DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.22217#0103
THE ROMANCE OF A REAL CREMONA. 91
missing one, I was assured, among dozens. To this gentleman,
therefore, I went, and we arranged that he should take me out
to Mr Turner's as a friend wishing to see the rare collection of
old violins. We then set out for the nearest cab-stand, as the
place was three miles out of town, and on the way I chanced
to say—
" But are you perfectly sure that you would know this fiddle
so as to be able to swear to it ? It would be very awkward for
us all if we made a false accusation."
" I'll know it when I see it," was the confident reply, " and
I'll tell you why. I have a strong suspicion that I've seen the
fiddle before—ay, and played on it, too. If it's not the £%o
Cremona that my old chum, M--, of the Theatre Royal,
lost about ten years ago, it must be its twin brother."
" Lost ? How could a fiddle be lost ?" I faintly returned, as
with a sinking heart I anticipated fresh complications.
" Well, or stolen—it was never rightly known how it
happened," promptly returned my companion. I was there
at the time myself, and I'll tell you all about it as we go out."
I groaned, and resigned myself to listen.
We got to the cab-stand, and were soon rattling out from
Edinburgh, and when out on the smooth country road my new
assistant very eagerly threw off the following information :—
"We were playing at a ball out by Penicuicb—six or seven
of us altogether—and as it was a jolly affair at a gentleman's
seat, we were driven out and in in an open trap. My chum,
M--, of the Theatre Royal,—he's dead now, as you know,—
was leader, and had his best fiddle with him—a splendid
Stradivarius Cremona, which cost him ^50. I had a great
liking for the instrument, and used often to try it, and have
got the loan of it often when I had a solo to play. We were
through with our business about three in the morning, and I
remember perfectly that it was a clear, cold night, with plenty
of moonlight. We had had some refreshments during the
night, but every one of us knew perfectly well what he was
about. M--was the last to step into the vehicle that was
to bring us in, and he came out with his fiddle and case in his
hand, and said, ' Mind yer feet or I pit in my fiddle—better
that you sud be crampit for room than that my fiddle sud come
to ony herm.' We made room—the fiddle case was shoved in
on the floor of the vehicle among others there lying, the door
at the back was shut, and we drove off, singing, laughing, and
loking, and as jovial and happy as kings. There was a toll-
missing one, I was assured, among dozens. To this gentleman,
therefore, I went, and we arranged that he should take me out
to Mr Turner's as a friend wishing to see the rare collection of
old violins. We then set out for the nearest cab-stand, as the
place was three miles out of town, and on the way I chanced
to say—
" But are you perfectly sure that you would know this fiddle
so as to be able to swear to it ? It would be very awkward for
us all if we made a false accusation."
" I'll know it when I see it," was the confident reply, " and
I'll tell you why. I have a strong suspicion that I've seen the
fiddle before—ay, and played on it, too. If it's not the £%o
Cremona that my old chum, M--, of the Theatre Royal,
lost about ten years ago, it must be its twin brother."
" Lost ? How could a fiddle be lost ?" I faintly returned, as
with a sinking heart I anticipated fresh complications.
" Well, or stolen—it was never rightly known how it
happened," promptly returned my companion. I was there
at the time myself, and I'll tell you all about it as we go out."
I groaned, and resigned myself to listen.
We got to the cab-stand, and were soon rattling out from
Edinburgh, and when out on the smooth country road my new
assistant very eagerly threw off the following information :—
"We were playing at a ball out by Penicuicb—six or seven
of us altogether—and as it was a jolly affair at a gentleman's
seat, we were driven out and in in an open trap. My chum,
M--, of the Theatre Royal,—he's dead now, as you know,—
was leader, and had his best fiddle with him—a splendid
Stradivarius Cremona, which cost him ^50. I had a great
liking for the instrument, and used often to try it, and have
got the loan of it often when I had a solo to play. We were
through with our business about three in the morning, and I
remember perfectly that it was a clear, cold night, with plenty
of moonlight. We had had some refreshments during the
night, but every one of us knew perfectly well what he was
about. M--was the last to step into the vehicle that was
to bring us in, and he came out with his fiddle and case in his
hand, and said, ' Mind yer feet or I pit in my fiddle—better
that you sud be crampit for room than that my fiddle sud come
to ony herm.' We made room—the fiddle case was shoved in
on the floor of the vehicle among others there lying, the door
at the back was shut, and we drove off, singing, laughing, and
loking, and as jovial and happy as kings. There was a toll-