1833-1837 – Changing hands again!

Samuel Wesley told the truth about my being stolen to his close friend Vincent Novello.  Perhaps it was at a Freemason’s Lodge Meeting, where all manner of secrets are shared.  To cut a long story short – or to bring this over-long Norfolk ‘symphony’ to its coda – Sir George Smart had ‘cut a deal’ with John Ella – an influential entrepreneur and a well-known personality in the London music ‘scene’ – and Vincent Novello agreed to retrieve me, and snatch me away from Isaac Richardson.  Novello carried out this ‘restoration’ while visiting his grandmother’s family in nearby Cromer.

(John Ella)

I was beginning to feel like one of those itinerant Wesleyan preachers – constantly on the move, never staying in one place for long – for now I was on my way to be reunited with ‘Smart Arse’ Sir George and his musical associates in London. Isaac was deeply distressed by this forced separation, and for some time he was nothing other than ‘grief-stricken’, as if part of his body had been removed from him. Mind you, he had fathered two daughters during my time with him. (I will recount more of this later when I describe how I came back to Norfolk and to the Richardson family).

All this grabbing, snatching and changing of hands makes me wonder if there’s a theological metaphor here.  Could God be understood, less as a mechanical creator, and more as one constantly seeking to catch or grab attention, sending and sounding out invitations to share in something beautiful and good?

Many hands made Heady Days!

 It was agreed by Sir George (my ‘rightful’ owner) that I should be under John Ella’s care in Regent Street, not far from my birthplace in Princes Street, and be available to be played by visiting violinists who were engaged by the Philharmonic Society.  These were ‘heady’ days! For a period of four years I was played by Giovanni Viotti, Muzio Clementi, Paulo Spagnoletti, Henri Vieuxtemps, Joseph Joachim, and even the legendary Ludwig Spohr!

The way I was handled by these prominent personalities varied considerably. Almost without exception I felt as though I was being ‘used’.  I sensed that my owner was recommending me to these famous artists simply because I could enhance their entertainment value, and give added pleasure to the ‘respectable’ people attending the London musical scene!  Once more, ‘entertainment’, more than the expression and the search for sounds of truth and meaning, was the real purpose and use for music!

Again, how tempting it is to make use of God, and use God, when we have need of comfort or reassurance!

Should it have troubled me that this ‘superficial’ display of musical fireworks and amazing skill was making me ask the question: What was music ‘for’ in the hearts and minds of those who crammed into the fashionable music venues of London?

I know I was sensitive to the way I was handled by this array of famous and colourful musicians, but being ‘held’ does affect the sound I produce!  As an example, Louis (Ludwig) Spohr frequently played me during these years, leading the Philharmonic Society’s orchestra.  His use of my bow especially bothered me, mainly because he tended to use it as though it were a ‘baton’ with which to beat time, consequently leaving my body to produce disjointed and erratic sounds, which were wholly unsatisfactory and meaningless. I became an appendage to a celebrity.

And then there was Paulo Spagnoletti!  I was offered to him on one occasion, just prior to his death in 1835 when he used me to play all manner of party tricks, just like those ‘pop stars’ Niccolo Paganini and Ole Bull. I felt as though I had been ‘prostituted’ and again it reminded me how easy it is to make God into a spectacular miracle worker.

Disappointment

There was one major disappointment for me in all this public ‘fiddling’ display. I was never offered to George Bridgetower, with whom I would have loved to make music.  His playing was sensational, but not in any superficial showy way like Spagnoletti or Paganini, and we know he was one of Beethoven’s favourites.  He was a frequent player at Philharmonic Society concerts, but never once was I offered to him to be played.  I have often wondered about this, and asked myself why he was ‘airbrushed’ out of my orbit.  Could it possibly be that he was described as a ‘mulatto’?  Surely not.  This racial concern will come to the fore when we meet up with Samuel Coleridge Taylor in the early 20th century.  

(George Bridgetower)