Part 14 (1/2)
WORDSWORTH.
The guitar, although not of sufficient power for general orchestral purposes, is yet excellent for finished solo-playing, and as an accompaniment to a voice. It was much used by the ancient troubadours, its dulcet tones according well with their songs. In Italy and Spain, in other parts of Europe, as well as in some sections of this country, the guitar is much esteemed. It has always been the favorite instrument of the serenading gallant; and to perform upon it, previously to their more general adoption of the piano-forte, was considered as an almost necessary accomplishment for the gentler s.e.x.
Among the greatest of guitar-virtuosos that have lived may be mentioned F. Sor, Fossa, Aguado, Giuliani, Carulli, Holland, Dougla.s.s: and, as comparing favorably with these, I may mention Demarest, of whom I shall now briefly speak.
Mr. Demarest, for many years a resident teacher of Boston, was one of the finest guitar-performers in the United States, and, I believe, had only a few equals in the world. With him the numerous guitar ”pickers” of the country are not at all to be mentioned; for, thoroughly educated in music, with rich natural gifts all fully cultivated, giving to the instrument the closest, the most conscientious study, and of long practice, he was thus enabled to draw from it music of such richness and beauty, as few, before hearing his playing, imagined it capable. He but rarely indulged himself or his hearers in playing accompaniments to songs (the use, by the way, to which the guitar is often put); but with masterly skill he ever aimed to develop its fullest resources, and showed that, when in his hands at least, the guitar could be rendered a solo instrument of very noticeable power, as well as great sweetness of tone. At public and private performances in Boston and elsewhere, Mr. Demarest has often delighted audiences by fine interpretations of the best music published.
He was also a proficient arranger of music for the guitar, and, besides, composed some fine pieces for it. I do not know that any of his works were ever published: I think they were not; they being prepared simply to facilitate the progress of his pupils, and for his own amus.e.m.e.nt.
It is said that on one occasion a prominent guitarist,--a teacher of and writer for the guitar,--when asked to give his opinion of one of Demarest's compositions, remarked that it was ”too difficult for the guitar.” However this may have been, no one could say that it was too difficult for the composer to perform; and, that being true, it ought not to have been considered as beyond the possible reach of other skilful players. Still the critic referred to may only have meant by his remark that the piece was too difficult to become ”popular.” I only mention the incident to show that Demarest always aimed high.
As a teacher of the guitar he took high rank with those who believed in advancing its performance to the most elevated standards. He found but few pupils, however, that were willing to give the instrument that closeness of study, or who were possessed with that spirit of patience, so necessary to render them remarkable performers. At the almost marvellously skilful manipulations of the strings by their teacher, they listened with the utmost delight; but some of them, regarding him as one exceptionally endowed, despaired of ever being able to follow him into those higher and fuller forms of guitar-playing whither he ever earnestly strove to lead them. He always insisted on a conscientious study of the instrument, and the practice of only the best music, in order that his pupils might place themselves on a much higher level than that occupied by the many who contented themselves with merely ”thumping” a simple, unvaried accompaniment to the popular love-songs of the day.
Mr. Demarest was also a violinist of fair ability. In his performances on the violin he evinced the same scholarly spirit as he did in his other studies. He, however, but seldom performed upon the violin in public, and but little in private, save for his own diversion. In 1874, while still a young man, bidding fair to rise to the highest distinction as a musician, he died, deeply regretted by many, not more on account of his high musical than his gentlemanly, genial qualities.
”Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven.”
XI.
THOMAS GREENE BETHUNE,
OTHERWISE KNOWN AS
”BLIND TOM,” THE WONDERFUL PIANIST
”Who ran Through each mode of the lyre, and was master Of all.”
MOORE.
”Bright gem instinct with music.”
WORDSWORTH.
He is unquestionably and conspicuously the most wonderful musician the world has ever known. No one has ever equalled him in quickness and depth of musical insight and feeling, nor in the constancy with which he bears within himself, in all its fulness, that mysterious power which can be called by no truer name than _musical inspiration_. He is an absolute master in the comprehension and retention of all sound (and in _all_ sound _he_ finds music); a being in whose sympathetic soul lies the ready, the perfect correlative of every note of melody in nature or in art that is caught by his marvellously sensitive ear.
We often speak of those who have an ”ear for music.” Here is a musician who surpa.s.ses all others in all the world in the possession of this quality; for his is a _perfect_ ear. You may sit down to the piano-forte, and strike any note or chord or discord, or a great number of them; and he will at once give their proper names, and, taking your place, reproduce them. Complete master of the piano-forte keyboard, he calls to his melodious uses, with most consummate ease, all of its resources that are known to skilful performers, as well as constantly discovers and applies those that are new. Under his magnetic touch, this instrument may become, at his will, a _music-box_, a _hand-organ_, a _harp_ or a _bagpipe_, a ”_Scotch fiddle_,” a _church-organ_, a _guitar_, or a _banjo_: it may imitate the ”stump speaker” as he delivers his glowing harangue; or, being brought back to its legitimate tones, it may be made to sing two melodies at once, while the performer with his voice delivers a third, all three in different time and keys, all in perfect tune and time, and each one easily distinguishable from the other! It would be vain to call such performances as these mere tricks. They are far, far more; since they show a musical intuition, and an orderly disposition and marshalling of the stores of the mind, quite beyond the powers of the performer of mere musical tricks. But, even were they such, this wonderful musician would not need to depend upon their performance for the greatness of his fame; for there is no work of the great masters too difficult for his easy comprehension and perfect rendering.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THOMAS GREENE BETHUNE.]
He remembers and plays full seven thousand pieces. In short, he plays every piece that he has ever heard. How almost G.o.dlike (it cannot be brought to human comparison) is this retentive, this _perfect_ memory, as relating to all that is musical, or even unmusical, in sound!
Nor does he need to depend upon the music composed by others. His own soul is full of harmony, endless in variety, and most ravis.h.i.+ng. Take from him, were it possible, all remembrance of the music written by others, and he would still be an object of delight and amazement on account of his matchless power in improvisation. Listen to his own ”Rain Storm,” and you shall hear, first, the thunder's reverberating peal, and anon the gentle patter of the rain-drops on the roof: soon they fall thick and fast, coming with a rus.h.i.+ng sound. Again is heard the thunder's awful roar, while the angry winds mingle in the tempestuous fray,--all causing you to feel that a veritable storm rages without. After a while, the tempest gradually ceases; all is calmness; and you look with wonder upon this musical magician, and marvel that the piano-forte can be made to so closely imitate the sounds made by the angry elements.
No one lives, or, as far as we know, has ever lived, that can at all be compared with him. Only the musical heroes of mythology remind us of him; for he is
”As sweet and musical As bright Apollo's lute strung with his hair:”
And Ariel, Shakspeare's child of fancy, who on Prospero's island constantly gave forth melodies of ever-varied, ever-enchanting sweetness, filling all the air with delicious harmony,--that musical spirit was but an antic.i.p.ation of the coming of this actual wonder in music. Of him an eloquent writer has beautifully said, ”There is music in all things; but 'Blind Tom' is the temple wherein music dwells. He is a sort of door-keeper besides; and, when he opens the portals, music seems to issue forth to wake the soul to ecstasy.” The skilful metaphysician or the psychologist pauses before him, completely balked: they cannot cla.s.sify this mind, human-like indeed in some respects, yet in many others surpa.s.sing all humanity, and closely approximating that which is G.o.dlike.
Some persons, it is true, judging from certain manifestations of his, or from certain lack of manifestations, have had the temerity to say that ”Blind Tom” is an idiot. Out with the idea! Who ever heard of an idiot possessing such power of memory, such fineness of musical sensibility, such order, such method, as he displays? Let us call him the embodiment, the soul, of music, and there rest our investigations; for all else is futility, all else is vain speculation.