is still remembered by some of our living amateurs. He was a Palermitan, born in the year 1745, a year which has left its mark strongly, for other reasons, on British recollection. His life was spent in roving through the capitals of Europe. Acquiring his exquisite and touching style under the celebrated Lolli, he went to Paris. After extinguishing all competitorship, even in jealous France, for two years, he went to Prussia as first violin in the royal chapel at Potsdam. He then went, preceded by his fame, to St Petersburg. From 1792 he remained four years in England, visiting the provinces and Ireland, to the great delight of the public taste. Then, with that love of rambling which characterises musicians and foreign artists of every description, he returned to Germany, from Germany went to Russia, and in St Petersburg died in 1804. The late Michael Kelly, in his pleasant nightgown-and-slipper style, gives, perhaps, as true a conception of this admirable violinist as could be given by the most formal character. He heard him at Vienna on his way from Russia. "He was a man of a certain age, but in the full vigour of talent. His tone was very powerful, his execution most rapid, and his taste, above all, alluring. No performer in my remembrance played such pleasing music. He generally closed his concertos with a rondo, the subject of which was some popular Russian air, to which he composed variations with enchanting taste." Another authority has observed, that, slightly educated, and shallow as a musician, his native talent, and the facility with which he was enabled to conquer mechanical difficulties, rendered him so brilliant and powerful a player, that, for a time, he was quite the rage in both France and England." We are inclined to prefer Michael Kelly's verdict. Giornovichi's style was neither powerful nor brilliant. It was, what is better than either, delightful. Possessing great mastery of execution, it was always subservient to a native beauty of conception, which made his performance perhaps the most charming that was ever known. Delicacy, refinement, polish of the highest order, were there; but no violinist within memory had so fine a faculty of concealing his art, and subduing the audience as with

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a spell. His concertos have now gone out of fashion. Intricacy, eccentricity, and novelty are the choice of instrumentalists in our day. The startling, strange, and difficult are the modern triumph of the artist. But in these feats of the finger he abandons the nobler triumph of the soul. The concertos of Giornovichi remain before us as evidence of the elegance, tenderness, and sensibility of his genius. They are, of course, neglected by the modern solo player, who must astonish, or be nothing; but they form the limit of all that is delicious in the violin; and the first artist who will have the courage to try how far they may be felt by an audience, even in our day, will find that they possess at least rudiments of success, which are not to be found in the abruptness and extravagancies of the later mountebanks of the finger-board.

By a strange contrast with the playful grace of his style, Giornovichi's temper was more than irritable. His life seems to have been a long quarrel with men and countries. He was almost a professed duellist. His caprices alienated the public; and his patrons generally found his petulance more than equivalent to their pleasure in his ability. He left England in anger, and appears to have transported this luckless spirit wherever he went. But he was a matchless musician, and his concertos must be long the study of every artist who desires to discover the true secret of captivation.

The classic school was now to give way to the romantic. Viotti, a name still familiar, appeared in London in 1790, at Salomon's concerts. He was instantly recognised as the creator of a new era of the violin. Bold, majestic, and magnificent, his style of composition was admirably seconded by the brilliancy and vividness of his execution. Unlike the majority of great violinists, he had also the talent of a great composer. No man of modern times approached so near to the sublime. His master had been the well-known Pugnani, whose breadth of performance and force of tone were long unequalled. But to these his pupil added the fire of genius.

Viotti was born in 1755, at Fontaneto in Piedmont. His musical education was early and rapid. At twenty he was first violinist in the Royal Chapel of Turin. After a few

years' study there, he commenced the usual tour of artists, and passing through Germany, came to Paris. There he was the universal wonder; but his petulance at a concert in the palace at Versailles drove him from public representation.

It happened unfortunately for his peaceable career that he was a good deal infected with the revolutionary absurdities of the time, and the angry musician notoriously avenged himself by becoming the peevish republican. On the increasing tumults in 1790, which threatened to put an end to the arts along with the artists, Viotti left Paris, and came to England. His reception was rapturous; delighting England and eclipsing all competition. But the Revolution in France had already made terrible progress. The French church and nobility had been destroyed, the unhappy King and Queen had been murdered; and yet this terrible catastrophe, which has stained the name of France for ever, and which should have shut the lips of all men against the very name of Republicanism, actually inflamed the language of Revolution every where into absolute treason. Viotti's temperament had the Italian excitability. His knowledge of government probably amounted to no more than the nonsense of the Parisian declaimers, and his gratitude to the country which paid and protected him was said to have been wholly effaced by the ridiculous ambition of flourishing as a politician. Whether he went the full length of acting as a revolutionary agent for France, or was merely fool enough to talk insolently of England, those were not times to suffer insolence, however excellently a man might fiddle. The example, too, might have encouraged more of those extra-orchestral performances; for France was at that time absolutely rabid, and England full of adventurers, who, however without a name, were certainly not without a purpose. There were said to be conspiracies among the French and Italian cooks and valets, whom our noblemen had been weak enough to bring into their service. Instances were mentioned where those ruffians had club dinners, in which nothing but treason was talked against the country that gave them bread, and where they dipped their handkerchiefs in claret, in com

memoration of the death of " Louis le Tyran," the least of a tyrant of any king since Pharamond. These things seem only monstrous folly now they were public perils then; and the sooner the clubbists were sent back to their proper place, Paris and her massacres, the better.

Viotti, with all his Republican sympathies, and we do not charge his memory with any direct attempt to put them in practice here, knew Paris too well to return there while the fever of Directories and Democracies raged. He quietly withdrew to Germany, and there, in a villa near Hamburgh, he devoted himself to a much more suitable occupation than the rise or fall of dynasties, the production of some of those works, including his duets, which will make him remembered long after his political follies are forgotten. But it is difficult for a foreigner to avoid a sentimental display. The words cost him nothing, and the feeling seldom much more. "Cet ouvrage," says Viotti, in the preface to his Six Duos Concertantes,' " est le fruit du loisir que le malheur me procure. Quelques morceaux ont été dictés par la peine, d'autres par l'espoir." this time living in a little palace, with every enjoyment that man could desire, and with every spot of the world open to him except Paris, where he would probably have been hanged for too little democracy, and London, where he had already exhibited too much.

He was at

His career was still capable of prosperity; but his rashness rendered him unlucky. After a few years, in which his fame as a violin composer continually rose, he returned to England; but instead of relying on his own astonishing powers as a performer, he plunged into trade, became a winemerchant, and shortly suffered the natural consequences of exchanging a pursuit which he understood better than any other man alive, for a pursuit of which he knew nothing. He lost all that he was worth in the world. He then returned to Paris as Director of the Conservatoire; but there he found himself all but forgotten. With the usual fate of musicians and actors, long absent, and returning into the midst of a new generation, he found national jealousy combining with the love of something new; and between

both, he felt himself in what is termed a false position. He now gave up his employment, and on a pension return. ed to England, a country, of which, notwithstanding his republican "exaltation," he was fond. Here, mingling occasionally with society, still admired for his private performance on the violin-for he had entirely abandoned public exhibition—and living much at the house of Chinnery, an officer in the Treasury, fond of music, and who gave showy fêtes at his villa near London-fêtes which finally ruined the giver, not only in fortune but in character-Viotti sunk into calm decay, and died March 3, 1824, aged 69. Viotti's appearance was striking-he was tall, of an imposing figure, and with a countenance of strong expression-his forehead lofty, and his eye animated. As a composer for the violin he is unquestionably at the head of all his school, and his school at the head. Its excellencies are so solid, that his violin concertos may be transferred to any other instrument, without a change of their character, and scarcely a diminution of their effect. Some of the most powerful concertos for the piano are Viotti's, originally composed for the violin. The character of his style is nobleness. Pure melodies and rich harmonies had been attained by others; but it was reserved for him to unite both with grandeur. This was, in some degree, the result of his having been the scholar of Pugnani, the first man who taught the Italians the effect of combined breadth and brilliancy. But it was for the celebrated Piedmontoise to be at once supremely elegant and forcible, and to unite the most touching taste with the most dazzling command of all the powers of the instrument. Another style has followed, and eccentricity forms the spell of the day eccentricity doubtless sustained by extraordinary spirit of execution, but still destined to pass away, after the brief period of surprise, and to leave public taste free to return to the "sublime and beautiful" of Viotti.

It might be interesting to examine the state of the French, German, and English schools in detail; but we can now advert only to the living performer, who in each occupies the principal place. De Beriot appears to hold the highest estimation among

those French violinists who have visited England within these few years. He is probably also the best of the native performers. All the violinists of France, who have figured since Rode, are growing old, and we have heard of no showy and novel successor. The school of Rode is still the prevailing taste of the Conservatoire, and it is of the nature of every school to degenerate.

The French mind has little of originality. In all things the Frenchman is clever at imitation. There are a greater number of tolerable musicians, painters, architects, and actors in France than in the whole Continent besides. But the brilliancy, force, and daring of genius must be sought for in other lands. Italy has taught France all that she knows. The painting, the architecture, the composition, the military art, even the swordsmanship of France are the loan of Italy. The loan has always degenerated in less than half a century, and the art sank until it was revived by some fresh infusion from the fountain-head. Some son of genius crossed the Alps, and astonished the Frenchman, clever as he is, by arts unknown before.

De Beriot is essentially of the school of Rode, though he is understood to be ambitious of referring his skill to Viotti. But his style, dexterous rather than dazzling, intricate rather than profound, and sparkling rather than splendid, is altogether inferior to the majestic beauty of the master violinist of the last age.

It must be acknowledged that De Beriot's conduct on the death of the unhappy Malibran must raise more than doubts of his sensibility. And the musician, like the poet, who is destitute of feeling, is deprived of the first source of excellence. He may be ingenious, but he never can be great. He is ignorant of the secret which supremely sways the mind. It is probable that he will never return to this country. The impression which he has left behind is fatal to all popularity. In Germany, Spohr is still the celebrated name. Louis Spohr was born in the Brunswick territory, in 1784. His distinctions were rapid; for at twenty-one, after making a tour of the German cities, and visiting Russia with increasing fame, he was appointed first violin and

composer to the Duke of Saxe Gotha. In 1817, he made a tour of the Italian cities, and in 1820 came to England, where he performed at the Philharmonic concerts. He had already been known to violinists by the science of his compositions, and his knowledge of the capacities of the violin. His performance in this country exhibited all the command which was to be expected from German vigour. But it must be confessed that the want of conception was apparent. His style was heavy. With remarkable purity of tone, and perfect skill in the management of the bow, he was never brilliant. Sweet melodies, graceful modulations, and polished cadenzas were all; and in these are not contained the spells of music. Even his large and heavy figure had some effect in prejudicing the ear against his style. All seemed ponderous alike. The weather, too, during his visit, happened to be unusually close for the season, and the rather corpulent German too palpably suffered under a perpetual thaw. His performance in this state was the reverse of elegant; and the intricacy of his composition, the perpetual toil of science, and the general absence of expression-qualities so visible in all his written works, without the exception of his best opera, Faust-oppressed his violin.

The most popular violin composer now in Germany, or in Europe, is Mayseder. His style is singularly, yet sometimes showily toilsome. As Spohr's is the labour of science, Mayseder's is the labour of brilliancy. His works are strictly for the fashion of the time-popular airs with showy variations, some feeble and affected, but some unquestionably of remarkable richness, variety, and subtlety. His air, with variations, dedicated to Paganini, the "pons asinorum" of our amateurs, is a well-known specimen of all those qualities, and is even a happier specimen of Paganini's style than any published composition of the great violinist himself.

The English school of the present day is but a name. What the "Royal Academy of Music" may yet produce, is, of course, in the clouds of all things future. But forming many very dexterous performers, and some tolerable composers, it has exhibited no hope of giving England a musical genius. However, this is not said in

any spirit of invidiousness against an institution, graceful in its nature, ingenious in its direction, and almost essential in its results to national refinement. Under the superintendence of Lord Burghersh, himself a distinguished amateur, and the approval of Royalty, the institution has already considerably improved the performances of our theatrical orchestras, and has supplied our music meetings and public concerts with a race of welltaught musicians. So far it has "done the state some service."

But the great point remains. How is England to make or find those talents which render Germany and Italy the source of such perennial musical excellence, or rather which at brief intervals render them so habitually productive of minds which give a fresh impulse to the powerful and lovely art of harmony? To answer this question, it must be remembered, that in Germany and Italy alone the lower orders are musically educated: in Germany, in the peasant schools; in Italy, in the schools attached to the churches and monasteries. In both these countries, out of this multitude new talents are constantly arising. While even in France, where immense patronage is extended to music, and where music is a national boast, but where it is not a part of national education, a new name in music is among the rarest of all possible things. Her Conservatoire produces elegant performers; but those may be made by practice under any sky. But all her ranks of performers are shaped according to the last style of Germany or Italy-a Kreutzer, a Spohr, or a Paganini. Of composers, with many elegant, she has not one original. Even Auber, though among the most pleasing dramatic composers of Europe, and greatly superior to the whole heavy school which at present overloads taste in Germany, is impressed with Rossini in every line. Auber is a Parisian Rossini.

It is probable that the first step to discover the original power of the English mind in music, must be to extend the musical education to the multitude. The task might not be difficult. The system of collecting the children of the people into large masses in our national schools would seem to afford the easiest means imaginable for giving them a certain degree of

general instruction in the rudiments of music. Those whose natures were adverse would soon exhibit their unfitness, and might be left to themselves; but those who had a natural faculty for this delightful employment of the idle hour, and solace of the unhappy one, would rapidly imbibe the knowledge necessary; and where genius existed, its discovery would be inevitable. Other results of still higher value would be felt at no distant period. A musical faculty among the people would save them from the temptation, almost the necessity, of having recourse to those gross excesses, which are much oftener the refuge from total want of occupation, than even the indulgence of vitiated tastes. Those wretched haunts into which our workmen and peasantry are inveigled by the mere restlessness of the idle mind and hand, would lose a large part of their attractions, when the better tastes of the people found so much simpler, safer, and cheaper employment for their leisure. We are fully aware that this cannot be done at once. With our habits, the very mention of the English peasant with a guitar in his hand, or throwing that hand across the strings of a harp, may seem ludicrous. Yet the Spanish peasant, as active, industrious, and manly a labourer of the ground as any in Europe, is seen with a guitar in his hand, whenever that hand has not the spade. The German peasant is frequently a clever harpist, violinist, and pianist; and in neither instance is there the slightest diminution of industry or manliness in the national character; while a great deal is con fessedly added to its temperance, social intelligence, and personal enjoy

ment.

The cultivation of vocal music is known to be extremely common among the German soldiery; but it has never enfeebled their prowess in the field; on the contrary, it has often inflamed their natural intrepidity into heroism. In those minor details of service, which yet are so essential to the general superiority of troops, in regularity of marching, in orderly cantonment, in bearing the fatigue of the field and the weariness of the garrison, and in a hundred other matters of this kind, the fondness of the German for music renders him a remarkably contented, obedient, and correct soldier. If the Royal Academy of

Music could spread its influence in the direction of the people, by either fixing teachers of popular music in the smaller towns and villages at small salaries, or encouraging the leading inhabitants of those places to have little public competitions, give little prizes to the best performers, and from time to time forward to the Academy in London those who exhibited the most marked ability, and who intended to make music their profession, there can be no doubt whatever that civilisation and innocent pleasure among the humbler ranks would receive an important impulse. The music of our churches, too, would derive a still more powerful improvement from this cultivation. In its present state, the church service in our cities, though often admirably sustained in its other departments, almost universally falls short in all that belongs to music. The organ may be of the first order, and its performer a master of his art, but the hymn, left to a few miserable trebles among the charity children, must always be repulsive. The true effect of church music is to be known only where the congregation join; and they can join effectively only where there is some knowledge of music diffused among the people. No cathedral choir, however scientific, can supply the deficiency. The cathedral music is, in general, the very reverse of devotional; and a long anthem, with its solos, duetts, artificial, abstruse, and often dreary labour of science, is a trial which, offending the whole nature of the service, of fends the ear of many, and the taste of all. Once more, we say to the royal and noble patrons of that Acaedmy, that if they desire to be of national benefit, they must make the effort on a national scale. They may answer, that the narrowness of their funds prohibits this. We answer, that the narrowness of their funds results solely from the narrowness of their design. What have they done, even within their own limits? To speak in the gentlest terms, they have done just so much as to point out the error of their principle. The Academy, during the more than half-dozen years of its existence, has done what might have been done by any private school, and little more. It has made some respectable performers, certainly not one remarkable. It has not sent into