Part 4 (1/2)
and placed himself for another year under that excellent and worthy master; at the end of which period, so intense had been his application, that he played with a degree of certainty and expression truly wonderful.
On a certain occasion, in recommending a scholar to him, after his return to Rome, Tartini expressed his sense of Bini's powers and character, and gave evidence of his own modest and ingenuous disposition, in the following words:-”Io lo mando a un mio scolare chi suona piu di me; e me ne glorio, per essere un angelo di costume, e religioso.”-”I recommend him (the applicant) to a scholar of mine, who plays better than myself; and I am proud of it, as he is an angel in religion and morals.” Such praise has its value enhanced by the source whence it proceeds; for it was truly ”laudari a laudato viro.”
The death of Tartini occurred at Padua, on the 26th of February, 1770, to the general regret of the people of that city, where he had resided nearly fifty years, and not only was regarded as its most attractive ornament, but, owing to the serious and contemplative turn of his mind, had attained the estimation of being a saint and a philosopher.
Of the general character of Tartini's compositions, Dr. Burney, who appears to have studied them closely, has given the following judgment:-”Though he made Corelli his model in the purity of his harmony and simplicity of his modulation, he greatly surpa.s.sed that composer in the fertility and originality of his invention; not only in the subjects of his melodies, but in the truly _cantabile_ manner of treating them.
Many of his adagios want nothing but _words_, to be excellent pathetic opera-songs. His allegros are sometimes difficult; but the pa.s.sages fairly belong to the instrument for which they were composed, and were suggested by his consummate knowledge of the finger-board, and the powers of the bow. As a harmonist, he was perhaps more truly scientific than any other composer of his time, in the clearness, character and precision of his bases, which were never casual, or the effect of habit or auricular prejudice and expectation, but learned, judicious and certain. And yet I must, in justice to others, own that, though the adagio and solo playing, in general, of his scholars are exquisitely polished and expressive, yet it seems as if that energy, fire, and freedom of bow, which modern symphonies and orchestra-playing require, were wanting.”
The applicability of the latter remark is, of course, considerably greater in these days than in the Doctor's time. Another and more recent critical opinion is subjoined:-
”Tartini's compositions, with all the correctness and polish of Corelli's, are bolder and more impa.s.sioned. His slow movements, in particular, are remarkably vocal and expressive; and his music shows a knowledge of the violin, both in regard to the bow and the finger-board, which Corelli had not been able to attain. His works, therefore, though no longer heard in public, are still prized by the best musicians; a proof of which is, that some of them have been recently reprinted for the use of the _Conservatoire_ of Paris. He has frequently injured their effect, to modern ears, by the introduction of trills and other ornaments, which, like the flounces and furbelows of the female dress of his day, have become old-fas.h.i.+oned; but, at the same time, his compositions are full of beauties, which, belonging to the musical language of nature and feeling, are independent of the influence of time.”
Few of my readers have failed, probably, to hear or read of ”The Devil's Sonata,” that forms so singular a ”pa.s.sage” in the experience of this remarkable man, and is to be met with in Records, Musical, Literary, and Pictorial. Monsieur De Lalande informs us that he had, from Tartini's own mouth, the following singular anecdote, which conveys an account of it, and shows to what a degree his imagination was inflamed by the genius of composition. ”He dreamed, one night, in the year 1713, that he had made a compact with the Devil, who promised to be at his service on all occasions; and, during this vision, every thing succeeded according to his mind; his wishes were antic.i.p.ated, and his desires always surpa.s.sed, by the a.s.sistance of his new servant. At length, he imagined that he presented to the Devil his violin, in order to discover what kind of a musician he was; when, to his great astonishment, he heard him play a _solo_, so singularly beautiful, and executed with such superior taste and precision, that it surpa.s.sed all the music he had ever heard or conceived in his life! So great was his surprise, and so exquisite his delight, upon this occasion, as to deprive him of the power of breathing. He awoke with the violence of his sensations, and instantly seized his instrument, in hopes of expressing what he had just heard; but in vain. He, however, then composed a piece, which is, perhaps, the best of all his works, and called it the _Devil's Sonata_; but it was so inferior to what his sleep had produced, that he declared he would have broken his instrument, and abandoned music for ever, if he could have subsisted by any other means.”
This remarkable legend, under its obvious a.s.sociations with the fearful and the grotesque, is so inviting for poetic treatment, that I have ventured on the following attempt:-
TARTINI'S DREAM.
Grim-visag'd Satan on the Artist's bed Sat-and a cloud of sounds mirific spread!
Wild flow'd those notes, as from enchantment's range, ”Wild, sweet, but incommunicably strange!”
Soft Luna, curious, as her s.e.x beseems, Shot through the cas.e.m.e.nt her enquiring beams, Which, entering, paler grew, yet half illum'd The shade so deep that round the Arch-One gloomed: And listening Night her pinions furled-for lo!
The Devil's Soul, O![27] breathed beneath that bow!
Tranquil as death Tartini's form reclin'd, And sealing sleep was strong his eyes to bind; But the wild music of the nether spheres Was in a key that did unlock his ears.
Squat, like a toad or tailor, sat the Fiend, And forward, to his task, his body leaned.
His griffin fingers, with their h.o.r.n.y ends, Hammer the stops; the bow submissive bends: His lengthy chin, descending, forms a vice With his sharp collar-bone, contrariwise, To grasp the conscious instrument, held on With 'scapeless gripe;-and, ever and anon, As flows the strain, now quaint, and now sublime, He marks, with beatings of his tail, the time!
Snakes gird his head; but, in that music's bliss, Enchanted, lose the discord of their hiss, And twine in chords harmonic, though all mute, As if they owned the sway of Orpheus' lute.
Satan hath joy-for round his lips awhile Creeps a sharp-set, sulphuric-acid smile;
And, at the mystic notes, successive sped, Pleas'd, winketh he those eyes of flickering red, And shakes the grizzly horrors of that head!
List! what a change! Soft wailings fill the air: Plaintive and touching grows the demon-play'r.
Doth Satan mourn, with meltings all too late, The sin and sorrow of his own sad state?
Night flies-the dream is past-and, pale and wan, Starts from his spell-freed couch the anxious man.
Is it a marvel greater than his might, Those winged sounds to summon back from flight?
To clutch them _whole_, in vain fond Hope inclin'd, For Memory, overburthen'd, lagged behind, Partly the strain fell 'neath Oblivion's pall, But it had partly ”an _un_-dying fall;”
And, in that state defective, to the light Brought forth-it lives-a relic of that night!
The next name for notice, in connexion with the Italian School of the instrument, is that of
FRANCESCO MARIA VERACINI (the younger), a great, but somewhat eccentric performer, who was born at Florence, at the close of the 17th century. Unlike his contemporary, Tartini, whose sensitive and modest disposition led him to court obscurity, Veracini was vain, ostentatious, and haughty. Various stories have been current in Italy about his arrogance and fantastic tricks, which obtained for him the designation of _Capo pazzo_. The following anecdote is sufficiently characteristic of him.
Being at Lucca at the time of the annual ”Festa della Croce,” on which occasion it was customary for the princ.i.p.al professors of Italy, vocal and instrumental, to meet, Veracini put down his name for a Solo Concerto. When he entered the choir, to take possession of the princ.i.p.al place, he found it already occupied by the Padre Girolamo Laurenti,[28]
of Bologna, who, not knowing him, as he had been some years absent, asked him whither he was going? ”To the place of first violin,” was the impetuous answer. Laurenti then explained that _he_ had been always engaged to fill that post himself; but that if he wished to play a concerto, either at vespers or during high ma.s.s, he should have a place a.s.signed to him. Veracini turned on his heel with contempt, and went to the lowest place in the orchestra. When he was called upon to play his concerto, he desired that the h.o.a.ry old father would allow him, instead of it, to play a solo at the bottom of the choir, accompanied on the violoncello by Lanzetti. He played this in so brilliant and masterly a manner as to extort an _e viva!_ in the public church; and, whenever he was about to make a close, he turned to Laurenti, and called out, _Cos si suona per fare il primo violino_-”This is the way to play the first fiddle!”
Another characteristic story respecting this performer is the following:-
Pisendel, a native of Carlsburg, and one of the best violinists of the early part of the eighteenth century, piqued at the pride and hauteur of Veracini, who thought too highly of his own powers not to disdain a comparison of them with those of any performer then existing, determined, if possible, to mortify his conceit and self-consequence.