postpone the moment of performing in public. He has, he says, a marvellous voice, but he can sing only Italian words; and the Collegium has only German scores. His powers as a violinist are unique, but a jealous rival, attempting to assassinate him, has crippled his hand by the stab of a dagger; and he must wait some months before he can use it. He agrees, however, to accompany a concerto on the harpsichord, having remarked that the score was of the simplest. But in order to do him honour he is given a difficult piece. Immediately he begins to criticise the harpsichord; it is to the incomparable art of composition that he has applied all his genius. If he amuses himself on occasion by strumming on the clavier it is only because he is obliged to accompany himself when he sings one of his compositions. But this is one of his minor pastimes. Besides, Italian music for the clavier is simple and has none of those fantastic complications in which German taste delights. After all this ado he sits at the harpsichord, plays a few insipidly correct chords as a prelude, and on the pretext that he has a cold he sets out a couple of snuff-boxes, one on either hand. "When he saw difficult passages for the right hand ahead of of him he quietly took snuff from the right-hand snuff-box. When the rapid passages were in the bass he took snuff from the left-hand box; In this way the difficulties were always evaded!"[1]
Kuhnau has given us a very good description of the Saxon character, its admixture of candour and shrewdness, its heavy, bantering geniality. These worthy folk who go to hear Caraffa with a touching and absurd desire to respect and admire him are too good musicians not to be aware of the harpsichord-
- ↑ Op. cit., Ch. ii.
