An Air Violin.—A new and ingeniously invented instrument was presented, some years since, to the “Académie des Sciences” of Paris, by M. Isoard. It resembled the common violin, with the strings extended between two wooden (or metal) blades. It was vibrated upon at one end by a current of air, while, at the other, the player shortened the strings by the pressure of the finger. In fact, the strings of this instrument were acted upon by the current of air, instead of the common bow. The sounds were said to vary between those of the French horn and bassoon. Were it possible for this invention to come into ordinary use, the violin would have to be classed as a wind-instrument!
Automaton Violinist.—“After the extraordinary performance of Paganini and Ole Bull, our readers will not be surprised at any new development of the powers of this instrument, however great; but there are few in the world who will hear, without wonder and admiration, of the unequalled performance of Monsieur Marreppe’s automaton violin-player, which was recently exhibited before the Royal Conservatory at Paris. Our informant, M. Bruyère, who was present, thus describes this wonderful piece of mechanism: “On entering the saloon, I saw a well-dressed handsome figure of a man, apparently between forty and fifty, standing with a violin in his hand, as if contemplating a piece of music which lay on a desk before him; and, had I not gone to see an automaton, I should have believed the object before me to have been endowed with life and reason, so perfectly natural and easy were the attitudes and expression of countenance of the figure! I had but little time for observation, before the orchestra was filled by musicians, and, on the leader taking his seat, the figure instantly raised itself erect, bowed with much elegance two or three times, and then, turning to the leader, nodded, as if to say he was ready, and placed his violin to his shoulder. At the given signal, he raised his bow, and, applying it to the instrument, produced, à la Paganini, one of the most thrilling and extraordinary flourishes I ever heard, in which scarcely a semitone within the compass of the instrument was omitted; and this, executed with a degree of rapidity and clearness perfectly astonishing. The orchestra then played a short symphony, in which the automaton occasionally joined in beautiful style: he then played a most beautiful fantasia in E natural, with accompaniments, including a movement allegro molto on the fourth string solo, which was perfectly indescribable. The tones produced were like any thing but a violin; and expressive beyond conception. I felt as if lifted from my seat, and burst into tears, in which predicament I saw most persons in the room. Suddenly, he struck into a cadenza, in which the harmonics, double and single, arpeggios on the four strings, and saltos, for which Paganini was so justly celebrated, were introduced with the greatest effect; and, after a close shake of eight bars’ duration, commenced the coda, a prestissimo movement, played in three parts throughout. This part of the performance was perfectly magical. I have heard the great Italian—I have heard the Norwegian—I have heard the best of music—but I never heard such sounds as then saluted my ear. It commenced p p p, rising by a gradual crescendo to a pitch beyond belief, and then, by a gradual morendo and calando, died away, leaving the audience absolutely enchanted. Monsieur Marreppe, who is a player of no mean order, then came forward amidst the most deafening acclamations, and stated that, emulated by the example of Vaucanson’s flute-player, he had conceived the project of constructing this figure, which had cost him many years of study and labour before he could bring it to completion. He then showed to the company the interior of the figure, which was completely filled with small cranks, by which the motions are given to the several parts of the automaton, at the will of the conductor, who has the whole machine so perfectly under control, that Monsieur Marreppe proposes that the automaton shall perform any piece of music which may be laid before him, within a fortnight. He also showed that to a certain extent the figure was self-acting, as, on winding up a string, several of the most beautiful airs were played, among which were “Nel cor più,” “Partant pour la Syrie,” “Weber’s last Waltz,” and “La ci darem la mano,” all with brilliant embellishments. But the chef-d’œuvre is the manner in which the figure is made to obey the direction of the conductor, whereby it is endowed with a sort of semi-reason.”—Galignani’s Messenger.
The Street Fiddler.—Behold the poor fellow, as he stands there in the sun, against that dead wall, with a face that betrays many a foregone year of patient endurance, and a figure that is the very index to “narrow circumstances.” His old brown great coat, loose and hard-worn—his battered hat—his shoes unconscious of blacking—are the vouchers of his low estate. He wears “the hapless vesture of humility.” He is half-blind, and will be wholly so before long, for blindness is the badge of his sad tribe;—but then—he will have a companion, in the dog that will lead him about!
See, how sobered is his style of execution—how passive his action! The fire of enthusiasm is not for him: he can but shew the plodding of a quiet spirit. He holdeth his bow, not as your topping players do, but with a third part of its length below his hand. He finds this plan the easiest, because it is his wont to work more from the shoulder than the wrist! Think no scorn of him, ye great artists—ye triumphant euphonists! He is self-taught,—or, which is the same thing, hath learned of his father, who was alter ipse, and who himself got his knowledge “in the family.” Yet, though his bow-arm hath none of the sweep that belongs to science, behold how he puts mettle into the heels of infancy, and even peradventure brings a wriggle into the sides of old age: such power is there in the notes of a fiddle, even in the hands of decrepitude itself! The nursery-maids, who cannot condescend to talk with a street-fiddler, as they would with a young policeman, accord a smile, nevertheless, to some of his “passages,” and a halfpenny to his pauperism. Musician as he is, or would be called (for poverty has its pride), do not test him with terms, or ask him the meaning of a “common chord:” he will think you design to insult his misery with a dependent allusion! Him harmony concerneth not, nor counterpoint either;—he is a simple melodist, and, to him, a few old tunes are the entire world of music. After all, too, the finest melody in his ear, is the sound of human sympathy; and the best of music is the rattle of frequent halfpence in his hat—a hat by night, a money-box by day! His daily gains, what are they? A sorry pittance, truly; yet the poor old fellow, albeit no classic, manages to live on the Horatian plan, “contentus parvo,” and is very far from being the most thankless of mortals, although
“For all his shifts, he cannot shift his clothes.”
It is not always people of the finest ear, who are the most intolerant of ambulating fiddlers. There are some dull persons who have little other notion of music in any shape, than as so much noise. The complaint of these against the poor starveling here described, is that he makes so loud a noise. Let us only (with sly allusion to the early name for the barbarous instrument) ask them one question—although even a bad joke may be quite thrown away upon the dull:
Say, wherefore should it not be loud, The noise proceeding from a crowd?
And, while employing this kind of excuse, which will perhaps be received as better than none, in behalf of a fraternity, who, if they torment a little, unquestionably do much more suffer, I may as well go on to offer the following such-as-it-is
APOLOGY FOR MATTHEW MARKIT, A “COMMON FIDDLER.” Let not wrath against him gather— Call him not a useless bore! Would you not, this dirty weather, Have a scraper at your door? Such is he;—nay, more than that, He’s a Scraper, and a—Mat!
I do remember an itinerant, who used to sing a piece of dismal merriment, with a squeaking violin accompaniment, to the appropriate burden of “Heigh ho! fiddle de dee!” and a very wry face at each recurrence of this peculiar interjection. He much affected Knightsbridge and Hyde Park Corner, but was likewise visible at other points of the metropolis. His wife, a diminutive body, with a small whine by way of voice, helped to make “variety of wretchedness” in the exhibition. They looked as if familiar with none but the copper coinage of the realm. Yet they had generally their côterie around them—their “assistance admirative.” To be musical, any how, passes for a talent!