THE KING AND THE PLAYER.
George the Third was frequently at Weymouth, and often strolled about the town unattended. On the day of Elliston's benefit (at which His Majesty had expressed his intention of being present) he had been enjoying one of his afternoon wanderings, when a shower of rain came on. Happening to be passing the theatre door, in he went. Finding no one about, he entered the Royal box, and seated himself in his chair. The dim daylight of the theatre and slight fatigue occasioned by his walk, induced drowsiness: His Majesty, in fact, fell into a doze, which ultimately resolved itself into a sound sleep. In the meantime Lord Townsend met Elliston, of whom he inquired if he had seen the King, as His Majesty had not been at the palace since his three o'clock dinner, it being then nearly five. Elliston being unable to give his lordship any information, Lord Townsend sought His Majesty in another direction, and the comedian made his way to the theatre, in order to superintend the necessary arrangements for the reception of his Royal patrons. Upon reaching the theatre, Elliston went at once to the King's box, and seeing a man fast asleep in His Majesty's chair, was about recalling him to his senses somewhat roughly, when, happily, he discovered who it was that had so unexpectedly taken possession of the Royal chair. What was to be done? Elliston could not presume to wake His Majesty—to approach him—speak to him—touch him—impossible! and yet something was necessary to be done, as it was time to light the theatre, and, what was of still more importance, to relieve the anxiety of the Queen and family. Elliston hit on the following expedient: Taking up a Violin from the orchestra he stepped into the pit, and placing himself beneath his exalted guest, struck up dolcemente—
The expedient produced the desired effect. The sleeper was loosened from the spell which bound him. Awakened, His Majesty stared at the comedian full in the face, ejaculated, "Hey, hey, hey!—what, what—oh, yes! I see—Elliston—ha, ha! Rain came on—took a seat—took a nap. What's o'clock?" "Nearly six, your Majesty." "Say I'm here. Stay, stay! This wig won't do—eh, eh! Don't keep the people waiting—light up; light up; let them in—fast asleep. Play well to-night, Elliston." The theatre was illuminated; messengers were despatched to the Royal party, which, having arrived in due course, Elliston quitted the side of the affable Monarch, and prepared himself for his part in the performance.
SIR WALTER SCOTT ON MUSIC AND FIDDLES.
"I do not know and cannot utter," said Sir Walter, "a note of music; and complicated harmony seems to me a babble of confused, though pleasing sounds; yet simple melodies, especially if connected with words and ideas, have as much effect on me as on most people. I cannot bear a voice that has no more life in it than a pianoforte or bugle-horn. There is in almost all the fine arts a something of soul and spirit, which, like the vital principle in man, defies the research of the most critical anatomist. You feel where it is not, yet you cannot describe what it is you want." Sir Joshua, or some other great painter, was looking at a picture on which much pains had been bestowed. "Why—yes," he said, in a hesitating manner; "it is very clever—very well done. Can't find fault, but it wants something—it wants—it wants—d—n me, it wants that!" throwing his hand over his head, and snapping his fingers. In talking of his ignorance of music, Scott said he had once been employed in a case where a purchaser of a Fiddle had been imposed on as to its value. He found it necessary to prepare himself by reading all about Fiddles in the encyclopædias, &c., and having got the names of Stradivari, Amati, &c., glibly on his tongue, got swimmingly through his case. Not long after this, dining at the Duke of Hamilton's, he found himself left alone after dinner with the Duke, who had but two subjects he could talk of—hunting and music. Having exhausted hunting, Scott thought he would bring forward his lately acquired learning in Fiddles, upon which the Duke grew quite animated, and immediately whispered some orders to the butler, in consequence of which there soon entered the room about half-a-dozen tall servants, all in red, each bearing a Fiddle case, and Scott found his knowledge brought to no less a test than that of telling by the tones of each Fiddle, as the Duke played it, by what artist it was made. "By guessing and management," said he, "I got on pretty well, till we were, to my great relief, summoned to coffee."12
12 Lockhart's "Life of Sir Walter Scott."
I have frequently heard of the Duke's passion for Violins, and also that he had a great number of them at Hamilton Palace. Among these instruments there appears to have been a singularly perfect Tenor by the brothers Amati. Signor Piatti has often spoken to me of having seen this instrument several years since in the possession of the family. The Hamilton collection of Fiddles was doubtless dispersed long before the rare MSS., the Beckford Library, the inlaid cabinets, and other treasures which served to make Hamilton Palace renowned throughout the world of art and letters.
Returning to the subject of Sir Walter Scott's references to music, it will be seen that his barristers possess among their gentlemanly embellishments a knowledge of stringed instruments. Who can forget that the young Templar, Master Lowestoffe ("Fortunes of Nigel," chap. xvi. 138) "performed sundry tunes on the Fiddle and French Horn" in Alsatia; and that Counsellor Pleydell, on the eventful night, in "Guy Mannering" (chap. xlix. 255), being a "member of the gentlemen's concert in Edinburgh," was performing some of Scarlatti's sonatas with great brilliancy upon the Violoncello to Julia's accompaniment upon the harpsichord?