of the Amateur may, of course, be answered with a smaller expenditure of his moments. If he possess the requisite predisposition for the instrument,two hoursa day will suffice him. This must be regarded as theminimum—and with this, according to Spohr (a very high authority), he may make such progress as to afford himself and others great enjoyment of music, in quartett-playing, in accompanying the pianoforte, or in the orchestra.

The principal error against which Amateurs have to guard themselves, is that species ofambitionwhich impels them to imitate the showy and more externalquality of professional playing, called execution64. It is natural enough that what is most obvious should make the greatest impression at first, and should most readily attract imitation; but it is, on the other hand, certain, that this same superficial principle addresses itself rather to the senses than to the imagination, and that the pleasure which it affords is trivial and evanescent. If execution do not come recommended by the superior associations of accurate tune, fine tone, and characteristic expression, it is unworthy of a welcome, and can only impose on the most shallow-minded auditor. In that poor and bald state, it is like the verbiage in a silly oral discourse, or the language of un-respective parrots. If it come, moreover, unaccompanied by the common regulator, time, it is still more absurd and insignificant, and may be likened to a fit of the insanely capricious activity called St. Vitus’s dance. Nothing, in fact, can make amends for the grievous sin of

“Omitting the sweet benefit oftime.”

It should never be forgotten that, in the playing of the most simple piece of music—the commonest air—there is much more required than merely to render, or deliver, the notes that are dotted over the page. It too often occurs, however, that the Amateur, who chances to have heard at some Concert a fantasia or a potpourri, performed by the agile bow of a De Beriot or a Sainton, returns home fascinated exclusively by the brilliant execution he has witnessed, and stimulated by vague aspirations after similar power of display. He calls next day at a Music-shop, and just “happens to enquire” whether the said piece is in print. It is handed to him, and he finds, to his agreeable surprise, that the passages, with a few exceptions, do not look so difficult as their dashing effect the evening before would have led him to anticipate. He buys the piece, and, with uncased fiddle, sits down before it, in his own chamber. He picks out the passages with which he is best able to tickle his own ear; hammers them over till hishandgets some familiarity with them; hurries the time, to encourage his mind in the favourite idea of “execution;” slurs over those passages that threaten to puzzle him; and, having got through the thingà tort et à travers, hastens to shew his friends what he can do (in reality what he cannotdo) as a performer of De Beriot’s celebrated fantasia! A little applause, from the over-complaisant or unthinking, deludes him, already too confident, into the belief that he has succeeded inthatpiece; and the same ambition of display, coupled with the eager and unrepressed love of novelty, leads him on to attempt another, and another, and to spoil himself with moretriumphsof the same unfortunate and mistaken kind. Thus, everything is done most imperfectly—no satisfaction is given to a single soul of the commonest musical notions—and no real progress whatever is made. In short, when once theunhappy Amateur abandons himself exclusively toexecution—it is all over with him!

It is impossible to build without the frequent use of the ladder. Thescalesare the ladders of music; and, without constant and diligent recourse to them, there is no true edification—no reaching to “perfection’s airiest ridge.” Slowly and cautiously must they be ascended and descended, at first, till the acquisition of a firm hold, and a nice habit of measurement; then comes the dexterity that enables the practitioner to run up and down with a safe celerity of precision, such as the curious beholder may witness in the movements of those Hibernian hod-iernal ministrants of mortar, who are so powerfully instrumental towards the construction of houses.

Let not the young Amateur, then, be diverted from the practice of hisscales, which are the regular steps to improvement. Let him not commit the error of jumping about among those broken and irregularflights, consisting of bits of airs, and snatches of tunes. These will not help to raise the musical edifice; and theexpectationswhich they may assist to build, will prove mere castles in the air. The dryness and sameness of the labour are apt to be alleged as the excuse for omitting this essential practice of the scales and intervals; while the love of melody is pleaded in behalf of the more eccentric course. Now, what should be desiderated for the student is, not to lovemelodyless, butimprovementmore. He should not, by reason of the tedium experienced in working at the scales, cast them aside—for, while he perseveres, on the contrary, in daily exercise upon them, are there not the immortal Solos of Corelli, to furnish him with all that is needful of the recreative principle? Here he will find refreshment enough, after the perhaps fatiguing iteration of the ladder-work. Here, in connexion with passages that will form his hand—here, along with modulation not dull and crabbed, but graceful and natural—he will find enough ofmelodyto sweeten his toil, without impairing it—to cheer his progress, without retarding it. Here he will find fascination for his ear, with no corruption for his taste—

“Airs and sweet sounds, that give delight, andhurt not.”

Yes, when the tyro, tired, makes yawning complaint of the want of encouragement, we would point to the Solos of Corelli, and say to him,Hæc tibi dulcia sunto—letthesebe unto thee for sweet-meats.

This distinction, however, should be noted that while Corelli is recommended for the acquisition oftoneandsteadiness, he is not a sufficient authority as to the varieties and subtleties ofbowing; for (as heretofore observed) much that relates to these has been addedsincehis time to the province of the violin. But the cultivation of these graces and refinements of the bow is, after all, in its natural order, a thing for later attention. The simplicity of Corelli is always admirable for the earlier purposes; and then, for the niceties of the bow, and for the communication of modern resources, there are various special guides of good value—as the studies of Fiorillo—the elaborate, systematic, and explanatory “Violin-School” of Spohr, as edited for English students by Mr. John Bishop—and that justly-cited boast of the FrenchConservatoire, the combined system of Rode, Kreutzer, and Baillot65.

Among the consequences of that ambition of display which I have had occasion to refer to as a root of evil among Amateurs, is the tendency to throw off prematurely the salutary restraints of professional aid. This is a mistake of the most injurious kind. The violin, as the most difficult of all instruments, demands more than any other the prolonged assistance of the Master. There is no such being to be met with as arealself-taught Violinist. Scrapers and raspers there may be, of various degrees of roughness and wretchedness, who have found out the art of tormenting,by themselves; butthatis quite another matter. Paganini himself, the most wild and singular of players, did not acquire his excellence independently of magisterial rule. He was amply tutored during the early years of his study; and, when he had become a great Master, he still proceeded by calculations founded partly on what he had already been taught, though transcending it in reach and refinement. Let not the aspiring student, therefore, seek toflybefore he canrun, and reject the preceptor while his state is essentially that of pupilage. They who, at a very early period, discontinuing thestudyof the instrument, think of playing toamuse their friends,will fail inevitably, and be considered as the very reverse of what is agreeable or, to present the same notable truth at the point of an indifferent epigram:

Beginners, lab’ring at the fiddle,Are apt to flounderin the middle:Such, when our comfort they diminish,Are wisely prayed tomake a finish!

With reference to thecollectiveefforts of non-professional players, it may be remarked that, as individual vanity isthereheld in some check, and as something like a painstaking preparation is customary, the auditor is in a less hazardous condition than whereoneexhibitor has undisputed hold upon him,—besides which, the alternative of anescapeis more decidedly open. Thesinglecacophonist, secretly intending a “polacca,” may take you at unawares, after a quiet cup of tea, that has treacherously served tomaskhis purpose. He may suddenly draw his lurking fiddle-case from beneath the very sofa whereon you are at ease—may summon that passive accomplice, his sister, to subservient office at the piano—and, putting his bow-arm into full exercise, bring you to “agony-point,” before you have had time to recover from your surprise. From the quartett or symphony-party, on the contrary, you have due notice beforehand and, if suspicious of discords that are not within the boundary of science, you can decline the invitation, and maintain the tranquillity of your nerves.

The most desirable attainment for confederate Amateurs, next to a familiar acquaintance with their respective instruments, is thatself-knowledgewhich enables each to find contentedly his proper place, and ensures that all shall be “correspondent to command, and do their spiritinggently.” Then, by good discipline, underthe direction of a well-educated musician, whose practical knowledge, added to his intimacy with the compositions of the best masters, gives him a moral influence and authority over an organized body of Amateurs, it is surprising what excellence of effect in musical execution may be produced. It has been sometimes, however, the bane of Amateur Societies to be subject to the control of some unwarrantably officious member, whose musical qualifications in nowise render him a proper person for the assumed dictatorial capacity: or, it may happen that accident brings into the employ of a Society of Amateurs one of those mere practical and executive professional Fiddlers, whose notions of art are only on a level with the quality of their manners. In either case, little benefit, and much less pleasure, is derived from submitting to such directorship. The Amateur, and the Fiddler, will each exercise alike his own weak judgment in the general appeal for the “time” of the music—each (the composer beingleastthought of) preferring the time of anallegroin the ratio of its adaptation to his own powers of execution. Of the two, the Professor is the more mischievous, as regards the production of bad consequences. Vain of his advantage over the Amateur, he never neglects to shew it by the rapidity with which he willtimethe quick movements; creating thereby a bad habit in the Amateur, who, to keep up with the first-fiddle, is obligedsoto scramble through his part, as if it were the purpose of the composer to representa race. A musician with a cultivated mind, on the contrary, whose enthusiasm for art renders “self” a secondary consideration, and whose perseverance has enabled him really to conquer the difficulties of his calling, is sure to effect very great good amongst private Amateurs. His remarkson the merits of composers and players are listened to with attention; his authority is respected; and the encouragement he patiently bestows on the ingenuous efforts of the young player, is sure to obtain the utmost confidence of the party.

In the practice of instrumental music, the chief obstacles (besides the difficulty of playing passages in tune and time) are those which attach toreading, and tofeelingthe rhythm of thephrase, as well as to the executing of passages withouthurry. Young novices, adults, and bands, are in one common predicament, as to partaking, more or less, of a certain two-fold error—that of producing a disproportionate acceleration of time in a quick and loud passage, and a disproportionate delay in a slow and piano movement. By the advantage of the skilful tact of a clevermaestro, this error is either altogether corrected, or the tendency is so well kept in check as never to become offensive. In order to conquer the naturally strong influence of rhythmetical impulse in playing, the Amateur should seek every occasion to play with others in concert. The excitement in first playing with other instruments is similar, in its origin, to that of which we have everyday proof in the case of young ladies, who have devoted years of practice to playing the pianoforte, and are yet unable to accompany a song, or solo, in time and with proper feeling—the too common consequence, by the by, of an English musical education. In Germany and France, every lady takes alternate lessons, of her pianoforte master, and of an experienced and well-educated musician, employed in the best orchestras; and thus she imperceptibly loses those impediments which are the consequences of nervous and timid inexperience.

One of the chief advantages of the Professor is hiscapacity of reading onwards. Whilst occupied in executing one bar, his eyes and attention are partly bestowed on the three or four subsequent ones—nay, on the next line, and even the next page. All this is best acquired by perusing music, without an instrument. By practice, the eye and mind seize at once the construction of a simple phrase, so that, whilst the operation of playing it is going on, you have time to prepare for the fingering and execution of the following passage, without at once bursting on it, and becoming confused. In overtures and sinfonias, thetimeof the several movements is seldom subject to alteration; and, beyond the mere reading of the passages, the Amateur has only to attend to the various signs used for the modification of sound.

The highest test of the discipline of a band is in playing “piano,” and in attacking points of imitation and fugue with vigour. Whatever constitutes the test of the excellence of a band, in execution and effect, applies also to the individual performers.—The coarse, vulgar, pantomime fiddler would make sad havoc in accompanying a trio of Beethoven’s, where the most delicately subdued tone, and the most vigorous expression, are alternately required. It must never be forgotten, that the utmost strictness of subordination is an essential requisite in an orchestra. In fact, it is one of the principal merits of a good orchestra-player to practise uniformly this quality of subordination, whereby the perfection of the whole is importantly promoted.

Dramatic music is the most difficult to give effect to; whether it be orchestral, for the action of a ballet, or as an accompaniment to the voice—the license shewn in the numerous changes of a movement, and of time, rendering this species of music by far the most embarrassingto both Professor and Amateur. The attention of the performer must here be divided between his instrument, and the singer, or the director; whilst, in other music, his whole soul is wrapt up in his own performance. Hence it follows that, on his first attempt to play opera-music, he is embarrassed at every page! This difficulty is only conquered, like every other, by habitual practice.

In the more advanced stage of his progress, there is nothing so beneficial to the Amateur as to listen, “arrectis auribus,” to the performance of genuine classicalquartettsby accomplished masters of the bow. This will do him far more good than all theCapricciosandFantasiaswith which the most brilliant of the solo-players, or single-handed exhibitors at concerts, can dazzle his discernment. It will exalt his standard of taste, and enlarge his sense of the beautiful—fully directing his perception, at the same time, to the legitimate powers of the violin and its cognate instruments. The remark has been well made by Spohr, that perfectquartett-playing, while it requires perhaps less of mechanical skill than is called for in aconcerto, yet demands more of refined sentiment, taste, and knowledge. No opportunity (adds the same great Master) of joining a good quartett-party, ought to be lost. The occasions afforded for such mode of improvement were for a long while, however, in our English metropolis, as rare as theymighthave been advantageous. The experiments of the LondonConcerti da Camera, and “Quartett Concerts,” happily occurred, at length, to test the feeling of our musical circles, and open a new path to the career of the art in this country. Following that new path, and developing further resources to which it led, the “Beethoven QuartettSociety,” originated and managed by a Committee of enlightened Amateurs, with the Earl of Falmouth for their President, came into honourable existence in 1845, to render the justice of a too tardy notoriety to some of the most perfect and original of musical compositions, and thereby to erect a higher standard of taste for the benefit of our musical circles. The intentions of this most laudable Association, practically wrought out by Professors of the first ability, have hadsome, at least, of the success that should belong to well-directed ambition66.

With the stimulus and the enlightenment that may be derived from such a school of observation as this, and others to the establishment of which it may possibly lead, is it a thing to be altogether despaired of, that we may hereafter be enabled to enjoy the rational luxury, here as in Germany, of a quartett performed within theevening family circle, and competently performed, by its own members? Already, indeed, in some of our provincial towns, there have been examples of a disposition this way67. It is to be hoped that our

London Amateurs will no longer be slow to adopt so laudable a practice, nor be deterred from the pleasant advantages of family fiddling by any poor jokes about “the brothersBohrer,” or the like. That there is good capacity in them, which occasion may bring out, was made evident at the Musical Festival held at Exeter Hall, towards the end of 1834, as well as at more recent celebrations there. A somewhat large amount of single practice, and more working byfours, together with such exercise of observation as has been here alluded to, would develop their capabilities into real means of conferring pleasure upon their friends—whether in the snug and smiling little domestic circle, or in the wider area, and amid the more stimulative accessories, of the hired music-room.

There is a little story, illustrating so pointedly thatlovefor his peculiar pursuit, which gives to the Amateur his veryname, that I cannot resist the temptation to introduce it here. With that little story—and a few special hints to the younger and earlier class of students, conveyed in familiar verse, by way of a spur to the attention—I propose to wind up the present chapter.

A certain Amateur, whose fondness for fiddling was his liveliest passion, had two instruments—hisbest, on which he would by no means have permitted his own father to draw a bow—and hissecond best. In the course of his business, which was commercial, he was preparing to quit England for South America, as super-cargo in a certain vessel, and to make a long stay inthe latter country. Concern for his two violins—(he had nowife)—was uppermost in his mind. Should he commit them, along with himself, to the perils of the ocean’s bosom? Should he, suspending or sacrificing his own enjoyment, leave them behind, in the custody of friendship that might prove fickle, or negligent? Much he pondered—and much hesitated. At length, unable to endure the thoughts of a separation fromboth, he came to a resolution that was, at the same time, a compromise. He determined that he would take with him hissecond best, and tear himself away from his principal darling, his belovedbest—not, however, to leave it behind—thatwerequitetoo much!—but to export it, highly insured, to the scene of his own destination, inanother(because, as he conceived it, asafer) vessel than that in which he was himself about to embark!

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