Chapter 29

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.

Reaching home with his charge, Mr. Hart was in the act of removing the accumulated dirt of many a hard day's work from the Violoncello, when Robert Lindley entered, and asked what might be the parentage of the instrument about which so much pains were being taken. "A Forster," was the reply; and at the same time the circumstances of the purchase were related. Lindley was much amused, and expressed a wish to possess the rescued instrument, though it had been much injured. The price was agreed upon, and the Violoncello thus passed from the most humble to the most exalted player in _one_ day.

A STOLEN "STRAD."

It has often been remarked that to steal a valuable Violin is as hazardous as to steal a child; its identity is equally impregnable, in fact, cannot be disguised, save at the price of entire demolition. To use a paradox, Violins, like people, are all alike, yet none are alike. The indelible personality of the best Violins has been a powerful agent in the cause of morality, and has deterred many from attempting to steal them. We have, however, instances of undiscovered robberies of valuable instruments, and notably that of the fine Stradivari which belonged to a well-known amateur, an attache at the British Embassy at St. Petersburg. The Violin in question was numbered with the Plowden collection. I disposed of it to the amateur above mentioned in 1868; it was a magnificent Violin, date 1709, in the highest state of preservation. In the year 1869 the owner of it was appointed to the Embassy at St. Petersburg, and removed thither. He was a passionate lover of the Violin, and an excellent player. One evening he was playing at a musical party. After he had finished he placed his "Strad" in its case as usual, which he closed, without locking it. The next day he was amusing himself with a parrot, which bit him on the lip; the wound appeared very unimportant, but exposure to the cold brought on malignant abscess, and he sank and died. In due course his representatives arrived in St. Petersburg, and took charge of his property, which was brought to England. Some twelve months afterwards a relative (Mr. Andrew Fountaine, of Narford), who took much interest in valuable Violins, was visiting the family of the deceased gentleman and asked to be allowed to see the Stradivari, 1709. The case was sent for and duly opened. When the Violin was handed to the visitor he remarked there must be some mistake, and suggested that the wrong case had been brought, the instrument he held having no resemblance whatever to the Stradivari, and not being worth a sovereign. Inquiries were set on foot, and it was satisfactorily proved that the case had never been opened since it had been brought to England; neither had it left the custody of the late owner's nearest relative, who had kept it secured in a chest. The next day after the occurrence of the event related above, I was communicated with, and asked if I could recognise the Stradivari in question. It is unnecessary to record my answer. I might, with an equivalent amount of reason, have been asked if I should know my own child. The double case was formally opened, and the Violin described above was taken out. "Is that the Stradivari?" I scarcely knew for the moment whether my interrogator was in earnest, so ridiculous was the question. It remains only to be said that the Russian authorities were memorialised and furnished by me with a full description of the instrument; but to this moment its whereabouts has never been discovered.

THE MISSING SCROLL.

It has often happened that portions of valuable instruments, detached from the original whole, have been once more recovered and reinstated in their proper place. The following is an amusing instance of this.

A well-known amateur, belonging to the generation now fast passing away, was the fortunate possessor of a Stradivari Violin, which he had occasion to take to the Fiddle doctor for an operation quite unknown to the students of the Royal College of Surgeons, but well understood by the members of the fraternity to which I have the honour to belong, namely, _decapitation_. This, in the Fiddle language, means the removal of the old neck, and the splicing of a brand-new one in its place. It is an operation wholly unattended with the horrors of human surgery. Again and again a time was appointed for the completion of this delicate insertion, but in vain--it was a case of hope deferred. The owner of the Stradivari becoming wearied with this state of things, determined to carry off his cherished instrument in its dismembered condition. Placing the several portions in paper, he left the Fiddle doctor's establishment, considerably annoyed and excited. Upon reaching his home his recent ebullition of temper had entirely passed away, and he calmly set himself to open the parcel containing his dissected "Strad," when, to his utter dismay, he failed to find its scroll. The anguish he suffered may be readily conceived by the lover of Fiddles. Away he started in search of his Fiddle's head, dead to all around him but the sense of his loss; he demanded of every one he met whether they had by chance picked up the head of a Fiddle. The answers were all in the negative; and many were the looks of astonishment caused by the strange nature of the question and the bewildered appearance of the questioner. At length he arrived at the house of the Fiddle doctor, whose want of punctuality had brought about the misfortune. Here was his forlorn hope! He might possibly have forgotten to put the scroll into the parcel. His doubts were soon at rest; the scroll had been taken with the other parts of the instrument. Completely overcome with sorrow and vexation, he knew not how to endeavour to recover his loss. He ultimately decided to offer a reward of five pounds and to await the result as contentedly as he could.

A few hours after the dejected owner of the Violin had left the shop of the Fiddle doctor, an old woman, the keeper of an apple stall in the neighbourhood, entered and offered for sale a Fiddle-head. The healer of Violins, taking it into his hands, was agreeably astonished to recognise in it the missing headpiece, and eagerly demanded of the seller whence she had obtained it, and what might be its price. "Picked it up in the gutter," she answered; and two shillings was the modest value she set upon her find. Without a moment's hesitation the money was handed to the vendor of Ribston pippins, and away she trudged in high glee at the result of her good luck. The Fiddle AEsculapius, equally gleeful at the course of events, resolved to avail himself of the opportunity afforded him of gratifying a little harmless revenge upon the fidgety amateur's haste in removing the "Strad" before the alterations had been completed. He therefore determined to keep the fact of the discovery to himself for a short time. Advertisements multiplied, and the reward rapidly rose to twenty guineas. Having satisfied his revengeful feelings, the repairer duly made known the discovery of the missing scroll, to the intense gratification of its owner. Finally, the repairer refused to accept any portion of the reward upon one condition, viz., that he was allowed to complete his work--a condition readily conceded.

ANOTHER WANDERING SCROLL.

Among the collection of valuable Violins belonging to the late Mr. James Goding, was a Stradivari Violin, dated 1710, which had been deprived of its original scroll, and bore a supposititious figure-head by David Tecchler, owing to a piece of vandalism perpetrated by an eccentric amateur. The original scroll had found its way to an Italian Violin of some merit, the value of which was considerably enhanced by the newly-acquired headpiece, which gave to the whole instrument an air of importance to which it could lay no claim till it carried on its shoulders a head belonging to the aristocracy of Fiddles. During a period of about twenty years this mongrel Fiddle became the property of as many owners, and ultimately fell into my hands. Leaving this instrument, we will follow the history of the Stradivari, date 1710. At the dispersion of Mr. Goding's collection by Messrs. Christie and Manson, in the year 1857, a well-known amateur purchased the Violin for the sum of seventy pounds, the loss of its scroll preventing the realisation of a higher figure. Sixteen years after this event the purchaser applied to me for a Stradivari scroll, that he might make his instrument complete. The mongrel Violin described above being in my possession, decapitation was duly performed, and the Stradivari received its head again. Here was a fortuitous course of circumstances! This exchange of heads took place without my being at all aware that the "Strad" scroll had returned to its original body; but on my mentioning the circumstance to my father, he informed me, to my astonishment and delight, that if the head of the mongrel Fiddle had been placed on the Stradivari, date 1710, from the Goding collection, it was now, as the effect of recent transmigration, on its own legitimate body.

A MONTAGNANA INSTRUMENT SHOT THROUGH THE BODY IN THE REVOLUTION OF 1848.

An enthusiastic amateur was playing the Violin in a house in one of the leading thoroughfares in Paris at the outbreak of the Revolution in 1848. His ardour was so great that the cannonading failed to interrupt him in his pleasurable pursuit; he fiddled on, regardless of all about him, as Nero is said to have done when his capital was in flames, and even left the window of his apartment open. Presently a whizzing noise, terminating in a thud above his head, arrested his attention. Upon his looking up he saw the mark of a bullet in the ceiling. Aroused to a sense of his danger, he closed the windows. Being about to put his Montagnana into its case, his astonishment may be imagined when he discovered a hole through the upper side, and a corresponding chink in the belly, both as sharply cut as though a centre-bit had done the work. His Violin bore witness to his miraculous escape; the bullet lodged in the ceiling had taken his Montagnana in its course. The instrument referred to in this anecdote has been in my possession more than once.

FIDDLE MARKS AND THE CREDULOUS DABBLERS.

It is said that a drowning man will clutch at a straw; the truth of the remark applies to the half-informed in Fiddle connoisseurship. It is very amusing to note the pile of nothings that these persons heap up under the name of "guiding points" in relation to Fiddles. I will endeavour to call to mind a few of these. I will begin with those little pegs seen on the backs of Violins near the button, and at the bottom; the position of these airy nothings without habitation or name "is deemed indisputable evidence of certain makers' handicraft." One is supposed to have put his pegs to the right, another to the left; another used three, four, and so on. I have frequently heard this remark--"Oh, it cannot be a Stradivari, because the pegs are wrong!"

The purfling also forms an important item in the collection of landmarks; certain makers are supposed to have invariably used one kind of purfling, no variation being allowed for width or material adopted. Original instruments are pronounced spurious and spurious original by this test. All Fiddles purfled with whalebone are dubbed "Jacobs," and no other maker is credited with using such purfling.

The back of a Violin is another very important item with these individuals. Particular makers are supposed to have only made whole backs, others double backs; others again are thought to be known only by the markings of the wood. There is another crotchet to be mentioned: some will tell you they will inform you who made your Violin by taking the belly off, and examining the shape of the blocks and linings. Rest assured if the maker cannot be seen outside, he will never reveal himself in the _inner consciousness_ of a Fiddle. Measurement is another certain guiding point with these dabblers; the measuring tape is produced and the instrument condemned if it does not tally with their erroneous theory.

"GUARNERI" AT A DISCOUNT.

With what tenacity do persons often cling to the fond belief that undoubted Raffaeles, Cinque Cento bronzes, dainty bits of Josiah Wedgwood's ware, and old Cremonas, are exposed for sale in the windows of dealers in unredeemed pledges, brokers' shops, and divers other emporiums! It is the firm conviction of these amiable persons that scores of gems unknown are awaiting in such cosy lurking-places the recognition of the educated eye for their immediate deliverance to the light of day.

The quasi bric-a-brac portion of the general dealer's stock is dexterously arrayed in his window, and not allowed to take up a prominent position among the wares displayed. To expose treasures would be a glaring act of indiscretion, inasmuch as it would tend to the belief that the proprietor was perfectly cognisant of the value of his goods, whereas he is imagined by the hypothesis to be profoundly ignorant on the subject. Pictures, bronzes, china, and Fiddles, with their extremely modest prices attached, lie half hidden behind a mountain of goods of a diametrically opposite nature. There they may rest for days, nay, weeks, before the individual with the educated eye, for the good of all men, detects them. Sooner or later, however, he makes his appearance, and peers into every nook of the window, shading his eyes with his hands. Something within arrests his attention; his nose gets flattened against the glass in his eagerness to get near the object. He enters the establishment, and asks to be allowed to look at an article quite different from the one he has been so intent upon; his object being that the dealer may not awaken to a sense of the coveted article's value by a stranger seeming to be interested in it. After examining the decoy bird, he returns it, and carelessly asks to look at _the_ article. Whatever the value set upon it may be, he tenders exactly the half, the matter being usually settled by what is technically known as "splitting the difference." Delighted with his purchase, he carries it home, and persuades his friends he has got to the blind side of the dealer, and is in possession of the real thing for the fiftieth part of what others give for it. He proceeds to enlighten his friends on the subject, telling them to follow his example, which they invariably do.