Thomas Linley (Junior), eldest son of the vocal composer of that name, was born at Bath, in 1756, and displayed, at a very early age, extraordinary powers on the violin—performing a concerto in public when but eight years old. To qualify him more effectually for a musical career, through a due acquaintance with theory, his father placed him under the able tuition of Dr. Boyce; after which he was sent to Florence, chiefly to prosecute the study of his favourite instrument, under the eye of Nardini. Through the kind agency of the Italian violinist, Linley acquired the advantageous friendship of Mozart, then a youth of about his own age. On his return from his studies on the continent, young Linley repaired to Bath, to lead his father’s concerts and oratorios, which he did with such precision and animation as to gain high credit. His manner of performing the concertos of Handel and Geminiani was also much admired; nor did he fail to exhibit marks of opening excellence as a composer, in his own solos and concertos, occasionally introduced, as well as in several vocal dramatic productions, which evinced considerable imagination and spirit. The brilliant professional hopes founded on these achievements were destined, however, to be suddenly darkened: for the object of them met with an untimely death in the year 1778, by the upsetting of a pleasure-boat.
Thomas Cooke—who is there, having open ears, that does not know something of the versatile and ingenious Tom Cooke?—was born in Dublin, and was ready with his violin, at the age of seven, to play a concerto in public. Expert with hand, tongue, and pen, he has performed three times three successive solos, on as many different instruments, in one night, for his benefit—and, in moments of composure, has written for all of them. At a very early age, he became director and leader of the music at the Theatre Royal, Dublin; from which condition he suddenly transformed himself into that of a singer, and enjoyed a success of several seasons at the English Opera-House, in London, as vocalist and composer. His next course of exertion was at Drury Lane, as singer, and afterwards as musical director, leader, and composer, in which latter triple capacity he pursued a long and steady career. The violin was eminently useful in his hands, if it cannot be said to have been, in the highest degree, brilliant.
“Tom Cooke,” observed a chronicler, some time since, in one of the magazines, “is certainly the most facetious of fiddlers, and is the only person at present connected with theatres, who smacks of the olden days of quips and cranks. Some of his conundrums are most amusing absurdities.” After assigning to him, by a somewhat venturesome decision, the authorship of the receipt for getting a vial-in at a chemist’s[58], the same writer gave two other specimens of Cooke’s powers of jest, as thus:—
Once, whilst rehearsing a song, Braham said to Cooke, who was leading, “I drop my voice there, at night”—intimating that he wished the accompaniment to be more piano. “You drop your voice, do you?” said Cooke; “I should like to be by, and pick it up.”
During the run of the Tragedy of Manfred, he remarked, “How Denvil keeps sober through the play, I can’t think; for he is calling for spirits, from the first scene to the last!”
Some few years have now elapsed, since this well-remembered professor was borne to that spot where—instead of the achievements of talent, or the humours of character—a few meagre words, and a date or two, comprise usually all that is told to the stray pedestrian, or the passing wind!
Nicholas Mori, who, in certain respects, is entitled to rank high among English Violinists, was born in London, in 1796. The instrument that became the medium of his success in maturer years, was the object of his regard even in infancy—for, at three years of age, he was clutching a contracted specimen of it in his little grasp, and receiving some initiatory hints from Barthélemon. At eight, prepared and advertised as a prodigy, he was publicly playing that Professor’s difficult concerto, styled “The Emperor.” A few years later, his aspiring hand was conspicuous at the Concerts given by Mr. Heaviside, the Surgeon. To add the solid to the showy, the aid of Viotti (then almost a seceder from the profession) was wisely invoked; and nearly six years of his valuable guidance were obtained. Meanwhile, the active youth, still boyishly habited in jacket and frill, was careering through an engagement in the Opera orchestra. There, at the age of twenty, he became leader of the Ballet, on the retirement of Venus, which post he held until, in 1834, he succeeded to that of the silvery Spagnoletti.
The Philharmonic Concerts, which commenced in 1813, had opened a new field for the display of high talent in almost every department of the musical art. The interest and advancement of Mori, in that quarter, were zealously undertaken by Viotti; and he became one of the Directors of the Society, for several seasons. In 1819, he married the widow of Mr. Lavenu—an alliance which made him the successor to a lucrative business.
Another native Establishment, instituted in his time, afforded further opportunity for the indefatigable exertions of Mori. The Royal Academy of Music received him within its walls, as one of its principal teachers of the violin. Among his pupils there, were Oury, Patey, Richards, Musgrove, and his own younger son, Nicholas. The success of his Concert-speculations, meanwhile, was attested by the overflowing audiences they constantly drew together; but such a result was not accomplished without great attendant labour and anxiety. His Classical Chamber-Concerts, commenced in 1836, in sequence to those of Blagrove’s party, kept his name still prominent before the public until his death, which took place on the 14th June, 1839.
Few professional men have possessed equal influence in our musical circles, with that which was attained by this distinguished artist; and few have succeeded in acquiring so large a share of public patronage. Yet, favourite of the public as he was, from first to last, it must be regretfully added that he failed to secure the cordial sympathy of his professional brethren, to whom his irritability of temper, and brusquerie of manner, rendered his official government no halcyon reign. For all that was thus unpleasant, however, a cause was discovered, that left his real character untouched. Physical disturbance, existing and accumulating for some length of time, before his sudden decease, had impaired the functions of the brain, and unsettled the moral impulses. With such ground for acquittal of the agent, offence was at once forgotten, and sympathy alone entertained.