Books › The violin : some account of that leading instrument and its most eminent professors, from its earliest date to the present time : with hints to amateurs, anecdotes, etc., 1852 › scan 211
Scan 211
The violin : some account of that leading instrument and its most eminent professors, from its earliest date to the present time : with hints to amateurs, anecdotes, etc., 1852
6 lines. Read by computer on 3 September 2026. Printed page 195. See the scan on archive.org.
1the violin. His adagios in particular were much admired, and his extempore cadences were so scientific and appropriate as, to seem like the natural continuation of the composer's own ideas. Among his engagements while in London, was that of leading the band at Vauxhall Gardens; in which situation he once figured as a principal in a whimsical occurrence. It chanced, one night, when the gardens were full of fashionable company, and the stream of music was at high tide, that a bewildered bat, which had winged its eccentric course for some time about the walks, to the discomposure of the visitors, found its way into the illuminated orchestra, and, after having made two or three circuits there, flew into Barthélémon's face, with so forcible a familiarity as to unseat him from his eminence, and precipitate him, wholly frighted from his propriety, to the floor. He fell on his ceremonial sword, which, in breaking his fall, was itself broken; and he was picked up in a condition which fortunately did not forbid his joining in the general chorus of laughers; nor did he fail to congratulate himself, that, in falling on his own sword, he had not done so after the old Roman fashion*.
3One of Barthélémon's points of excellence consisted in his solo performances of Corelli's music, in which his sweetness and polished taste were charmingly manifested. He and Salomon are supposed to have been the last who made it a regular habit to study, and to perform
5* The above anecdote suggests another, of a somewhat similar cast, pertaining to the great Musical Commemoration at Westminster Abbey, in 1791. A person falling upon a double bass, as it lay on its side, immediately disappeared—nothing being seen of him, except his legs protruding out of the instrument; and for some time no one could assist him, owing to the laughter occasioned by his predicament!
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