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difficult of all instruments, perhaps undertaken a task above my strength; and the idea filled me with inquietude.

They now prepared to execute Haydn's three new quatuors, which had just been published. My master took his violin from its case; but scarcely had he sounded it to give the tone, when the Baron stopped his ears with both his hands, and cried aloud, quite beside himself, "Haak! Haak! in heaven's name, how can you spoil your play on a miserable affair like that, whose tones resemble the singing of a tea-kettle?"

The leader of the orchestra had one of the finest violins I had ever heard in my life; a genuine Antonio Stradivari: and nothing mortified him so much as when due honours were not rendered to his favourite instrument. Judge, then, of my surprise, when I saw him return with a smile his instrument into its case! He doubtless foresaw what was to take place. The Baron quitted us abruptly, and returned soon after, bringing under his arm, with all the solemnity of an infant borne to the baptismal font, a case covered with scarlet velvet embroidered with gold.

"Haak!" cried he, "it is my pleasure that to-day you should have the honour of playing upon my oldest and finest instrument. It is a genuine Granuelo; and by the side of this great master, your Stradivari was a mere novice. Tartini (he bowed as he pronounced the word) Tartini would play on no other violins than those of Granuelo. Come, my good friend, put forth all your strength, if you wish the Granuelo to pour forth all the riches which it contains."

The Baron opened the case, and an instrument met my eyes whose form attested its antiquity. By its side lay a bow, which from its ample curve might readily have been mistaken for the bow of a savage chieftain. The Baron took the violin from its case with a degree of precaution which seemed to border on veneration, and presented it to the leader of the orchestra, who received it in a manner equally solemn.

"As to the bow," said M. de B., with a smile, and tapping Haak at the same moment upon the shoulder, "I do not give you that, for you would not know how to use it; nor, as long as you live, will you ever become a good bow."

"It was with such a bow," continued he, surveying it with the look of one inspired, it was with such a bow that the immortal Tartini performed! And after him, there are upon earth but two, and two only of his pupils, who succeeded in penetrating the mystery of that large and vigorous style of play, which thrills all the fibres of the heart, of that style which is attainable only by a bow like this. The one is Nardini; but he is now in years, and guards the sacred flame only in his own bosom, unable to communicate it; the other, as you are aware, gentlemen, is myself. I therefore remain the sole representative of the art of the great Tartini !-But, sirs, let us begin."

Haydn's quatuors were played, and, as it may be supposed, with a degree of perfection which left nothing to be desired. While they were performing, the Baron remained seated, with his eyes closed, and marking the time by an oscillation of his body. After some time, he rose abruptly, approached the performers, and looked at the pieces of music, knitting his brows the while; he then returned on tiptoe to his place, leaned his head upon his hand, sighed, groaned-"Stop, stop!" cried he at last, in the middle of a passage in the adagio, full of melody and sweetness; "as I am a living man! that is a melody of Tartini's: but you have not understood it. Once more, gentlemen, if you please.”

The musicians with a smile repeat the same passage with a more decided expression, and M. de B. begins to weep like a child.

When the quatuors were finished, the Baron exclaimed, "a divine composer that Haydn! he touches the very soul; but he does not know how to write for the violin; and what is more, perhaps he has no ambition so to do; for if he composed for that instrument in the true style, and as Tartini composed, you would not be able to play it.'

It now fell to my turn to execute a subject with variations, composed for me by Haak.

The Baron took his place beside me, and followed me on the music paper. It may well be supposed how oppressed I felt by the presence of so severe a critic. When I began, my hand trembled; but a brilliant passage of the allegro, which quickly followed, called forth all my

enthusiasm; I forgot the Baron, and freely displayed all the means which were then in my power.

When I had finished, M. de B. tapped me upon the shoulder, and said with a smile, "My child, you may continue with your violin; it is true that, as yet, you know nothing of the management of the bow, but then neither have you yet had the advantage of the lessons of an able master."

A sumptuous supper was now served up, to which we failed not to do such honour as true artists are wont to do. The conversation grew more animated and sparkling; it turned exclusively upon music. The Baron gave proofs that his taste was as pure as his musical knowledge was profound; the pointed, just, and ingenious remarks made by him, bespoke not only the enlightened connoisseur, but the finished artist. What struck me above all, was a rapid but luminous review which he took of the most able artists on the violin; it was, if I may so say it, a kind of gallery of portraits, which he successively displayed before our eyes; I will try and give such features of it as my memory was able to retain.

"Corelli," said the Baron, "was the first who struck out the path. His compositions can be played only in the manner of Tartini, a sufficient proof, were there no others, that he was acquainted with the true character of his instrument Pagnani is a passable violin; he possesses spirit and tone; but then his bow wants force in the appoggiamento. What wonders had I not been told of Geminiani! When I heard him for the last time at Paris, some thirty years since, he played like one who walks in his sleep, and his auditors also were half inclined to think themselves dreaming. It was all tempo rubato, without style or keeping. This confounded tempo rubato is the ruin of the best violins, for it leads them to neglect their bow. I executed my sonatos before him; he perceived his error, and begged I would give him some lessons, which I willingly did; but my pupil was then too far absorbed in his peculiar method; he was then in his seventy-first year. May heaven forgive Giardini, nor condemn him to expiate his besetting sin in the other world! He was the first to chop at the

forbidden fruit, and he made sinners of all the artists who followed him. He was the first to introduce on the violin, those buffooneries, which are dignified by the name of ornamental passages. All he thought of, was his left hand and the agility of his fingers; he was not aware that the soul of song is in the right hand, and that from thence are derived those mighty sensations that overflow the heart. Would that, after each of his sacrilegious attempts, the hand of a Jomelli had been near, to inflict summary punishment upon the ear of him who afflicted the ears of every true cognoscente; as, in one instance, Jomelli really did, when in his presence, Giardini spoiled an admirable melody by his skips, flights, and pizzicati. Lolli was a mere madman, a miserable charletan, who knew not how to play a note of an adagio, and who was only ambitious of surprising the ignorant by feats of skill devoid of meaning and sentiment. Yes, I repeat it, the true art of the violin will die with Nardini and myself. Young Viotti has surprising dispositions; it is true that for all he knows, he is indebted to me, for he was my assiduous pupil; but what of all this, if he wants perseverance? He is a renegade from my school. As to Kreutzer, I have hopes of making something of him; he has carefully profited by my instructions, and will profit again when I return to Paris. The concertos you are now studying with me, Haak, he also played, and by no means amiss; but his fingers were restive, and refused to manage my bow. I do not wish Giarnovich ever to set a foot within my doors; he is an ignorant blockhead, who had the impu dence to ridicule the great Tartini, the master of us all, and to turn my advice to scorn. I am curious to know how Rodi will turn out, when he shall have been some time under my care. This is a lad of a good deal of promise, and it is not impossible but he may be the inhe ritor of my bow."

"He is about your age," continued the Baron, turning to me, "but of a more serious and pensive cast. Be it said without offence, but you have something of a giddy air; but this is a fault that wears off of itself-I build great hopes upon you, Haak: since you have received instructions from me, you have

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My astonishment was at its height, and I waited with impatience for a moment to inquire of my master, if it was really true that the Baron had formed the most able violins of the age, and if he himself received his instructions.

Haak told me in reply, that he attached the greatest importance to the lessons which M. de B. had had the goodness to offer him, and advised me to go some day, and ask the same favour. As to other questions that I put to him relative to the Baron's talents, all the answer I could obtain, was this; "Do as I tell you, and you will see.”

The peculiar smile with which these words were accompanied, did not escape my observation, and served only to redouble my curiosity.

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When I humbly signified my desire to M. de B., assuring him that I was animated by the most ardent enthusiasm for my art, he at first eyed me attentively, but immediately his look resumed its usual benevolent expression: My child," said he, " you address yourself to the only violinist who can properly be considered as such, now-a-days; this is a proof that you have a genuine feeling for the art, and that your mind has had revealed to it the true ideal of your instrument. Willingly, therefore, will I lend you my assistance, but how find time for it-how find time? Haak occupies much of my time; and at present, here is the young Durand, who wishes to be heard in public, and who feels that that will not be possible till he has gone through a course with me. However, after breakfast-yes, after breakfast-I have an hour of my own. My child, come every day at twelve precisely ;_we will study till one: after this comes Durand's turn."

The following day I was at the Baron's punctually at the hour of appointment, and my heart beat considerably.

He would not permit me to touch the violin I had brought, but placed in my hands an old instrument of Antonio Amati. I had never played on such a violin before; the wondrous sounds that escaped from the strings delighted and inspired me. I poured forth a flood of

harmony; I felt that I was playing better than ever I had done before, far better, perhaps, than I was likely to do at a later period. Still the Baron shook his head, with a look of discontent, and when I had finished; "My child," said he, "my child, you must begin by forgetting all this. In the first place, you do not know how to hold a bow."

He showed me the way in which Tartini wished the bow to be held. At first, I thought it impossible for me to produce a tone, but my surprise was extreme, when, on repeating some passages at the invitation of my new professor, I perceived the immense advantage I had gained in the space of a few minutes.

"Now," said M. de B.," we will begin our lesson. Courage, my child; take the G, and sustain it as long as you can. Above all, be sparing of your bow; the bow is to the violin, what breath is to the singer."

I followed his instructions, and I was delighted to perceive that I succeeded in drawing from the instrument a firm and full tone, that I could conduct it, from the pianissimo to the fortissimo, and that I could prolong it to the very lowest note of the scale, with the whole length of my bow.

"Do you see, my child," cried the Baron, with an air of triumph, "do you see that you are able to execute brilliant passages and fashionable cadences, and yet are not able to sustain a tone in the manner it ought to be. I will now show you what is meant by "knowing the resources of one's instrument."

He took the violin from my hands, and pressed his bow upon the strings, beginning close to the neck of the instrument-words are wanting to describe what then met my ear.

He set to work, scraping the strings of his violin in the most pityless manner, and that, too, close to the bridge; the croaking of frogs, the screech of the owl, the mewing of cats, were there. I could compare what I heard to nothing else than the painful efforts of some toothless beldame, who, with spectacles on nose, perseveres in yelping out one of her grandmother's songs.

During the perpetration of these horrors, he kept his eyes constantly raised to Heaven, like St. Cecilia in an ecstacy. At length, after keeping his instrument and my ears upon the torture for a long

quarter of an hour, he paused, exclaiming in transport, and with a voice melting with emotion; "There are tones for you, there are tones!"

I was tempted to doubt whether it was not a dream; my situation was painful in the extreme; on the one hand, the temptation to laugh, was nearly too strong for me; on the other, the venerable and inspired figure of myinstructor repressed the feeling of the ridiculous. What I had witnessed had something in it so extraordinary, that my faculties became, as it were, spell-bound, and I was unable to articulate a syllable.

"Yes, my child," exclaimed M. de B., "yes, I see that this has penetrated to the very bottom of your soul. You did not believe it possible that so miraculous a voice could be called forth from this piece of wood, and these four catgut strings. But come, my child, cheer up your spirits with a glass."

So saying, he poured me out a glass of Madeira, and handed me a biscuit; but I had scarce the courage to taste of either. At this moment one o'clock struck.

"Well, that will do for to-day," said the Baron; "go, my child, and return at the same hour to-morrow. There, take that."

With these words, he placed in my hand a piece of paper, in which was neatly folded up a bran-new Dutch ducat.

My first impulse on quitting the Baron's house, was to hasten to my master, and recount to him all that had passed. He burst into a fit of laughter at seeing me, and exclaimed, "Well, now you know the peculiar talent of M. de B., and what is the nature of his lessons. He considers you as a beginner only, and therefore you receive but one ducat per sitting. According as the pupil augments in power, at least in the good Baron's conceit, his honoraire is also augmented. My sittings are got up to a louis, and, if I am not mistaken, Durand receives two ducats."

I could not refrain from expressing

an opinion that it was not right thus to mystify an excellent-hearted man, and pick his pocket.

"You must know," rejoined Haak, "that the Baron's greatest enjoyment is to teach music in the way you have witnessed. If we were to take it in our heads to laugh at his lessons, he would not fail to cry us down as so many itinerant scrapers of catgut; and, as the world considers him in the light of a competent judge, his word would be sure to be believed. After all, saving and excepting his extraordinary mania for the violin, the Baron is a man whose taste and information may prove of important use even to the greatest artists. Then say if I am wrong in paying a proper degree of respect to him in spite of his eccentricity, and of going from time to time, to pick up my louis d'or.— Do not fail to visit him frequently; pay no attention to the peculiarities of an eccentric man, but profit by the judicious instructions of a profound connoisseur."

I followed my master's advice; and yet, on more than one occasion, it was not without difficulty that I suppressed a laugh, when the Baron, by way of varying the exercise of playing on the handle of his violin, would run his fingers up and down the instrument, scraping away upon the strings at random, assuring me that he was executing one of Tartini's finest solos, and that he was the only man in the world capable of playing it in this manner: but the moment he quitted his instrument, his conversation, rich in varied knowledge, inflamed my mind, and fanned the flame of enthusiasm that had early been lighted there.

If I executed to his satisfaction some passage from his concertos, he would look around with an air of conscious pride, and exclaim, " It is to me that he is indebted for this, to me, the pupil of the great Tartini !"

Thus did I continue, from time to time, to store my mind with his useful and agreeable instruction, and to line my pocket with a few of his Dutch ducats.

ROSA.*

BY MISS PARDOE.

She has cast aside the rosy wreaths which lately bound her brow;
She has taken the jewels from her neck-she does not heed them now;
She sits alone, and seems to hear once more the gentle words,
Which fell like music on her heart, and woke its softest chords.

She has wander'd from the crowd to muse upon the tale she heard,
Her silent thoughts.dwell smilingly on every tone and word,
She knows not yet how very false so sweet a vow may prove,
She only asks her trembling heart if this indeed be love!
She seems to see again the eye so beautiful and bright,
Which taught her own to sink beneath its look of living light;
The flower he gave is blooming still upon her maiden breast,
Half hidden by the graceful folds of her white and simple vest.
'Tis her first heart-dream! can it be that she shall ever wake,
From such a dream of blessedness to feel that young heart break?
Oh! Love will surely smile on her for brow, and lip, and eye,
In their soft beauty tell a tale of gentle destiny.

CONVERSATION AT A DINNER-PARTY.

If I were asked what it is that most distinguishes our present refined era of society from the days of uncivilized man, I should say, without hesitation, a splendid dinner-party. We are told by travellers of the generosity of savage nations, and the readiness with which they share their scanty and precarious meal with the passing stranger whom hunger compels to crave their hospitality. I have no wish to depreciate the merit of even the most unchristian barbarians. I am free to admit that charity is as praiseworthy, and is exercised with as much genuine kind-heartedness by the Hottentots of Africa, as by the Hottentots of our own United Kingdom, and that as much real liberality is to be found in the back settlements of the Cape, as in the modern Athens. But then the style of the thing-only imagine yourself invited to partake the bounties of a Caffrarian hut. Seated on a stool, made of the backbone of the grampus, with your knees

for a table, and your fingers for a fourchette. Before you a dish of white ants; to the right, a small pile of grasshoppers; to the left, a little hillock of spiders; in the centre, the superbe leg of a half-putrified jackall, with here and there a young serpent, and a sprinkle of locusts by way of desert. Why, a disciple of Carême would be horror-struck at the bare mention of such a bill of fare. Even Kitchiner, with all his sauces, could have made nothing of it. But great allowances are to be made; the Hottentots are as yet, as far as cookery goes, but in the infancy of science. The Cape being one of our colonies, we shall, in due time, inoculate the natives with a taste for macaroni, and pullets, dressed à la tartare. Every thing has a beginning. Many centuries have not elapsed since persons of the first rank in England eat porpoises and seals at their most sumptuous banquets,† and used their fingers instead of forks; these cleanly instru

See Illustrations.

+ These, together with cranes, and heronshaws, made a part of the installation feast of Neville, Archbishop of York, and Chancellor of England, in 1466, which is said to have exceeded all others in splendour and expense, and in the number and quality of the guests. See Henry's History of Great Britain.-Vol. x. p. 319.

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