SECTION XV

Anecdotes and Miscellanea connected with the Violin

"The Squire, in state, rode on before,
· · · · ·
The Trophy-Fiddle, and the case
Leaning on shoulder, like a mace."
"The Squire, in state, rode on before,
· · · · ·
The Trophy-Fiddle, and the case
Leaning on shoulder, like a mace."

The important part played by the renowned Champion Crowdero in Butler's inimitable satire has never failed to give keen enjoyment to all lovers of wit and humour. This being so, his exploits should be doubly appreciated by the votaries of the Fiddle, since it was he who valiantly defended the cause of Fiddling against the attacks of Hudibras—

"When civil dudgeon first grew high,
And men fell out, they knew not why;
When hard words, jealousies, and fears
Set folks together by the ears,
And made them fight, like mad or drunk.
· · · · ·
Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling,
And out he rode a-colonelling."

The absurdities into which the genius of Cervantes hurried Don Quixote and Sancho served to moderate the extravagances of knight-errantry. The adventures of Hudibras and Ralpho, undertaken to extinguish the sports and pastimes of the people, aided greatly in staying the hand of fanaticism, which had suppressed all stage plays and interludes as "condemned by ancient heathens, and by no means to be tolerated among professors of the Christian religion."

With Crowdero we are taken back upwards of two centuries in the history of the Violin; from times wherein it is held in the highest esteem and admiration, to days when it was regarded with contempt and ridicule. Crowdero (so called from crowd, a Fiddle) was the fictitious name for one Jackson, a milliner, who lived in the New Exchange, in the Strand. He had served with the Roundheads, and lost a leg, which brought him into reduced circumstances, until he was obliged to Fiddle from one alehouse to another for his existence. Hudibras—

"On stirrup-side, he gaz'd about
Portending blood, like blazing star,
The beacon of approaching war.
· · · · ·
Ralpho rode on, with no less speed
Than Hugo in the forest did;
But far more in returning made,
For now the foe he had survey'd
Rang'd, as to him they did appear,
With van, main battle, wings, and rear.
I' th' head of all this warlike rabble,
Crowdero marched, expert and able.
Instead of trumpet and of drum,
That makes the warrior's stomach come,
Whose noise whets valour sharp, like beer
By thunder turn'd to vinegar;
(For if a trumpet sound, or drum beat,
Who has not a month's mind to combat?)
A squeaking engine he apply'd
Unto his neck on north-east side,1
Just where the hangman does dispose,
To special friends, the knot or noose;
For 'tis great grace, when statesmen straight
Dispatch a friend, let others wait.
His warped ear hung o'er the strings,
Which was but souse to chitterlings;2
For guts, some write, ere they are sodden,
Are fit for music, or for pudding;3
From whence men borrow ev'ry kind
Of minstrelsy, by string or wind.
His grisly beard was long and thick,
With which he strung his Fiddle-stick;
For he to horse-tail scorned to owe
For what on his own chin did grow.
· · · · ·
And now the field of death, the lists,
Were enter'd by antagonists,
And blood was ready to be broach'd,
When Hudibras in haste approach'd
With Squire and weapons, to attack 'em;
But first thus from his horse bespoke 'em,
'What rage, O citizens! What fury
Doth you to these dire actions hurry?
· · · · ·
In name of King and Parliament
I charge ye all—no more foment.
· · · · ·
... first surrender
The Fiddler as the prime offender,
Th' incendiary vile, that is chief
Author and engineer of mischief;
That makes division between friends
For profane and malignant ends.4
He and that engine of vile noise
On which illegally he plays,5
Shall (dictum factum) both be brought
To condign punishment, as they ought.'
· · · · ·
This said he clapped his hand on sword,
To show he meant to keep his word.
· · · · ·
He drew up all his force into
One body and into one blow.
· · · · ·
The Knight, with all its weight, fell down
· · · · ·
Like a feather bed betwixt a wall
And heavy brunt of cannon ball.
· · · · ·
Crowdero only kept the field,
Not stirring from the place he held;
Though beaten down and wounded sore,
I' th' Fiddle, and a leg that bore
One side of him—not that of bone,
But much its better, th' wooden one.
He spying Hudibras lie strew'd
Upon the ground, like log of wood,
· · · · ·
In haste he snatch'd the wooden limb
That, hurt in th' ankle, lay by him,
And, fitting it for sudden fight,
Straight drew it up, t' attack the Knight;
· · · · ·
Vowing to be reveng'd, for breach
Of Crowd and skin, upon the wretch,6
Sole author of all detriment
He and his Fiddle underwent.
· · · · ·
When Ralpho thrust himself between,
He took the blow upon his arm,
To shield the Knight from further harm,
And, joining wrath with force, bestow'd
On th' wooden member such a load,
That down it fell and with it bore
Crowdero, whom it propp'd before.
To him the Squire right nimbly run,
And setting his bold foot upon
His trunk, thus spoke: 'What desp'rate frenzy
Made thee, thou whelp of sin, to fancy
Thyself, and all that coward rabble,
To encounter us in battle able?
How durst th', I say, oppose thy curship
'Gainst, arms, authority, and worship,
And Hudibras or me provoke,
· · · · ·
... but first our care
Must see how Hudibras doth fare.'
This said, he gently rais'd the Knight,
· · · · ·
To rouse him from lethargic dump,
He tweak'd his nose with gentle thump,
Knock'd on his breast, as if't had been
To raise the spirits lodg'd within;
They, waken'd with the noise, did fly
From inward room to window eye,
And gently op'ning lid, the casement,
Look'd out, but yet with some amazement.
This gladded Ralpho much to see,
Who thus bespoke the Knight; quoth he,
Tweaking his nose, 'You are, great sir,
A self-denying conqueror;
As high, victorious, and great
As e'er fought for the churches yet.
· · · · ·
... The foe, for dread
Of your nine-worthiness, is fled;
All, save Crowdero, for whose sake
You did th' espous'd cause undertake;
And he lies pris'ner at your feet,
To be disposed as you think meet,
Either for life, or death, or sale,
The gallows, or perpetual jail;
For one wink of your powerful eye
Must sentence him to live or die;
His Fiddle is your proper purchase,
Won in the service of the Churches;
And by your doom must be allow'd
To be or be no more, a Crowd.'
· · · · ·
... The Knight began to rouse,
And by degrees grew valorous;
He stared about, and seeing none
Of all his foes remain, but one,
He snatch'd his weapon that lay near him,
And from the ground began to rear him,
Vowing to make Crowdero pay
For all the rest that ran away.
But Ralpho now, in colder blood,
His fury mildly thus withstood.
'Great sir,' quoth he, 'your mighty spirit
Is raised too high; this slave doth merit
To be the hangman's business sooner
Than from your hand to have the honour
Of his destruction; I, that am
A nothingness in deed and name,
Did scorn to hurt his forfeit carcase,
Or ill entreat his Fiddle or case;
· · · · ·
Will you employ your conq'ring sword
To break a Fiddle, and your word?
· · · · ·
... I think it better far
To keep him prisoner of war.'
· · · · ·
He liked the squire's advice, and soon
Resolved to see the business done.
· · · · ·
Ralpho dispatched with speedy haste,
And having ty'd Crowdero fast,
He gave Sir Knight the end of cord,
To lead the captive of his sword.
· · · · ·
The Squire in state rode on before,
And on his nut-brown whinyard bore
The Trophy-Fiddle, and the case
Leaning on shoulder, like a mace.7
The Knight himself did after ride,
Leading Crowdero by his side,
And tow'd him if he lagg'd behind,
Like boat against the tide and wind.
Thus grave and solemn they march on,
Until quite thro' the town th' had gone,
At further end of which there stands
An ancient castle, that commands8
Th' adjacent parts; in all the fabric
You shall not see one stone nor a brick
But all of wood, by powerful spell
Of magic made impregnable.
· · · · ·
Thither arriv'd, th' advent'rous Knight
And bold Squire from their steeds alight
At th' outward wall, near which there stands
A bastile, built t' imprison hands;
· · · · ·
On top of this there is a spire
On which Sir Knight first bids the Squire
The Fiddle, and its spoils, the case,9
In manner of a trophy, place.
That done, they ope the trapdoor gate,
And let Crowdero down thereat;
Crowdero making doleful face,
Like hermit poor in pensive place.
To dungeon they the wretch commit,
And the survivor of his feet,
But the other that had broke the peace
And head of knighthood, they release,
Though a delinquent false and forged,
Yet b'ing a stranger, he's enlarged,
While his comrade that did not hurt
Is clapp'd up fast in prison for't;
So Justice, while she winks at crimes,
Stumbles on innocence sometimes."