IT PROMISES to be the most neglected centenary this year. Well, not a centenary actually, but the quarter millennium must count for something.
The reference books show that Francesco Geminiani died on September 17th, 1762 and was buried in St Andrew’s Church, Suffolk Street in Dublin. Different reference books show that the said church was burnt down in 1860, and rebuilt under the influence of John Ruskin. This explains why not only the church, but also the pub opposite is decked out in Gothic style. The original church had a classical portico and steeple, and there are contemporary engravings to give a fair idea of what it looked like. It was known as the Round Church because of its circular layout More to the point is that any memorial tablet to Geminiani was lost in the fire, and not replaced, a fate which also befell Jonathan Swift’s beloved Vanessa, who was buried in the same church in 1723.
The site was where the Thingmote of the Vikings formerly was, but it was levelled, initially for a bowling green, and the soil used to build up Nassau Street, formerly St Patrick’s Lane. This explains why the level of the street is so much higher that the college grounds. The lane also featured St Patrick’s Well: in the 19th century this was the supply for the Cantrell Cochrane mineral water business.
But back to Mr Geminiani. He was born in Lucca in Tuscany around 1680. I think recent research has found a baptismal record. He had a superb musical pedigree, having been educated by Carl’Ambrogio Lonati in Milan, Arcangelo Corelli in Rome and Alessandro Scarlatti in Naples. And that was also the time when Stradivarius and Amati were making all the great instruments in Cremona.
Anyhow, by 1710 Francesco was directing the orchestra in Naples and in 1714 he moved to London. Within one year there he was the rave of the whole town. He had sell-out concerts as a violin soloist, his works were translated – and pirated – and he was sought as a teacher. In 1715 there was a concert at court before King George I. Geminiani thought of his fellow student from Saxony – there wasn’t much talk of Germany until much later – and that’s how GF Handel came to London.
Apart from travel difficulties, there was the little matter of mending fences. Handel had done a runner on the elector who had become king, and it’s an indication of how much clout our Francesco had amassed that Handel was at once accepted and pardoned.
Francesco seems to have been an arbiter of good taste. Good taste in playing the violin, in accompanying on the harpsichord and obeying those little figures below the bass line. It was good taste that got him into trouble, since he became a fine art collector without considering the little detail of how to pay for it. This almost brought him into contact with the law, but he managed to smooth out these little difficulties.
There are obviously a few difficulties. What did he look like? There are some images online, but beware; 18th century portraits often used a pre-fab wig and clothes, and just filled in a face, often at an impossible angle.
Then, where was he when Handel premiered Messiah in Neale’s Musick Hall in Fishshamble Street in 1742? I haven’t heard any reference to him being in town, but even those true Celts who love a good row have no cause to read anything into this.
There’s also the story that it was Geminiani who heard O’Carolan extemporise Carolan’s Concerto, at a house in Baggot Street. So tis said.
Now the first question is: was any part of Baggot Street even built before 1738 when O’Carolan died? And does not the story reek of being a pub rumour, even if it never saw the inside of a tavern, and being oft repeated and seldom verified. And isn’t the whole purpose of it to say, Our lad is just as good as the forriners, sure didn’t yer man say so? Not that I’m an expert myself (a passing nod to The Brother). I think we can blame Oliver Goldsmith for this one. What did the music sound like? Just look on YouTube, and it’s there, or at least a respectable selection. It’s very much of its time, but some concerti are unusual in having two viola lines, a boon to that oft-traduced tribe of string players.
Was he ever married? There is no record, but no reason to think he was lonely either.
There’s a huge amount of the music available free on the IMSLP website, and it should get an airing this year, even if it might need re-setting. I also have the D major sonata for Flute or oboe as edited by Mr T Wind, general editor Rien de Reede. Seriously.
And we remember the man who died, ostensibly for grief and distress at the loss of a valuable manuscript. They blamed a careless servant. (Blame the working man, not high blood pressure.)
For a cultural treasure who is buried in what’s now the Central Tourist Office, he deserves more than the effortless neglect he’s getting. And the easiest explanation is: in the 1700s there were two bestselling books on how to play violin. One was by Leopold Mozart, who had a famous son. The other was by Geminiani. Fair play.