Project Gutenberg's Charles Dickens and Music, by James T. Lightwood This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Charles Dickens and Music Author: James T. Lightwood Release Date: August 25, 2005 [EBook #16595] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHARLES DICKENS AND MUSIC *** Produced by David Newman, Daniel Emerson Griffith and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net Tom Pinch at the Organ. Frontispiece. CHARLES DICKENS AND MUSIC BY JAMES T. LIGHTWOOD Author of ‘Hymn-Tunes and their Story’ London CHARLES H. KELLY 25-35 CITY ROAD, AND 26 PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C. First Edition, 1912 IN PLEASANT MEMORY OF MANY HAPPY YEARS AT PEMBROKE HOUSE, LYTHAM PREFACE For many years I have been interested in the various musical references in Dickens' works, and have had the impression that a careful examination of his writings would reveal an aspect of his character hitherto unknown, and, I may add, unsuspected. The centenary of his birth hastened a work long contemplated, and a first reading (after many years) brought to light an amount of material far in excess of what I anticipated, while a second examination convinced me that there is, perhaps, no great writer who has made a more extensive use of music to illustrate character and create incident than Charles Dickens. From an historical point of view these references are of the utmost importance, for they reflect to a nicety the general condition of ordinary musical life in England during the middle of the last century. We do not, of course, look to Dickens for a history of classical music during the period—those who want this will find it in the newspapers and magazines; but for the story of music in the ordinary English home, for the popular songs of the period, for the average musical attainments of the middle and lower classes (music was not the correct thing amongst the ‘upper ten’), we must turn to the pages of Dickens' novels. It is certainly strange that no one has hitherto thought of tapping this source of information. In and about 1887 the papers teemed with articles that outlined the history of music during the first fifty years of Victoria's reign; but I have not seen one that attempted to derive first-hand information from the sources referred to, nor indeed does the subject of ‘Dickens and Music’ ever appear to have received the attention which, in my opinion, it deserves. I do not profess to have chronicled all the musical references, nor has it been possible to identify every one of the numerous quotations from songs, although I have consulted such excellent authorities as Dr. Cummings, Mr. Worden (Preston), and Mr. J. Allanson Benson (Bromley). I have to thank Mr. Frank Kidson, who, I understand, had already planned a work of this description, for his kind advice and assistance. There is no living writer who has such a wonderful knowledge of old songs as Mr. Kidson, a knowledge which he is ever ready to put at the disposal of others. Even now there are some half-dozen songs which every attempt to run to earth has failed, though I have tried to ‘mole 'em out’ (as Mr. Pancks would say) by searching through some hundreds of song-books and some thousands of separate songs. Should any of my readers be able to throw light on dark places I shall be very glad to hear from them, with a view to making the information here presented as complete and correct as possible if another edition should be called for. May I suggest to the Secretaries of our Literary Societies, Guilds, and similar organizations that a pleasant evening might be spent in rendering some of the music referred to by Dickens. The proceedings might be varied by readings from his works or by historical notes on the music. Many of the pieces are still in print, and I shall be glad to render assistance in tracing them. Perhaps this idea will also commend itself to the members of the Dickens Fellowship, an organization with which all lovers of the great novelist ought to associate themselves. JAMES T. LIGHTWOOD. Lytham, October, 1912. I truly love Dickens; and discern in the inner man of him a tone of real Music which struggles to express itself, as it may in these bewildered, stupefied and, indeed, very crusty and distracted days—better or worse! Thomas Carlyle. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. Dickens as a Musician 1 II. Instrumental Combinations 23 III. Various Instruments: Flute, Organ, Guitar (and Some Hummers) 36 IV. Various Instruments (continued) 56 V. Church Music 69 VI. Songs and Some Singers 83 VII. Some Noted Singers 112 List of Songs, &c., Mentioned by Dickens 135 Index of Musical Instruments 164 Index of Characters 165 General Index 169 List of Music Titles, &c., Founded on Dickens' Characters 172 LIST OF WORKS REFERRED TO With Abbreviations Used American Notes 1842 A.N. Barnaby Rudge 1841 B.R. Battle of Life 1848 B.L. Bleak House 1852–3 B.H. Chimes 1844 Ch. Christmas Carol 1843 C.C. Christmas Stories — C.S. Christmas Stories— Dr. Marigold's Prescription 1865 Dr. M. Going into Society 1855 G.S. Holly Tree 1855 H.T. Mugby Junction 1866 M.J. Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings 1863 — No Thoroughfare 1867 N.T. Somebody's Luggage 1862 S.L. Wreck of the Golden Mary 1856 G.M. Collected Papers — C.P. Cricket on the Hearth 1845 C.H. Dombey & Son 1847–8 D. & S. David Copperfield 1849–50 D.C. Edwin Drood 1870 E.D. Great Expectations 1860–1 G.E. Hard Times 1854 H.T. Haunted House 1859 — Haunted Man 1848 H.M. Holiday Romance — H.R. Little Dorrit 1855–6 L.D. Martin Chuzzlewit 1843–4 M.C. Master Humphrey's Clock 1840–1 M.H.C. Mystery of Edwin Drood 1870 E.D. Nicholas Nickleby 1838–9 N.N. Old Curiosity Shop 1840 O.C.S. Oliver Twist 1837–8 O.T. Our Mutual Friend 1864 O.M.F. Pickwick Papers 1836–7 P.P. Pictures from Italy 1846 It. Reprinted Pieces— Our Bore 1852 — Our English Watering-Place 1851 — Our French Watering-Place 1854 — Our School 1851 — Out of the Season 1856 — Sketches by Boz 1835–6 S.B. Characters — S.B.C. Our Parish — — Scenes — S.B.S. Tales — S.B.T. Sunday under Three Heads 1836 — Sketches of Young People 1840 — Sketches of Young Gentlemen 1838 — Tale of Two Cities, A 1859 — Uncommercial Traveller 1860–9 U.T. CHARLES DICKENS AND MUSIC CHAPTER I DICKENS AS A MUSICIAN The attempts to instil the elements of music into Charles Dickens when he was a small boy do not appear to have been attended with success. Mr. Kitton tells us that he learnt the piano during his school days, but his master gave him up in despair. Mr. Bowden, an old schoolfellow of the novelist's when he was at Wellington House Academy, in Hampstead Road, says that music used to be taught there, and that Dickens received lessons on the violin, but he made no progress, and soon relinquished it. It was not until many years after that he made his third and last attempt to become an instrumentalist. During his first transatlantic voyage he wrote to Forster telling him that he had bought an accordion. The steward lent me one on the passage out, and I regaled the ladies' cabin with my performances. You can't think with what feelings I play ‘Home, Sweet Home’ every night, or how pleasantly sad it makes us. On the voyage back he gives the following description of the musical talents of his fellow passengers: One played the accordion, another the violin, and another (who usually began at six o'clock a.m.) the key bugle: the combined effect of which instruments, when they all played different tunes, in different parts of the ship, at the same time, and within hearing of each other, as they sometimes did (everybody being intensely satisfied with his own performance), was sublimely hideous. He does not tell us whether he was one of the performers on these occasions. But although he failed as an instrumentalist he took delight in hearing music, and was always an appreciative yet critical listener to what was good and tuneful. His favourite composers were Mendelssohn—whose Lieder he was specially fond of 1 —Chopin, and Mozart. He heard Gounod's Faust whilst he was in Paris, and confesses to having been quite overcome with the beauty of the music. ‘I couldn't bear it,’ he says, in one of his letters, ‘and gave in completely. The composer must be a very remarkable man indeed.’ At the same time he became acquainted with Offenbach's music, and heard Orphée aux enfers. This was in February, 1863. Here also he made the acquaintance of Auber, ‘a stolid little elderly man, rather petulant in manner.’ He told Dickens that he had lived for a time at ‘Stock Noonton’ (Stoke Newington) in order to study English, but he had forgotten it all. In the description of a dinner in the Sketches we read that The knives and forks form a pleasing accompaniment to Auber's music, and Auber's music would form a pleasing accompaniment to the dinner, if you could hear anything besides the cymbals. He met Meyerbeer on one occasion at Lord John Russell's. The musician congratulated him on his outspoken language on Sunday observance, a subject in which Dickens was deeply interested, and on which he advocated his views at length in the papers entitled Sunday under Three Heads. Dickens was acquainted with Jenny Lind, and he gives the following amusing story in a letter to Douglas Jerrold, dated Paris, February 14, 1847: I am somehow reminded of a good story I heard the other night from a man who was a witness of it and an actor in it. At a certain German town last autumn there was a tremendous furore about Jenny Lind, who, after driving the whole place mad, left it, on her travels, early one morning. The moment her carriage was outside the gates, a party of rampant students who had escorted it rushed back to the inn, demanded to be shown to her bedroom, swept like a whirlwind upstairs into the room indicated to them, tore up the sheets, and wore them in strips as decorations. An hour or two afterwards a bald old gentleman of amiable appearance, an Englishman, who was staying in the hotel, came to breakfast at the table d'hôte, and was observed to be much disturbed in his mind, and to show great terror whenever a student came near him. At last he said, in a low voice, to some people who were near him at the table, ‘You are English gentlemen, I observe. Most extraordinary people, these Germans. Students, as a body, raving mad, gentlemen!’ ‘Oh, no,’ said somebody else: ‘excitable, but very good fellows, and very sensible.’ ‘By God, sir!’ returned the old gentleman, still more disturbed, ‘then there's something political in it, and I'm a marked man. I went out for a little walk this morning after shaving, and while I was gone’—he fell into a terrible perspiration as he told it —‘they burst into my bedroom, tore up my sheets, and are now patrolling the town in all directions with bits of 'em in their button-holes.’ I needn't wind up by adding that they had gone to the wrong chamber. It was Dickens' habit wherever he went on his Continental travels to avail himself of any opportunity of visiting the opera; and his criticisms, though brief, are always to the point. He tells us this interesting fact about Carrara: There is a beautiful little theatre there, built of marble, and they had it illuminated that night in my honour. There was really a very fair opera, but it is curious that the chorus has been always, time out of mind, made up of labourers in the quarries, who don't know a note of music, and sing entirely by ear. But much as he loved music, Dickens could never bear the least sound or noise while he was studying or writing, and he ever waged a fierce war against church bells and itinerant musicians. Even when in Scotland his troubles did not cease, for he writes about ‘a most infernal piper practising under the window for a competition of pipers which is to come off shortly.’ Elsewhere he says that he found Dover ‘too bandy’ for him (he carefully explains he does not refer to its legs), while in a letter to Forster he complains bitterly of the vagrant musicians at Broadstairs, where he ‘cannot write half an hour without the most excruciating organs, fiddles, bells, or glee singers.’ The barrel-organ, which he somewhere calls an ‘Italian box of music,’ was one source of annoyance, but bells were his special aversion. ‘If you know anybody at St. Paul's,’ he wrote to Forster, ‘I wish you'd send round and ask them not to ring the bell so. I can hardly hear my own ideas as they come into my head, and say what they mean.’ His bell experiences at Genoa are referred to elsewhere (p. 57). How marvellously observant he was is manifest in the numerous references in his letters and works to the music he heard in the streets and squares of London and other places. Here is a description of Golden Square, London, W. (N.N.): Two or three violins and a wind instrument from the Opera band reside within its precincts. Its boarding-houses are musical, and the notes of pianos and harps float in the evening time round the head of the mournful statue, the guardian genius of the little wilderness of shrubs, in the centre of the square.... Sounds of gruff voices practising vocal music invade the evening's silence, and the fumes of choice tobacco scent the air. There, snuff and cigars and German pipes and flutes, and violins and violoncellos, divide the supremacy between them. It is the region of song and smoke. Street bands are on their mettle in Golden Square, and itinerant glee singers quaver involuntarily as they raise their voices within its boundaries. We have another picture in the description of Dombey's house, where— the summer sun was never on the street but in the morning, about breakfast-time.... It was soon gone again, to return no more that day, and the bands of music and the straggling Punch's shows going after it left it a prey to the most dismal of organs and white mice. As a Singer Most of the writers about Dickens, and especially his personal friends, bear testimony both to his vocal power and his love of songs and singing. As a small boy we read of him and his sister Fanny standing on a table singing songs, and acting them as they sang. One of his favourite recitations was Dr. Watts' ‘The voice of the sluggard,’ which he used to give with great effect. The memory of these words lingered long in his mind, and both Captain Cuttle and Mr. Pecksniff quote them with excellent appropriateness. When he grew up he retained his love of vocal music, and showed a strong predilection for national airs and old songs. Moore's Irish Melodies had also a special attraction for him. In the early days of his readings his voice frequently used to fail him, and Mr. Kitton tells us that in trying to recover the lost power he would test it by singing these melodies to himself as he walked about. It is not surprising, therefore, to find numerous references to these songs, as well as to other works by Moore, in his writings. From a humorous account of a concert on board ship we gather that Dickens possessed a tenor voice. Writing to his daughter from Boston in 1867, he says: We had speech-making and singing in the saloon of the Cuba after the last dinner of the voyage. I think I have acquired a higher reputation from drawing out the captain, and getting him to take the second in ‘All's Well’ and likewise in ‘There's not in the wide world’ 2 (your parent taking the first), than from anything previously known of me on these shores.... We also sang (with a Chicago lady, and a strong-minded woman from I don't know where) ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ with a tender melancholy expressive of having all four been united from our cradles. The more dismal we were, the more delighted the company were. Once (when we paddled i' the burn) the captain took a little cruise round the compass on his own account, touching at the Canadian Boat Song, 3 and taking in supplies at Jubilate, ‘Seas between us braid ha' roared,’ and roared like ourselves. J.T. Field, in his Yesterdays with Authors, says: ‘To hear him sing an old-time stage song, such as he used to enjoy in his youth at a cheap London theatre ... was to become acquainted with one of the most delightful and original companions in the world.’ When at home he was fond of having music in the evening. His daughter tells us that on one occasion a member of his family was singing a song while he was apparently deep in his book, when he suddenly got up and saying ‘You don't make enough of that word,’ he sat down by the piano and showed how it should be sung. On another occasion his criticism was more pointed. One night a gentleman visitor insisted on singing ‘By the sad sea waves,’ which he did vilely, and he wound up his performance by a most unexpected and misplaced embellishment, or ‘turn.’ Dickens found the whole ordeal very trying, but managed to preserve a decorous silence till this sound fell on his ear, when his neighbour said to him, ‘Whatever did he mean by that extraneous effort of melody?’ ‘Oh,’ said Dickens, ‘that's quite in accordance with rule. When things are at their worst they always take a turn.’ Forster relates that while he was at work on the Old Curiosity Shop he used to discover specimens of old ballads in his country walks between Broadstairs and Ramsgate, which so aroused his interest that when he returned to town towards the end of 1840 he thoroughly explored the ballad literature of Seven Dials, 4 and would occasionally sing not a few of these wonderful discoveries with an effect that justified his reputation for comic singing in his childhood. We get a glimpse of his investigations in Out of the Season, where he tells us about that ‘wonderful mystery, the music-shop,’ with its assortment of polkas with coloured frontispieces, and also the book-shop, with its ‘Little Warblers and Fairburn's Comic Songsters.’ Here too were ballads on the old ballad paper and in the old confusion of types, with an old man in a cocked hat, and an armchair, for the illustration to Will Watch the bold smuggler, and the Friar of Orders Grey, represented by a little girl in a hoop, with a ship in the distance. All these as of yore, when they were infinite delights to me. On one of his explorations he met a landsman who told him about the running down of an emigrant ship, and how he heard a sound coming over the sea ‘like a great sorrowful flute or Aeolian harp.’ He makes another and very humorous reference to this instrument in a letter to Landor, in which he calls to mind that steady snore of yours, which I once heard piercing the door of your bedroom ... reverberating along the bell-wire in the hall, so getting outside into the street, playing Aeolian harps among the area railings, and going down the New Road like the blast of a trumpet. The deserted watering-place referred to in Out of the Season is Broadstairs, and he gives us a further insight into its musical resources in a letter to Miss Power written on July 2, 1847, in which he says that a little tinkling box of music that stops at ‘come’ in the melody of the Buffalo Gals, and can't play ‘out to-night,’ and a white mouse, are the only amusements left at Broadstairs. ‘Buffalo Gals’ was a very popular song ‘Sung with great applause by the Original Female American Serenaders.’ (c. 1845.) The first verse will explain the above allusion: As I went lum'rin' down de street, down de street, A 'ansom gal I chanc'd to meet, oh, she was fair to view. Buffalo gals, can't ye come out to-night, come out to-night, come out to-night; Buffalo gals, can't ye come out to-night, and dance by the light of the moon. We find some interesting musical references and memories in the novelist's letters. Writing to Wilkie Collins in reference to his proposed sea voyage, he quotes Campbell's lines from ‘Ye Mariners of England’: As I sweep Through the deep When the stormy winds do blow. There are other references to this song in the novels. I have pointed out elsewhere that the last line also belongs to a seventeenth-century song. Writing to Mark Lemon (June, 1849) he gives an amusing parody of Lesbia hath a beaming eye, beginning Lemon is a little hipped. In a letter to Maclise he says: My foot is in the house, My bath is on the sea, And before I take a souse, Here's a single note to thee. These lines are a reminiscence of Byron's ode to Tom Moore, written from Venice on July 10, 1817: My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea, But before I go, Tom Moore, Here's a double health to thee! The words were set to music by Bishop. This first verse had a special attraction for Dickens, and he gives us two or three variations of it, including a very apt one from Dick Swiveller (see p. 126). Henry F. Chorley, the musical critic, was an intimate friend of Dickens. On one occasion he went to hear Chorley lecture on ‘The National Music of the World,’ and subsequently wrote him a very friendly letter criticizing his delivery, but speaking in high terms of the way he treated his subject. In one of his letters he makes special reference to the singing of the Hutchinson family. 5 Writing to the Countess of Blessington, he says: I must have some talk with you about these American singers. They must never go back to their own country without your having heard them sing Hood's ‘Bridge of Sighs.’ Amongst the distinguished visitors at Gad's Hill was Joachim, who was always a welcome guest, and of whom Dickens once said ‘he is a noble fellow.’ His daughter writes in reference to this visit: I never remember seeing him so wrapt and absorbed as he was then, on hearing him play; and the wonderful simplicity and un-self-consciousness of the genius went straight to my father's heart, and made a fast bond of sympathy between those two great men. In Music Drama Much has been written about Dickens' undoubted powers as an actor, as well as his ability as a stage manager, and it is well known that it was little more than an accident that kept him from adopting the dramatic profession. He ever took a keen interest in all that pertained to the stage, and when he was superintending the production of a play he was always particular about the musical arrangements. There is in existence a play-bill of 1833 showing that he superintended a private performance of Clari. This was an opera by Bishop, and contains the first appearance of the celebrated ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ a melody which, as we have already said, he reproduced on the accordion some years after. He took the part of Rolano, but had no opportunity of showing off his singing abilities, unless he took a part in the famous glee ‘Sleep, gentle lady,’ which appears in the work as a quartet for alto, two tenors, and bass, though it is now arranged in other forms. In his dealings with the drama Dickens was frequently his own bandmaster and director of the music. For instance, in No Thoroughfare we find this direction: ‘Boys enter and sing “God Save the Queen” (or any school devotional hymn).’ At Obenreizer's entrance a ‘mysterious theme is directed to be played,’ that gentleman being ‘well informed, clever, and a good musician.’ Dickens was concerned in the production of one operetta—The Village Coquettes—for which he wrote the words, and John Hullah composed the music. It consists of songs, duets, and concerted pieces, and was first produced at St. James's Theatre, London, on December 6, 1836. The following year it was being performed at Edinburgh when a fire broke out in the theatre, and the instrumental scores together with the music of the concerted pieces were destroyed. No fresh copy was ever made, but the songs are still to be obtained. Mr. Kitton, in his biography of the novelist, says, ‘The play was well received, and duly praised by prominent musical journals.’ The same writer gives us to understand that Hullah originally composed the music for an opera called The Gondolier, but used the material for The Village Coquettes. Braham, the celebrated tenor, had a part in it. Dickens says in a letter to Hullah that he had had some conversation with Braham about the work. The singer thought very highly of it, and Dickens adds: His only remaining suggestion is that Miss Rainforth 6 will want another song when the piece is in rehearsal—‘a bravura—something in “The soldier tired” way.’ We have here a reference to a song which had a long run of popularity. It is one of the airs in Arne's Artaxerxes, an opera which was produced in 1761, and which held the stage for many years. There is a reference to this song in Sketches by Boz, when Miss Evans and her friends visited the Eagle. During the concert ‘Miss Somebody in white satin’ sang this air, much to the satisfaction of her audience. Dickens wrote a few songs and ballads, and in most cases he fell in with the custom of his time, and suggested the tune (if any) to which they were to be sung. In addition to those that appear in the various novels, there are others which deserve mention here. In 1841 he contributed three political squibs in verse to the Examiner, one being the ‘Quack Doctor's Proclamation,’ to the tune of ‘A Cobbler there was,’ and another called ‘The fine old English Gentleman.’ For the Daily News (of which he was the first editor) he wrote ‘The British Lion, a new song but an old story,’ which was to be sung to the tune of the ‘Great Sea Snake.’ This was a very popular comic song of the period, which described a sea monster of wondrous size: One morning from his head we bore With every stitch of sail, And going at ten knots an hour In six months came to his tail. Three of the songs in the Pickwick Papers (referred to elsewhere) are original, while Blandois' song in Little Dorrit, ‘Who passes by this road so late,’ is a translation from the French. This was set to music by R.S. Dalton. In addition to these we find here and there impromptu lines which have no connexion with any song. Perhaps the best known are those which ‘my lady Bowley’ quotes in The Chimes, and which she had ‘set to music on the new system’: Oh let us love our occupations, Bless the squire and his relations, Live upon our daily rations, And always know our proper stations. The reference to the ‘new system’ is not quite obvious. Dickens may have been thinking of the ‘Wilhem’ method of teaching singing which his friend Hullah introduced into England, or it may be a reference to the Tonic Sol-fa system, which had already begun to make progress when The Chimes was written in 1844. 7 There are some well-known lines which owners of books were fond of writing on the fly-leaf in order that there might be no mistake as to the name of the possessor. The general form was something like this: John Wigglesworth is my name, And England is my nation; London is my dwelling-place, And Christ is my salvation. (See Choir, Jan., 1912, p. 5.) Dickens gives us at least two variants of this. In Edwin Drood, Durdles says of the Mayor of Cloisterham: Mister Sapsea is his name, England is his nation, Cloisterham's his dwelling-place, Aukshneer's his occupation. And Captain Cuttle thus describes himself, ascribing the authorship of the words to Job—but then literary accuracy was not the Captain's strong point: Cap'en Cuttle is my name, And England is my nation, This here is my dwelling-place, And blessed be creation. It is said that there appeared in the London Singer's Magazine for 1839 ‘The Teetotal Excursion, an original Comic Song by Boz, sung at the London Concerts,’ but it is not in my copy of this song-book, nor have I ever seen it. Dickens was always very careful in his choice of names and titles, and the evolution of some of the latter is very interesting. One of the many he conceived for the magazine which was to succeed Household Words was Household Harmony, while another was Home Music. Considering his dislike of bells in general, it is rather surprising that two other suggestions were English Bells and Weekly Bells, but the final choice was All the Year Round. Only once does he make use of a musician's name in his novels, and that is in Great Expectations. Philip, otherwise known as Pip, the hero, becomes friendly with 1 4 5 2 3 Herbert Pocket. The latter objects to the name Philip, ‘it sounds like a moral boy out of a spelling- book,’ and as Pip had been a blacksmith and the two youngsters were ‘harmonious,’ Pocket asks him: ‘Would you mind Handel for a familiar name? There's a charming piece of music, by Handel, called the “Harmonious Blacksmith.”’ ‘I should like it very much.’ Dickens' only contribution to hymnology appeared in the Daily News February 14, 1846, with the title ‘Hymn of the Wiltshire Labourers.’ It was written after reading a speech at one of the night meetings of the wives of agricultural labourers in Wiltshire, held with the object of petitioning for Free Trade. This is the first verse: O God, who by Thy Prophet's hand Did'st smite the rocky brake, Whence water came at Thy command Thy people's thirst to slake, Strike, now, upon this granite wall, Stern, obdurate, and high; And let some drop of pity fall For us who starve and die! We find the fondness for Italian names shown by vocalists and pianists humorously parodied in such self- evident forms as Jacksonini, Signora Marra Boni, and Billsmethi. Banjo Bones is a self-evident nom d'occasion, and the high-sounding name of Rinaldo di Velasco ill befits the giant Pickleson (Dr. M.), who had a little head and less in it. As it was essential that the Miss Crumptons of Minerva House should have an Italian master for their pupils, we find Signer Lobskini introduced, while the modern rage for Russian musicians is to some extent anticipated in Major Tpschoffki of the Imperial Bulgraderian Brigade (G.S.). His real name, if he ever had one, is said to have been Stakes. Dickens has little to say about the music of his time, but in the reprinted paper called Old Lamps for New Ones (written in 1850), which is a strong condemnation of pre-Raphaelism in art, he attacks a similar movement in regard to music, and makes much fun of the Brotherhood. He detects their influence in things musical, and writes thus: In Music a retrogressive step in which there is much hope, has been taken. The P.A.B., or pre-Agincourt Brotherhood, has arisen, nobly devoted to consign to oblivion Mozart, Beethoven, Handel, and every other such ridiculous reputation, and to fix its Millennium (as its name implies) before the date of the first regular musical composition known to have been achieved in England. As this institution has not yet commenced active operations, it remains to be seen whether the Royal Academy of Music will be a worthy sister of the Royal Academy of Art, and admit this enterprising body to its orchestra. We have it, on the best authority, that its compositions will be quite as rough and discordant as the real old original. Fourteen years later he makes use of a well-known phrase in writing to his friend Wills (October 8, 1864) in reference to the proofs of an article. I have gone through the number carefully, and have been down upon Chorley's paper in particular, which was a ‘little bit’ too personal. It is all right now and good, and them's my sentiments too of the Music of the Future. 8 Although there was little movement in this direction when Dickens wrote this, the paragraph makes interesting reading nowadays in view of some musical tendencies in certain quarters. In his speech at Birmingham on ‘Literature and Art’ (1853) he makes special reference to the ‘great music of Mendelssohn.’ Moore's Irish Melodies. Moore. ‘Seven Dials! the region of song and poetry—first effusions and last dying speeches: hallowed by the names of Catnac and of Pitts, names that will entwine themselves with costermongers and barrel- organs, when penny magazines shall have superseded penny yards of song, and capital punishment be unknown!’ (S.B.S. 5.) The ‘Hutchinson family’ was a musical troupe composed of three sons and two daughters selected from the ‘Tribe of Jesse,’ a name given to the sixteen children of Jesse and Mary Hutchinson, of Milford, N.H. They toured in England in 1845 and 1846, and were received with great enthusiasm. Their 6 7 8 songs were on subjects connected with Temperance and Anti-Slavery. On one occasion Judson, one of the number, was singing the ‘Humbugged Husband,’ which he used to accompany with the fiddle, and he had just sung the line ‘I'm sadly taken in,’ when the stage where he was standing gave way and he nearly disappeared from view. The audience at first took this as part of the performance. Miss Rainforth was the soloist at the first production of Mendelssohn's ‘Hear my Prayer.’ (See The Choir, March, 1911.) John Curwen published his Grammar of Vocal Music in 1842. Quoted in Mr. R.C. Lehmann's Dickens as an Editor (1912). CHAPTER II INSTRUMENTAL COMBINATIONS VIOLIN, VIOLONCELLO, HARP, PIANO Dickens' orchestras are limited, both in resources and in the number of performers; in fact, it would be more correct to call them combinations of instruments. Some of them are of a kind not found in modern works on instrumentation, as, for instance, at the party at Trotty Veck's (Ch.) when a ‘band of music’ burst into the good man's room, consisting of a drum, marrow-bones and cleavers, and bells, ‘not the bells but a portable collection on a frame.’ We gather from Leech's picture that other instrumentalists were also present. Sad to relate, the drummer was not quite sober, an unfortunate state of things, certainly, but not always confined to the drumming fraternity, since in the account of the Party at Minerva House (S.B.T.) we read that amongst the numerous arrivals were ‘the pianoforte player and the violins: the harp in a state of intoxication.’ We have an occasional mention of a theatre orchestra, as, for instance, when the Phenomenon was performing at Portsmouth (N.N.): ‘Ring in the orchestra, Grudden.’ That useful lady did as she was requested, and shortly afterwards the tuning of three fiddles was heard, which process, having been protracted as long as it was supposed that the patience of the orchestra could possibly bear it, was put a stop to by another jerk of the bell, which, being the signal to begin in earnest, set the orchestra playing a variety of popular airs with involuntary variations. On one occasion Dickens visited Vauxhall Gardens by day, where ‘a small party of dismal men in cocked hats were “executing” the overture to Tancredi,’ but he does not, unfortunately, give us any details about the number or kind of instruments employed. This would be in 1836, when the experiment of day entertainments was given a trial, and a series of balloon ascents became the principal attraction. Forster tells us that Dickens was a frequent visitor at the numerous gardens and places of entertainment which abounded in London, and which he knew better than any other man. References will be found elsewhere to the music at the Eagle (p. 47) and the White Conduit Gardens (p. 93). Violin and Kit We meet with but few players on the violin, and it is usually mentioned in connexion with other instruments, though it was to the strains of a solitary fiddle that Simon Tappertit danced a hornpipe for the delectation of his followers, while the same instrument supplied the music at the Fezziwig's ball. In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. The orchestra at the ‘singing-house’ provided for Jack's amusement when ashore (U.T. 5) consisted of a fiddle and tambourine; while at dances the instruments were fiddles and harps. It was the harps that first aroused Mr. Jingle's curiosity, as he met them being carried up the staircase of The Bull at Rochester, while, shortly after, the tuning of both harps and fiddles inspired Mr. Tupman with a strong desire to go to the ball. Sometimes the orchestra is a little more varied. At the private theatricals which took place at Mrs. Gattleton's (S.B.T. 9), the selected instruments were a piano, flute, and violoncello, but there seems to have been a want of proper rehearsal. Ting, ting, ting! went the prompter's bell at eight o'clock precisely, and dash went the orchestra into the overture to the Men of Prometheus. The pianoforte player hammered away with laudable perseverance, and the violoncello, which struck in at intervals, sounded very well, considering. The unfortunate individual, however, who had undertaken to play the flute accompaniment ‘at sight’ found, from fatal experience, the perfect truth of the old adage, ‘Out of sight, out of mind’; for being very near-sighted, and being placed at a considerable distance from his music-book, all he had an opportunity of doing was to play a bar now and then in the wrong place, and put the other performers out. It is, however, but justice to Mr. Brown to say that he did this to admiration. The overture, in fact, was not unlike a race between the different instruments; the piano came in first by several bars, and the violoncello next, quite distancing the poor flute; for the deaf gentleman too-too'd away, quite unconscious that he was at all wrong, until apprised, by the applause of the audience, that the overture was concluded. It was probably after this that the pianoforte player fainted away, owing to the heat, and left the music of Masaniello to the other two. There were differences between these remaining musicians and Mr. Harleigh, who played the title rôle, the orchestra complaining that ‘Mr. Harleigh put them out, while the hero declared that the orchestra prevented his singing a note.’ It was to the strains of a wandering harp and fiddle that Marion and Grace Jeddler danced ‘a trifle in the Spanish style,’ much to their father's astonishment as he came bustling out to see who ‘played music on his property before breakfast.’ The little fiddle commonly known as a ‘kit’ that dancing-masters used to carry in their capacious tail coat pockets was much more in evidence in the middle of last century than it is now. Caddy Jellyby (B.H.), after her marriage to a dancing-master, found a knowledge of the piano and the kit essential, and so she used to practise them assiduously. When Sampson Brass hears Kit's name for the first time he says to Swiveller: ‘Strange name—name of a dancing-master's fiddle, eh, Mr. Richard?’ We must not forget the story of a fine young Irish gentleman, as told by the one-eyed bagman to Mr. Pickwick and his friends, who, being asked if he could play the fiddle, replied he had no doubt he could, but he couldn't exactly say for certain, because he had never tried. Violoncello Mr. Morfin (D. & S.), ‘a cheerful-looking, hazel-eyed elderly bachelor,’ was a great musical amateur—in his way—after business, and had a paternal affection for his violoncello, which was once in every week transported from Islington, his place of abode, to a certain club-room hard by the Bank, where quartets of the most tormenting and excruciating nature were executed every Wednesday evening by a private party. His habit of humming his musical recollections of these evenings was a source of great annoyance to Mr. James Carker, who devoutly wished ‘that he would make a bonfire of his violoncello, and burn his books with it.’ There was only a thin partition between the rooms which these two gentlemen occupied, and on another occasion Mr. Morfin performed an extraordinary feat in order to warn the manager of his presence. I have whistled, hummed tunes, gone accurately through the whole of Beethoven's Sonata in B, to let him know that I was within hearing, but he never heeded me. This particular sonata has not hitherto been identified. It is comforting to know that the fall of the House of Dombey made no difference to Mr. Morfin, who continued to solace himself by producing ‘the most dismal and forlorn sounds out of his violoncello before going to bed,’ a proceeding which had no effect on his deaf landlady, beyond producing ‘a sensation of something rumbling in her bones.’ Nor were the quartet parties interfered with. They came round regularly, his violoncello was in good tune, and there was nothing wrong in his world. Happy Mr. Morfin! Another 'cellist was the Rev. Charles Timson, who, when practising his instrument in his bedroom, used to give strict orders that he was on no account to be disturbed. It was under the pretence of buying ‘a second-hand wiolinceller’ that Bucket visited the house of the dealer in musical instruments in order to effect the arrest of Mr. George (B.H.). Harp The harp was a fashionable drawing-room instrument in the early Victorian period, although the re- introduction of the guitar temporarily detracted from its glory. It was also indispensable in providing music for dancing-parties and concerts. When Esther Summerson went to call on the Turveydrops (B.H.) she found the hall blocked up with a grand piano, a harp, and various other instruments which had been used at a concert. As already stated, it was the sight of these instruments being carried up the stairs at The Bull in Rochester that aroused Mr. Jingle's curiosity (P.P.) and led to the discovery that a ball was in prospect. We must not forget the eldest Miss Larkins, one of David Copperfield's early, fleeting loves. He used to wander up and down outside the home of his beloved and watch the officers going in to hear Miss L. play the harp. On hearing of her engagement to one of these he mourned for a very brief period, and then went forth and gloriously defeated his old enemy the butcher boy. What a contrast between this humour and the strange scene in the drawing-room at James Steerforth's home after Rosa Dartle had sung the strange weird Irish song to the accompaniment of her harp! And how different, again, the scene in the home of Scrooge's nephew (C.C.) when, after tea, ‘they had some music.’ Scrooge's niece played well upon the harp; and played, among other things, a simple little air. It reminded Scrooge of a time long past. He softened more and more; and thought that if he could have listened to it often, years ago, he might have cultivated the kindnesses of life for his own happiness with his own hand. Little Paul Dombey told Lady Skettles at the breaking-up party that he was very fond of music, and he was very, very proud of his sister's accomplishments both as player and singer. Did they inherit this love from their father? ‘You are fond of music,’ said the Hon. Mrs. Skewton to Mr. Dombey during an interval in a game of picquet. ‘Eminently so,’ was the reply. But the reader must not take him at his word. When Edith (the future Mrs. Dombey) entered the room and sat down to her harp, Mr. Dombey rose and stood beside her, listening. He had little taste for music, and no knowledge of the strain she played; but he saw her bending over it, and perhaps he heard among the sounding strings some distant music of his own. Yet when she went to the piano and commenced to sing Mr. Dombey did not know that it was ‘the air that his neglected daughter sang to his dead son’! Piano Lady musicians are numerous, and of very varied degrees of excellence. Amongst the pianists is Miss Teresa Malderton, who nearly fell a prey to that gay deceiver Mr. Horatio Sparkins (S.B.T. 5). Her contribution to a musical evening was ‘The Fall of Paris,’ played, as Mr. Sparkins declared, in a masterly manner. There was a song called ‘The Fall of Paris,’ but it is most probable that Dickens was thinking of a very popular piece which he must have often heard in his young days, of which the full title was The Surrender of Paris. A characteristic Divertimento for the Pianoforte, including the events from the Duke of Wellington and Prince Blucher's marching to that capital to the evacuation by the French troops and taking possession by the Allies, composed by Louis Jansen, 1816. Not the least curious section of this piece of early programme music is a moderato recording the various articles of the capitulation. These are eighteen in number, and each has its own ‘theme.’ The interspersion of some discords seems to imply serious differences of opinion between the parties to the treaty. There was also a song called ‘The Downfall of Paris,’ the first verse of which was Great news I have to tell you all, Of Bonaparte and a' that; How Paris it has got a fall, He's lost his plans and a' that. Chorus. Rise up, John Bull, rise up and sing, Your chanter loudly blaw that; Lang live our auld and worthy king, Success to Britain, a' that. The instrument beloved of Miss Tox (D. & S.) was the harpsichord, and her favourite piece was the ‘Bird Waltz,’ while the ‘Copenhagen Waltz’ was also in her repertoire. Two notes of the instrument were dumb from disuse, but their silence did not impoverish the rendering. Caddy Jellyby found it necessary to know something of the piano, in order that she might instruct the ‘apprentices’ at her husband's dancing-school. Another performer was Mrs. Namby, who entertained Mr. Pickwick with solos on a square piano while breakfast was being prepared. When questioned by David Copperfield as to the gifts of Miss Sophy Crewler, Traddles explained that she knew enough of the piano to teach it to her little sisters, and she also sang ballads to freshen up her family a little when they were out of spirits, but ‘nothing scientific.’ The guitar was quite beyond her. David noted with much satisfaction (though he did not say so) that his Dora was much more gifted musically. When Dickens wrote his earlier works it was not considered the correct thing for a gentleman to play the piano, though it might be all very well for the lower classes and the music teacher. Consequently we read of few male performers on the instrument. Mr. Skimpole could play the piano, and of course Jasper had a ‘grand’ in his room at Cloisterham. At one time, if we may believe the turnkey at the Marshalsea prison, William Dorrit had been a pianist, a fact which raised him greatly in the turnkey's opinion. Brought up as a gentleman, he was, if ever a man was. Educated at no end of expense. Went into the Marshal's house once to try a new piano for him. Played it, I understand, like one o'clock—beautiful. In the Collected Papers we have a picture of the ‘throwing off young gentleman,’ who strikes a note or two upon the piano, and accompanies it correctly (by dint of laborious practice) with his voice. He assures a circle of wondering listeners that so acute was his ear that he was wholly unable to sing out of tune, let him try as he would. Mr. Weller senior laid a deep plot in which a piano was to take a prominent part. His object was to effect Mr. Pickwick's escape from the Fleet. Me and a cab'net-maker has dewised a plan for gettin' him out. ‘A pianner, Samivel, a pianner,’ said Mr. Weller, striking his son on the chest with the back of his hand, and falling back a step or two. ‘Wot do you mean?’ said Sam. ‘A pianner-forty, Samivel,’ rejoined Mr. Weller, in a still more mysterious manner, ‘as he can have on hire; vun as von't play, Sammy.’ ‘And wot 'ud be the good of that?’ said Sam. ‘There ain't no vurks in it,’ whispered his father. ‘It 'ull hold him easy, vith his hat and shoes on; and breathe through the legs, vich is holler.’ But the usually dutiful Sam showed so little enthusiasm for his father's scheme that nothing more was heard of it. CHAPTER III VARIOUS INSTRUMENTS FLUTE, ORGAN, GUITAR (AND SOME HUMMERS) Flute We find several references to the flute, and Dickens contrives to get much innocent fun out of it. First comes Mr. Mell, who used to carry his instrument about with him and who, in response to his mother's invitation to ‘have a blow at it’ while David Copperfield was having his breakfast, made, said David, ‘the most dismal sounds I have ever heard produced by any means, natural or artificial.’ After he had finished he unscrewed his flute into three pieces, and deposited them underneath the skirts of his coat. Dickens' schoolmasters seem to have been partial to the flute. Mr. Squeers, it is true, was not a flautist, but Mr. Feeder, B.A., was, or rather he was going to be. When little Paul Dombey visited his tutor's room he saw ‘a flute which Mr. Feeder couldn't play yet, but was going to make a point of learning, he said, hanging up over the fireplace.’ He also had a beautiful little curly second-hand ‘key bugle,’ which was also on the list of things to be accomplished on some future occasion, in fact he has unlimited confidence in the power and influence of music. Here is his advice to the love-stricken Mr. Toots, whom he recommends to learn the guitar, or at least the flute; for women like music when you are paying your addresses to 'em, and he has found the advantage of it himself. The flute was the instrument that Mr. Richard Swiveller took to when he heard that Sophy Wackles was lost to him for ever, thinking that it was a good, sound, dismal occupation, not only in unison with his own sad thoughts, but calculated to awaken a fellow feeling in the bosoms of his neighbours. So he got out his flute, arranged the light and a small oblong music-book to the best advantage, and began to play ‘most mournfully.’ The air was ‘Away with Melancholy,’ a composition which, when it is played very slowly on the flute, in bed, with the further disadvantage of being performed by a gentleman but imperfectly acquainted with the instrument, who repeats one note a great many times before he can find the next, has not a lively effect. So Mr. Swivell...