Hello friends,
in the preface by Tim Crawford to the Chanterelle
edition of Rudoph Straube's Due Sonate a Liuto Solo
1746, we had a shortened version (there was not enough
room for the complete text, I presume) of the
following story (to be found in Google Books).
For your amusement:
There, too, is a portrait of that most delightful and
most English of landscape-painters that somewhat
wayward, and occasionally gross, but ever humorous,
witty, and delightful member of society that
enthusiastic artist and half mad musician
Gainsborough.
He appears to have painted portraits for the same
reason that everybody else does money; landscapes
because he loved them; but he was a musician because
he could not help it.
Musicians and their instruments, of every kind and in
every degree, he worshiped them all.
His friend Jackson says,
" He happened on a time to see a theorbo in a picture
of Vandyke's; and concluded, because perhaps it was
finely painted, that the theorbo must be a fine
instrument. He recollected to have heard of a German
professor; and, ascending to his garret, found him
dining on roasted apples, and smoking his pipe, with
his theorbo beside him.
'I am come to buy your lute: name your price, and
here's your money.' 'I can not sell my lute.' 'No, not
for a guinea or two; but you must sell it, I tell
you.'
'My lute is worth much money: it is worth ten
guineas.' ' Ay! that it is see, here's the money.'
So saying, he took up the instrument, laid down the
price, went half-way down the stairs, and returned.
'I have done but half my errand. 'What is your lute
worth if I have not your book?' 'What book, Master
Gainsborough ?' 'Why, the book of airs you have
composed for the lute.' 'Ah. Sir, I can never part
with my book!' 'l'oh! you can make another at any
time: this is the book I mean: there's ten guineas
for it so, once more, good day.'
He went down a few steps, and returned again. 'What
use is your book to me if I don't understand it? And
your lute: you may take it again if you won't teach me
to play on it. Come home with me, and give me the
first lesson.' 'I will come tomorrow.' 'You must come
now,' 'I must dress myself.' 'For what? You are the
best figure I have seen today.' 'I must shave, sir.'
'I honour your beard!' 'I must, however, put on my
wig.' 'D-n your wig! Your cap and beard become you.
Do you think, if Vandyke was to paint you, he'd let
you be shaved?" And so the poor German professor was
hurried off.
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