The 'Scuola di Nazioni': A Short Story by Stephen Gamble

A Musical Memoir, by The Reverend Charles Montgomery – Cliffe.

22nd August 1770, Watmanthorpe Rectory.

On hearing in March of the death of my former Music Master, the peerless Violinist, Composer, and Professor of Music, Giuseppe Tartini, the celebrated 'Maestro of the Nations', I felt compelled by Providence to write down my memories of that great man. I purpose both to give an account of how I came to study with Tartini in Padua, and likewise to recount a singular occurrence from his early life, the particulars whereof he disclosed to me one memorable evening as we walked along the arcaded galleries of the Palazzo della Ragione.

My ardour for the violin was inflamed by the beautiful sonatas of Archangelo Corelli; the Italians have raised the art of the violin in dignity, sensibility, and form, far higher than any other civilised nation, and thus I longed to visit Italy to hear the best virtuosi of the day, and to learn from their technique.

From my birth my father destined me for the Church. With my faithful tutor I had studied the Classics, Latin, Greek, French, Music and Dancing. Being from a family of both means and rank I prevailed upon my father that it would only be proper and fitting for me to undertake a Grand Tour of the renowned monuments of Classical Antiquity, and to view the sublime prospects of Europe, before going on to further my education at the University of Cambridge.

It was my cherished hope to make music the chief object of my travels, I was delighted at the prospect of hearing the finest musicians in Paris, Venice, Rome, and Naples. Whilst at that time it was my intention to visit Padua, it was not then my intention to study at the 'Scuola di Nazioni', yet as my travels progressed the illustrious renown of that Academy was impressed upon me by professionisti e dilettanti musicians alike, and thus a determined resolve formed in my mind to study in Padua with Maestro Tartini.

My first interview with Tartini was not successful. The day prior, I had left my Visiting Card with the Porter, and later that evening received word that Tartini would receive me the following day. I was delighted, and approached the 'Scuola di Nazioni' full of fervent anticipation of longing fulfilled. The Maestro received me with noble politeness and respect, but when he learned I was no professional musician, nor ever intended to be, he said he would not accept me as a student. I submitted that he must surely understand it was unbecoming for an English Gentleman to earn a living, especially as a theatrical performer, and that he could be assured I would make good use of my Art for the furtherment of good taste, and for the betterment of civilised manners. Notwithstanding, he remained most adamant in his position, declaring that the number of places at the Scuola di Nazioni were few, and it was his design to fashion violinists of public distinction, not amateurs who would hide their talents and training in an English country house. He wished me well, thanked me for the compliment of having visited, hoped the 'Rex Inglese' was in good health, and then bade me a summary 'addio!'

Thus it was impressed upon me that Professore Tartini was guided only by the highest moral aspirations and the purest artistic intentions, yet how was I to bear my disappointment? I tarried in the cool of the vestibule, looking out across the courtyard, ruing the at times irksome obligations placed upon men of rank, when fate intervened in my favour.

A young woman appeared at the door, framed by the bright Italian sunshine falling into the cool shade of the vestibule. She walked past me, but must have taken note of my melancholy demeanour for she turned and addressed me in Italian, and demanded to know why I was so sorrowful? I explained, in Italian, that I had dearly hoped to study at the Scuola di Nazioni, but that Tartini had refused my application because I was a 'dilettanti.' To my surprise she replied in English, “Ah! You are a Milord!”

I asked the Signorina not to address me as 'My Lord,' for, as the Third Son of our Noble Family, I was destined for the Church, and until such time, by God's grace, as I could add the appellation 'Reverend' to my name, I had determined in ordinary discourse to be known only as Mr Montgomery – Cliffe. I then enquired the identity of this young woman who had so boldly addressed a gentleman to whom she had not been presented, and further sought to know how she had become acquainted with my native language? Thereafter our converse proceeded in both Italian and English.

"I was apprised, in halting English, that I had the honour to be conversing with Maddalena Laura Lombardini, Pupil of Tartini, and Violin Virtuosa of the First Rank. Signorina Lombardini explained she had learned the rudiments of the English language from Gentlemen travelling on the Grand Tour, and that she expected someday to perform at the King's Theatre in London.

I had heard tell Tartini numbered a female amongst his Violin students, and that far from being a mere novelty, her playing was of surpassing excellence, but I had doubted the veracity of these reports. Now she stood before me, a slip of a girl who carried herself with all the pride and swagger of a toreador.

As I pen these words in the Year of Our Lord 1770, in the study of Watmanthorpe Rectory, Signora Lombardini Sirmen di Ravenna, now a married woman, is performing at the King's Theatre in London, as she foretold, to rapturous acclaim. I plan to attend one of her concerts in the coming days, and with good fortune to renew our acquaintance.

Signorina Lombardini must surely possess a tender heart for she took pity on me, and she must also posses a cunning wit for she devised to more advantageously bring my case before Tartini. That evening she was to perform at the Scuola; she inquired if I could play Corelli's Trio Sonata Opus Quattro, Numero Dodici, and upon hearing that I had played that beautiful Sonata frequently, she instructed that in the concert I was to wait at the rear of the hall until she announced the Sonata was to be performed, thereupon I was to advance through the assembly and ascend to the stage, then she would announce that I would play the Second Violin Part. My violin would speak for me, and would demonstrate if I was indeed worthy to study alongside Europe's finest Virtuosi at the Scuola di Nazioni.

I ventured several inquiries. Would there be time for a rehearsal? Would it not be better if I played the First Violin Part? Who usually played Second Violin with her, and would he take umbrage at yielding his place? Was there any prospect this devise might work? Would such a scheme perchance enrage the Maestro?

Signorina Lombardini's answers were forthright.

No time could be spared for rehearsal, I was to follow her lead and execute the bowings and ornamentation as notated in the score.

A professional musician ought not yield the principal part to an dilettante.

Ludovico Sirmen usually played Secondo, and being infatuated with the Signorina he would do what he was told. The claveciniste hardly ever looked up from his harpsichord, so may not even notice, and so long as his fee was secured, he would contentedly provide the accompaniment should even an elephant and a giraffe step up to perform.

The ploy may or may not work, yet it stands a fairer chance of success than lingering disconsolate in the vestibule

Yes, this devise would likely enrage Tartini, but he was at heart a man of kindly disposition.

Signorina Lombardini's answers to my questions did not fill my Soul with confidence, and I said as much, to which she asked if English women gave birth to men, or to mice?

I perceived that the Honour of my Nation, my Family, and my Good Name, all hung in the balance, so I girded up my loins, and determined to face the challenge with the unwavering resolve befitting a well bred-Englishman.

When my moment came, I do not think I was found wanting. I mounted the stage, taking up my violin as a hero might carry his sword into battle. Signorina Lombardini's playing in the Concert had been exquisite and astonishing, stirring me to emulate to her brilliance. In the fiery intensity of the moment music poured from our Violins. In truth, I do not know if I made any mistakes, but several times the Signorina’s dark eyes met mine with stern encouragement, and after the Giga finale came whirling to a dancing close the assembly’s applause rang out, with cheers of “Bravo, Inglese,” and “Brava, Signorina!”

I confess, I was most gratified and heartened by these acclamations, but then Professore Tartini approached the stage, he turned and raised his hands to command silence. The auditorium became still under his gaze. He then turned to Signorina Lombardini and demanded, “what is the meaning of this?” For once her bravura seemed to falter, she cast down her eyes and blushed like a maidservant,

“If it please you, Sir,” she said, “it was the Englishman's trial.”

Tartini folded his arms across his breast, looked at me and said, “So you presume to put the same question to me once more? A second trial? An appeal to a higher tribunal?”

He paused, then delivered his pronouncement, “your violin playing has certainly not won you a place...but your audacity may have. Come aside with me, let us confer.”

In the course of our conversation I was able to assure Tartini that, were I so fortunate as to be admitted to his tutelage, when I returned to England I would by no means neglect my training and talents. I intended to organise musical entertainments, and to promote the arts of harmony for the pleasure and refinement of those devoted to the craft of Saint Cecilia, availing myself of every opportunity to perform in private gatherings. He quietly considered my words, but when he learned I was destined for Holy Orders, he finally relented, saying with gentle wit, “We receive no clavecinistes into our number, yet we shall welcome a Calvinist.”

It might perchance have proven simpler for these Remembrances had Tartini declared his assent to my suit for admission in plainer terms, and a witticism explained is a witticism enfeebled, however, I apprehend that his intent may not be wholly clear to all my readers. I count myself neither a claveciniste nor a disciple of Calvin’s doctrine, though I do play the harpsichord, and I do hold in esteem those writings of Calvin touching Divine Providence. Tartini supposed that, being no Papist, I must needs be a follower of Calvin’s doctrine, and that, as a violinist, I could not be a claveciniste. Yet it was not the moment for nice distinctions, and I embraced Tartini’s offer with heartfelt delight.

Thus commenced the most happy season of my youth, the Scuola di Nazioni was truly a School of the Nations, my fellow students were Saxons, Prussians, Dutchmen, Frenchmen, alongside many Italians. We proved to be a true band of brothers. With great diligence I applied myself to study, especially Tartini's 'The Art of the Bow', and his 'Treaty of Embellishments.' I often took part in the consort of his orchestra, and when we students were not practicing or performing, we gathered to play music, or discuss music, or write music, or tell of which pretty Italian maid we had fallen in love with that day. It was my high honour and singular privilege, by God’s good grace, to converse and study with many now famed violinists, among them Pietro Nardini, Domenico Dall'Oglio, Johann Gottlieb Graun, and foremost amongst them all, my fiery angel Maddalena Laura Lombardini.

I now redirect my pen to recount that aforementioned singular occurrence from Tartini's youth, the particulars whereof he disclosed to me one evening as we walked along the arcaded galleries of the Palazzo della Ragione. The particulars of this history are so delicate, and have been so sore misreported, that I am bound in duty to publicly set the matter aright.

Giuseppe Tartini's father, Giovanni Antonio Tartini, like my own father, intended his son to be a Priest, I do wonder if that is what moved Tartini to heed my suit to study under him. Yet, Tartini's talents led him elsewhere, it is said that in his youth he laboured to perfect his skill at fencing, an art wherein he became most proficient, while clad in the garb of a Priest. His natural dexterity with the rapier also enabled his handling of the violin bow, and this God given talent was sharpened by the musical instruction he received whilst studying for the Priesthood. It seems Providence was already guiding his path from the Church toward the art of the violin, when a greater passion did seize him: he fell in love.

After his father's death in 1710, when Tartini was but18, he secretly wed a woman two years his elder, Elizabetta Premazore, whom his late father had disapproved of owing to her poverty and because she had the misfortune of not knowing her own father. The lovely Elizabetta, hailing from a desperate poor neighbourhood, had been delivered from utter penury by the Bishop of Padua, who took her into his household, professing intent to make her a nun. The Bishop then reacted with intemperate fury to tidings of the wedding and fiercely pursued Tartini with a charge of abduction. Tartini was forced him to flee the city in the guise of a pilgrim, and to abandon Elizabetta to the custody of the Bishop.

Tartini found sanctuary in the monastery of St. Francis in Assisi, where he gained employment in the orchestra. As Tartini and I walked the galleries of the Palazzo della Ragione he recounted to me the deep disquiet of his soul at that time: he had disregarded the express wishes of his departed father, he had betrayed the confidence of the Bishop of Padua, and ruined his prospect of taking Holy Orders — and all for naught, having lost his beloved Elizabetta. Tartini confided to me that the least of these grievous regrets was his betrayal of the Bishop of Padua, who, though a churchman of lofty rank and repute, was in truth no holy man. His only solace was his violin and his faith in the mercy of God, to whom he turned in penitential tears.

Then befell a Wondrous and Providential event: after two long and lonesome years in Assisi, Tartini was espied by two noblemen of Padua. The church orchestra was concealed by curtains so the congregation might fix on divine worship rather than the players' art, but then the great West door was cast open and a sudden gust of wind did fleetingly draw the curtains asunder, revealing Tartini to the Nobles' sight. By God’s grace, these lords sought not his punishment but rather his fellowship, to advise him for his own welfare. Tartini's earnestness and musical accomplishments were made known to the authorities of Padua, and thus was wrought a blessed accord with the Bishop, and he was restored to the loving embrace of his Elizabetta.

Tartini rose to be the foremost violin virtuoso in all Europe, yet after many resplendent and renowned triumphs he turned away from the stage, and established his School of the Violin, dwelling thereafter as an erudite scholar and professor of music. I cannot but reflect upon the oft-unfathomable hand of Providence: was it God's design that Tartini should fall in love with Elizabetta thereby to be cast into exile and turned from the path to the Priesthood, that he might find his true calling upon the stages of Europe? Did Tartini unwittingly tread the path God laid for him, or did the Almighty recall Tartini back to that path once Tartini had strayed? O divine mystery! Did God send Maddalena Laura Lombardini as an angel to me in the vestibule of the Scuola di Nazioni to set me on my path study with Tartini?

This I know: I am most sensible of God’s glory when at my sacred duties in Church or when playing my violin in the company of others. I kept my promise to Tartini, I have, as far as my holy duties permit, organised musical entertainments, and promoted the arts of harmony, availing myself at every opportunity to perform when in private gatherings. Some whisper that a clergyman ought not to meddle with the trifles of music, but I say music is no mere ornament. Doth it not speak where words fail, voicing passions and divine truths beyond our feeble tongues? For if we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself make intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered, may not those groanings be given voice in music?

ed Bill Brookman