As to the too eager pursuit of pecuniary advantage, which has been sometimes charged upon this artist, it may not be quite so easy to award entire absolution. It is very possible, however, that what seemed the love of money, was really the love of family, urging to provident collection. Should this plea be deemed inconclusive, there would still remain much excuse for the individual, in a certain bias, or tendency, that is notoriously far too prevalent among us. I mean that inveterate habit of referring all things to the commercial principle, which, causing the musical art, in this country, to be regarded mainly as an object of gain—is bitterly unfavourable to the growth of a kindly feeling among its members (each of whom too often learns to consider his neighbour as a rival to be repressed, rather than a friend to be assisted)—and wears down the enthusiasm for high art, by a vexatiously incessant attrition with common arithmetic.
“Non bene conveniunt, nec in unâ sede morantur, Plutus et Euterpe!”
In Germany, on the contrary, where art is loved chiefly for itself, and where moderate desires attend its exercise, the social feeling among musical men—a thing delightful to witness—is as beneficial in its influence on the character of the individual professor, as in its effect on the general interests of the art. The same remark applies, in a lesser degree, to the credit of the musical profession in France. It is not too much to hope that the now obviously increasing diffusion of musical taste and intelligence among ourselves, will bring, as its ultimate consequences, a diminished care for emolument, and a closer fraternal feeling among our artists.
To advert more minutely to Mori’s powers as a Violinist—since he was not great in all the requisites, it follows that he can scarcely be regarded as an artist of the very highest order. That mechanical command over the executive difficulties of the instrument, for which he was so remarkable, and which enabled him, when yet a boy, to delight the lovers of the surprising—was his chief merit—“the pith and marrow of his attribute.” The tuition he received from Viotti, that most vigorous of Violinists, was of great importance in directing and maturing his great manual capacity; but, though he derived from him, and from his own assiduous study, a full, free tone, a dashing execution, and the most accurate neatness,—his temperament, somewhat hard and ungenial, seems to have been too little in accordance with Viotti’s, to admit of his fully acquiring all the advantages which that great preceptor was fitted to impart. He caught most felicitously the art of triumphing over difficult passages—the perfection of mere fiddling—but he had not the soul
“To snatch a grace beyond the reach of art—”
to awaken, through the magic of expression, those deeper sensibilities in which music finds the truest source of its empire. Mori’s playing, with its powers and its deficiencies, was admirably suited to the apprehension and desires of a fashionable audience. It was showy, but not profound; striking, but not moving; full of artificial neatness, with little of natural grace. His hand wrought to more purpose than his mind. He was (before the malady that finally subdued him) a man of rigid nerve, and had all the advantages that confidence could bestow,—and these, especially in solo playing, are far from inconsiderable—but then, for want of the sensitiveness pertaining to a more delicate organization, he lost the finest part of what might have been accomplished. He has occupied a very marked place amongst English instrumentalists; but, for the reasons here alleged, the impression he produced seems not likely to prove of a very durable character, so as to secure to him any considerable future importance in musical annals. As a composer for his instrument, he possessed very slender pretensions. His performance itself, admirable as it was in some points, sufficiently shewed why he could not hope to distinguish himself in composition. The few manifestations he made in that way have given no cause for regretting his general habit of trusting to the works of others, for the musical ideas which he had to convey[59].
Mr. Loder, of Bath, long prominent among provincials, and not unknown in the metropolis, was justly esteemed for his knowledge of the orchestra, and his utility as an able leader.
Mr. Henry Gattie, welcomed in his youthful days as a charming solo-player, in which capacity he ran for a time a pretty close race with Mori, has since contented himself, for the most part, with the less ambitious employment of orchestral playing; but his finished taste, and true musical feeling, ensured him a very favourable attention, when, on the memorable occasion of the experiment at Quartett performances (to be presently referred to), he took the Second Violin part among the confraternity at the Hanover Square Rooms.
Antonio James Oury was born in London, in the year 1800. His father, a native of Nice, of noble descent, left home to follow the early campaigns of the then General Buonaparte—was taken prisoner by the English, and lodged near Southampton, at which place he married, in 1799, the daughter of a Mr. Hughes, not unknown in literary circles—and then followed the joint profession of musician and dancing-master, possessing, at the same time, great natural capacity for several branches of the fine arts.
The subject of our present sketch, at the age of three years, commenced his infantine attentions to the violin, under the tuition of his own father, and of the father of our talented composer, George Macfarren. In 1812, young Oury became the pupil of three eminent professors—Mori, Spagnoletti, and Kiesewetter. In 1820, he heard Spohr for the first time: as a result of the impression then received, his perseverance became so great, that, for the space of seven months, he practised no less than fourteen hours a-day! In the same year, he went to Paris, to study under those magnates of the modern French School of the Violin—Baillot, Kreutzer, and Lafont. From each of these masters (and without the knowledge of the others) our young artist managed to take two lessons a week, for several successive winters, at the same time studying composition under Monsieur Fétis. He then made his début at the London Philharmonic Society, at the Concert given for the widow and family of his late master, Kiesewetter. He also became a member of the “Ancient Concerts,” Philharmonic, and Opera orchestras, and joint leader with François Cramer, at the Birmingham, York, Leicester, and Derby Musical Festivals—and also made several operatic tours in Ireland and elsewhere.