TARTINI.
A few years ago the Istrian town of Pirano unveiled a statue, not exactly to one of its illustrious sons, but to the only one of its children who ever became famous, so far as we know. The pedestal of the statue is inscribed.
Istria to Giuseppe Tartini, 1896.
The admirably conceived figure which surmounts the pedestal represents the master standing, violin and bow in hand, at the moment of his accidental discovery of the curious acoustic phenomenon known as the "third sound,"—i. e., the production of a third note in harmony when only two are struck with the bow. The statue was modelled by Dal Zotto, an able Italian sculptor, whose work found so much favour with those present at its inauguration that they enthusiastically carried him about the piazza on their shoulders,—a tribute we judge to have been well deserved.
The subject of Dal Zotto's statue was sent, while yet very young, from Pirano, (where he was born of a good family in 1692) to Capo d' Istria, to study at the college of the "Padri delle Scuole." It was here that he received his first instruction in violin playing, and in fencing,—two accomplishments that were to play an important part in his future life. In spite of the fact that Tartini's family had destined him to become a Franciscan, he had the strongest antipathy to an ecclesiastical career. His relatives fought in vain against his unbending resistance, and finally sent him to Pavia, to study law. Learning cost him little effort, and he still found plenty of spare time for fencing. Somewhat wild, and tired of serious study, he decided to take up his abode in Paris or Naples, and there establish himself as a fencing-master. A love-affair put an end to this project. Tartini having won the heart of a young and beautiful girl, a niece of the cardinal and Bishop of Padua, George Cornaro, the lovers were secretly married, but did not long succeed in keeping the knowledge of their union from their relatives. Tartini's family, enraged at his conduct, withdrew at once the support they had hitherto given him, and to cap the climax, the bishop accused him of seduction and theft. Warned in time, Tartini fled to Rome, leaving his young wife in Padua without confiding to her the direction of his travels.
Reaching Assisi, he ran across a monk in whom he recognised a near relation from his native city of Pirano. This good-natured brother, who was a sacristan in the monastery at Assisi, took pity on the refugee, and gave him an asylum in one of the cells. This is the time, and this is the cell in which the accompanying picture represents our hero. Two years he passed in this monastery, making use of his involuntary seclusion to carry on with great zeal his musical studies. The story of Tartini's dream, and his motive for writing the "Devil's Sonata" is told in various ways and with many additions. Tartini told the tale himself to the astronomer Lalande, who relates it in the following manner in his "Italian Travels." "One night in the year 1713," said Tartini, "I dreamed that I had made a compact with the Devil, and that he stood at my command. Everything thrived according to my wish, and whatever I desired or longed for was immediately realised through the officiousness of my new vassal. A fancy seized me to give him my violin to see if he could, perchance, play some beautiful melodies for me. How surprised I was to hear a sonata, so beautiful and singular, rendered in such an intelligent and masterly manner as I had never heard before. Astonishment and rapture overcame me so completely that I swooned away. On returning to consciousness, I hastily took up my violin, hoping to be able to play at least a part of what I had heard, but in vain. The sonata I composed at that time was certainly my best, and I still call it the 'Devil's Sonata,' but this composition is so far beneath the one I heard in my dream, that I would have broken my violin and given up music altogether, had I been able to live without it." The Paris Conservatory Library owns the manuscript of the "Devil's Sonata," which was published many years later (in 1805), under the title of "Il Trillo del Diavolo." This sonata has become one of the show-pieces of leading violinists, such as Joachim, Laub, and others. One writer speaks of it as a "piece in which a series of double shakes, and the satanic laugh with which it concludes, are so dear to lovers of descriptive music." Its title alone almost ensures its success beforehand. The listener is, however, less impressed by the hidden diabolical inspiration than by the wonderful technic.
