The Romantic Violin, part 2

 

                                        If music be the food of love, play on;
                                        Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
                                                The appetite may sicken, and so die.
                                                That strain again! it had a dying fall:
                                                        O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
                                                        That breathes upon a bank of violets,
                                                                Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
                                                                'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

Duke Orsino's words say it best. Music has special powers, especially when it comes to romance. All artists, of course, understand this and for ages have used musical instruments to convey the emotions of love and romance even though a painting makes no sound. 

We can certainly see that power depicted in this colorful postcard image of a young man playing his fiddle for a barefoot maiden. They are outside in a forest at night. The girl seems  enthralled by the melody. The boy may have different thoughts.

The card was posted from Wien, Austria on 26 July 1916 to Wohlgeboren ("well-born") Frau Leopoldine Cermack who was staying at the Kaiser's Jubiläums-Spital, the first public hospital in Wien, founded in 1907 on the 60th anniversary of the reign of Kaiser Franz Joseph. It is located near the Vienna Woods and when it opened in 1913 it had 19 "pavilions" with a capacity of 991 beds. It is now known as the Hietzing Clinic. 

The artist was Adolf Liebscher (1857 – 1919) a prolific Czech artist who specialized in paintings of historical events, often related to Bohemia–Czech history and people. By coincidence the postcard was sent just four months before the Kaiser's death on November 21, 1916 at age 86. In 1903 Liebscher painted a portrait of Franz Joseph I, Emperor of Austria, King of Hungary where he  is wearing a different outfit from his usual wardrobe of military uniforms. He posed in the robes of the Distinguished Order of the Golden Fleece, a Catholic order of chivalry founded in 1430 in Brugge by Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy. The Kaiser's lineage was historically connected to the Holy Roman Empire.

Emperor Franz Joseph
in the regalia of the Order of the Golden Fleece, 1903
by Adolf Liebscher (1857–1919)
Source: Wikimedia

* * *

Music can be very soporific, of course, which seems to be what happened to this sleepy young maiden who was listening to her sweetheart's violin. This painting follows a similar rustic setup as the previous artist but adds a touch of drama by placing the couple atop a mountain peak with thunderclouds in the distance.  

The postcard has a title captioned in Russian and French, Chagrin oublié ~ Forgotten Sorrow. Maybe it's because they both lost their shoes. It's going to be a long rocky hike down the mountain. The back of the card has a lengthy message in German but has no postmark or date. My guess is that it dates from around 1910-1918. Perhaps it was sent during the war by a German soldier from the eastern front in formerly Russian territory. 

The artist was Louis Gallait (1810 – 1887), a Belgian painter who established a noted reputation for paintings of historical people that respected the styles and colors of traditional folk costumes. Here is a painting of a country fiddler that Gallait made in 1849, a turbulent year for Europe. It is entitled Art and Liberty. 

Art and Liberty (1849)
by Louis Gallait (1810 – 1887)
Source: Wikipedia

* * *

While both paintings and music can tell stories, paintings are much better at narrating a scene. Here a young man is packing his violin into a trunk. It is already full of books and clothes. Is he about to set off on a journey? Perhaps to university? A young woman looks away as if she is about to cry. Is she his sweetheart? His sister? In the background on the right is another woman, someone's mother perhaps. 

On the back of the card is printed the title of the painting: Als ich Abschied nahm. ~ When I said goodbye, or in French: Le Départ ~ The departure.

 The postcard was sent on 20 August 1918 from Schwelm, a town in the state of North Rhine-Westphalia in western Germany near Wuppertal. 

The artist was Carl Zewy (1855 – 1929), an Austrian portrait and landscape painter. Zewy was born in Vienna and studied at the Vienna Academy and then at the Munich Art Academy as well. He was contemporary with two other Viennese artists that I collect Hermann Torggler, (1878-1939) and Fritz Schönpflug (1873–1951). Torggler also trained in Munich and many of his postcard etchings have a similar sentimentality. 

Zewy depicted musical instruments in several of his paintings that I found on the internet. This one has an older man playing violin and younger woman listening with a guitar. It's title is Die Musikstunde ~ The music lesson. Is it a sad story too? 

Die Musikstunde
by Karl Zewy (18
Source: MutualArt

* * *

One of the endearing qualities of music is how it is shared when musicians play together. In this picture a young couple are not yet making music, having either just finished or getting ready to play. The woman is seated at a piano and the man stands with a violin. A window casts a dreamy light on the scene. 

This card was entitled Souvenirs. It was sent from Nurnberg, Germany over military freepost on 23 March 1918.  The artist's name was W. V. Bioney, but I've been unable to find any information about him or her except other examples of this same postcard. It is likely a commercial artist working for a publisher to produce postcards that would appeal to lonely soldiers stationed far from home.

* * *

My last postcard shows a man seated with his back to the viewer as he plays a violin in front of a large portrait of a woman. A young girl sits on the floor next to him. A title is printed in English along the bottom edge: "ABSENT BUT NOT FORGOTTEN". It's clearly a sad picture about sorrow, memory, and bereavement. The way the man holds his bow as if in the middle of a musical phrase adds movement to the picture. 

This post was sent on 14 July 1913 from Wien to a man also residing in the city. The lower half is written in a spiky German cursive style, but the upper half is in a kind of weird quick script that looks a bit like shorthand. Perhaps a secret code or possibly a second writer who is has sloppy handwriting. A doctor perhaps? 

The artist of this painting was Clarence Frederick Underwood (1871 – 1929) one of America's leading commercial illustrators of the early 20th century. Born in Jamestown, New York, his family settled in Meadville, Pennsylvania. He received his formal art training in New York City, London, and Paris. On his return to New York, Underwood found work producing art for American publishing firms and marketing companies. His illustrations appeared in many books and magazines such as Harpers, McClure’s, The Saturday Evening Post, LIFE, and The Ladies’ World, as well as countless billboard advertisements. During the war, Underwood contributed many posters for recruiting, war bonds, and other public service advertisements. He is also credited with creating the first Palmolive Girl to sell soap and in 1926 the first female likeness featured in cigarette ads. Underwood also is reported to have coined the advertising phrase. "I'd walk a mile for a Camel (cigarette)." Clarence F. Underwood deserves to be better remembered but so far he does not have a Wikipedia entry. 

However the Crawford County Historical Society in Meadville, Pennsylvania does have an online exhibit which includes a section about the picture on my 1913 Austrian postcard. Underwood's  original title for this painting is "Serenading Grace" and it refers to his first wife, Grace Gilbert Curtis. They met in Paris and married on 9 May 1897. After returning to New York where Clarence established his studio, Grace gave birth to their daughter Valerie Gladys on December 22, 1898. But tragically a month later on January 27, 1899 Grace died. She was just 25 years old. This painting is Underwood's self-portrait, playing his violin in honor of his love for her. There is a poignant heartache in how the artist positioned his daughter with her back to the mother she would never know.

In 1905 Underwood married his second wife, Katherine Ann Spotswood and together they had two children. But on 11 June 1929 Clarence F. Underwood died suddenly in his studio at the age of 58. And to add further sadness to this story, Katherine died less than a year later on April 12, 1930 at age 47. 

I'll finish with another example of Underwood's musical illustrations, but this time with a piano and vocalist instead of a violin. One look at the two performers' expressions and we know that someone is either out of tune or behind, or both. 

The Solo
by Clarence F. Underwood (1871 – 1929)
Source: Invaluable.com

My interest in collecting artwork like these postcards is because I'm fascinated with how paintings of musicians and their musical instruments once had meaning and symbolism far beyond what  similar modern images convey in today's world. These pictures represent an artist's imagination and skill in portraying how music affects a person's emotions. I believe a violin was most often used because it had an easily recognized shape and familiar musical sound. It let people who bought these postcards instantly understand the suggestions of beautiful music, romance, nostalgia, and sadness too. Yet in our century we see far too many images selling junk that our sentiments are dulled and any true appreciation of beauty is very hard to find. 

For more musical art
check out
The Romantic Violin

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where everyone is at the beach
keeping a sharp lookout for sharks.

 

In the Saddle

 This gentle giant was named Bob.
He was the horsepower at the Shaw family farm
where he posed for the camera in August 1922.
The farm was near Pomfret, Maryland
on the western shore of the Chesapeake Bay,
where Bob's main chore was hauling wagons filled with tobacco.

Riding sideways is Blanche Shaw who is age 14,
Leading Bob is her cousin Loretta McGinness
and behind on the sledge
are her two younger sisters Edna and Edith Shaw.
Many years latter I would recognize Blanche's shy smile
as Grandma, my mother's mother.

This was a very patient, painted pony.
It's name was Sally
and it was 1935
as notated by the photographer
on the stirrup.

The little girl with the Shirley Temple curls
 is not yet five years old.

I can see in her smile
that she is excited and thrilled
to meet this new animal friend,
even though her legs are not long enough
for her feet to fit into the stirrups,
much less attempt any barrel racing.
It's a picture of my mom,
Barbara Dobbin. 

According to my dad's notes on the print

which he made from a scan many years latter,
the photo was taken, without her parent's permission,
in Glenwood, Minnesota as a gift 
for her grandfather, William Dobbin
who lived there.
He must have loved this photo
as much as I love it too.

This gallant steed was also very patient
though he was inclined to buck
when given a spur.
His name was Horsey.

The rider is just age two 
and to judge by his expression
he is not thrilled to be in the saddle.

The trainer is helpfully restraining Horsey
from any sudden twist or spring. 
He is my dad, then Lieutenant Russ Brubaker,
who was in the army but not in the cavalry.
The worried jockey is me, my younger self.

Today Horsey sleeps
in a pasture up in our attic.
It's quiet there,
with a few stuffed dogs and raggedy bears
to keep him company.

Every few years

he gets a rubdown
and an inspection of his stall. 
He looks smaller than I remember.

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where donkey's years are very, very long.

Climb Every Mountain

 

Climb ev'ry mountain

Search high and low

Follow ev'ry by-way

Every path you know

* * *

Climb ev'ry mountain

Ford ev'ry stream

Follow ev'ry rainbow

'Til you find your dream

* * *

A dream that will need

All the love you can give

Every day of your life

For as long as you live

* * *

Climb ev'ry mountain

Ford ev'ry stream

Follow ev'ry rainbow

'Til you find your dream

* * *

A dream that will need

All the love you can give

Ev'ry day of your life

For as long as you live

Climb ev'ry mountain

Ford ev'ry stream

Follow ev'ry rainbow

'Til you find your dream

"Climb Ev'ry Mountain", 1959
Lyricist: Oscar Hammerstein II

Composer: Richard Rodgers

These postcard images of enthusiastic mountain hikers are
the work of Viennese artist Fritz Schönpflug (1873–1951) 
whose work I began collecting a few years ago.
The cards were produced in 1910 as a six piece set marked B.K.W.I. 727.
I'm still missing number 4 , but when I find it, I'll add it below. 

As I was preparing this story 
a song title came to mind
which inspired me to use the lyrics
as links  between Schönpflug's comical pictures.

"Climb Ev'ry Mountain",
is a famous show tune that was featured
in the 1959 musical and 1965 film,

The Sound of Music.
The lyricist was Oscar Hammerstein II
and it was set to music by Richard Rodgers.

In the musical the song is sung
at the close of the first act by the Mother Abbess.
In the original 1959 Broadway production
the role was played by Patricia Neway (1919 – 2012)
an American operatic soprano and musical theatre actress.
Here she is singing on the Ed Sullivan Show, December 20, 1959.
Good ears will recognize that the song is in a different key
than in the 1965 film version.

I don't know why Hammerstein
put an apostrophe in the word "ev'ry".

Neway certainly sings it as "evverrrry"
and her voice is so powerful
it could bring down mountains. 

And here is a reprise
from the ending to the 1965 film
THE SOUND OF MUSIC.

 Georg Ludwig Ritter von Trapp (1880 – 1947)
Source: Wikipedia

It's quite possible that Fritz Schönpflug knew the original Captain von Trapp, patriarch of the Trapp Family Singers, Georg Ludwig Ritter von Trapp (1880 – 1947). Georg was an officer in the Austro-Hungarian Navy and during World War I became that navy's most successful submarine commander, sinking 11 Allied merchant ships and two warships. 

His first wife, Agathe Whitehead, died of scarlet fever in 1922, leaving behind seven children. In 1926 one of his daughters was an invalid at home so Trapp engaged Maria Augusta Kutschera, a novice from the nearby Nonnberg Abbey, as a tutor. They fell in love and married in 1927, eventually adding three more children to the previous seven. In 1935 during the Great Depression, Georg lost his inherited wealth in a bank failure. A Catholic priest, Franz Wasner, who had been teaching the children music, encouraged the family to perform concerts around Austria and on radio. 

In 1938 Trapp was offered a commission in the German Navy but turned it down in opposition to Nazi ideology. Recognizing the great danger of staying in Nazi Austria the Trapp family left for Italy, traveling by train, not by foot across the Alps as depicted in the movie. There they arranged a concert tour of the United States. In 1941 after a brief stay in Pennsylvania the family settled in Stowe, Vermont where they purchased a 660-acre farm in 1942 and converted it into the Trapp Family Lodge. Trapp died of lung cancer in 1947 but his wife Maria von Trapp and his Trapp Family troupe continued performing and making recordings until 1957.

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where being on the level is only a suggestion.

The Well-dressed Flutist: Uniform Edition

 

The flute has perhaps the oldest heritage of all musical instruments.
(Okay, drums are older, but let's skip that debate today.)
Originally crafted in prehistoric times from hollow animal bones,
it's a simple instrument whereby a player makes a whistling sound
by blowing air over a hole at one end of a tube.
Over many millennium different cultures around the world
improved the flute by making it out of reeds, bamboo, and wood.
Eventually it became the familiar transverse flute. 

 

By the early modern era, flutes were commonly constructed
of dense African blackwood, also known as Grenadilla, (Dalbergia melanoxylon), 

the same timber used to make oboes and clarinets,
and fitted with several metal keys to cover the tone holes.
.

But in the early 19th century the German inventor and musician
Theobald Böhm (1794 – 1881) devised a new improved flute made entirely of silver.
His first patent for a metal flute with improved keywork was taken out in 1847
and it was first displayed to the public in 1851 at the London Exhibition.
This is the type of flute now played in orchestras and bands.

However Böhm's design was not immediately adopted
and in the mid and late 19th century
many flutists preferred the sound quality of a wooden flute
despite the advantages of a silver flute.

 Some players compromised by playing a flute
that had a wooden body for the keys

and a metal head joint for the embouchure hole.  

 

Other instrument makers used ivory.
This hard white dentine material,
taken primarily from the tusks of elephants,
was the plastic of the 19th century.
It was once used in many common household items
as well as for musical instruments
like the white keys of a piano,
the decorative accents on violin bows, 
and for head joints of flutes and piccolos.

Today I present five well-dressed flutists

who took pride in posing for a camera
in their best concert uniform.

My first well-dressed flutist is a young man holding a blackwood flute and dressed in a dark uniform embellished with a swirling line of contrasting embroidery that matches the curls of his hair. This style of jacket was used by musicians in both professional and amateur bands, but not in military bands. 

The portrait was produced at the studio of Ada Houseknecht, Artist, Batavia, New York. It is a rare example of work by a female photographer. Ada was born in 1868 and married to a photographer, Philon B. Houseknecht. Her obituary in 1949 described her as a "well-known photographer" in Batavia.   

On the back is a signature and date:  Walter Bernard, Geneseo, Sept 15, (18)99. I'm not absolutely certain of the last name as the letters are very spiky, but Bernard seems the most likely spelling. Geneseo is the county seat of Livingston County in the Finger Lakes region of western New York. The town is about 25  miles southeast of Batavia, New York. Unfortunately the man's name is too common to make a positive identification as I found no exact match in the either town. But the date is surely correct. 

* * *

My next flutist holds a silver flute as he stands in a photographer's studio with his instrument case and sheet music on a tall wooden plant stand. His name is Albert and he signed the back of his postcard portrait and wrote the date 28-9-10 or 28 September 1910. It was addressed to a Madame Jeanne Guillaume of Paris. 

His uniform is neat but restrained without ornament. There are music lyre badges on his cap and collar. I believe he is a member of a regimental band but I don't see any unit number badge so he could be a member of a civic band from some French commune.

* * *

My third flutist chose an unusual narrow and tall cabinet mount for his portrait, perhaps to accentuate his height and his flute which he holds vertically on a side table. This flute is a hybrid design with a silver head joint and a blackwood body. His uniform has a jacket embroidered with a kind of trefoil design on the front buttons, sleeves, and epaulets and a broad stripe along the trouser legs. His cap appears to be without a brim and has five initials fixed to it:  W.H.P.D.C.  

The photo came from the studio of Rodgers Photographic Palace, 471 Main Street, Hartford (Connecticut). My estimate is that this portrait of a young man, age twenty-something, was taken in the late 1890s or early 1900s. There is a West Hartford and perhaps the letters stand for West Harford Police Department but I don't know what the C could stand for. I would instead expect the letter B which of course would stand for Band. 

* * *

My fourth uniformed flutist is posed seated and gazing off to his left. The photographer has faded the image edges for a dreamy effect but it actually looks as if the studio is on fire and filling with smoke. In the young man's lap are a piccolo and flute, both in blackwood with ivory head joints. His uniform has large fringed epaulets and a single row of shiny brass buttons. The diagonal belt across his chest is to carry a small satchel for his music. 

I suspect he is a member of a state guard band. In the 19th century United States' regular army was quite small and whenever there was a crisis requiring a large military force it depended on state militias to provide the manpower. These state guard regiments often hired professional  bands to play at the unit's annual training sessions, typically 12 to 14 days each summer. For parades the bandsmen would wear this type of formal uniform. 

This cabinet card was produced at the studio of B. F. Freeman of East Somerville, Massachusetts. The style looks like late 1880s to me or perhaps early 1890s.   

* * *

My final flutist has the best uniform, I think. His short jacket is adorned with full fringe epaulets and three rows of 24 brilliant brass buttons. His military forage cap has a two-color feather plume which must have made a splendid effect when his band was marching. In his right hand he holds a piccolo made of blackwood with an ivory head joint and in his left is a blackwood flute. On the table next to him is a third blackwood flute as well as lyre for his music. It looks like it would be attached to a wrist band worn on his left arm.

His belt buckle has a wreath design with three initials in the center. The first letter is definitely a D but the next two are unclear. Like the previous flutist, I think his elite uniform marks him as bandsman of  a state guard regiment. Unfortunately his cabinet card has no photographers name or other marks so I'm only certain it was taken in America, likely in the 1880s or 1890s.

Let's finish with a rendition
of the famous piccolo solo from John Philip Sousa's
march, "The Stars and Stripes Forever". 
The soloist is Staff Sgt. Kara Santos of the United States Marine Band
performing at the Marine Barracks, Washington, D.C., on May 31, 2013.

Her instrument is made of blackwood 

but appropriately for the 21st century without an ivory head joint.

Sousa claimed he composed his iconic American march
on Christmas Day 1896 on board a steamer returning from England.

I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that ever since then
 this short tune has been memorized and played
by every flutist from every nation around the world.

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where the market has special offers this weekend
on flutes & piccolos fruits and pickles.

The Funny Men: Make Them Laugh!

 

                                    Come all you merry gentlemen,
                                        And smiling pretty lasses,
                                            Attention give unto my song,
                                                And push about the glasses.

                                    I wrote this song this very day,
                                        Your merriment consulting,
                                            And if you do not laugh at what I sing,
                                                I shall think it quite insulting.

                                            (Bob Smith's Clown Song and Joke Book, 1865)

His smile invites you to smile back, to chuckle, to laugh. It's a jolly face of friendly mirth. You don't know what to expect but he's bound to be fun. It's the face of Julius Werner, Humourist crudely printed on a postcard. It was sent from Kiel, Germany, a port city on the northern Baltic coast below Denmark, on 27 December 1899. No doubt the writer composed his short message while enjoying Herr Werner's jokes at a cabaret near the docks. He and his recipient, who also lived in Kiel, likely anticipated celebrating a new year and a new century in a few days as the card was delivered on 30 December. 

In my collection I have only a few early picture postcards, printed before 1900, and most are from Germany or Austria-Hungary, the two nations where this simple medium of communication first became popular. The earliest Austrian picture postcards, mostly lithographs prints, date from the 1870s. The first printing methods for photographs are later and were not widely produced until the late 1890s. 

My particular interest in cards like this is because I want to show examples of how entertainers first began using postcards for promotion of their act. One of the more common types were humorists and comedians who banked on audiences remembering their face from a postcard. The name you might forget, but that hilarious mug you'd never forget.

* * *

Sometimes a smile becomes a welcoming shout. Hallo! Good to see you again! (Even if we've never met.) Join the party, let me sing you a song. That was the appeal in this postcard portrait of J. Kopfmüller, Gesangshumorist ~ Singing humorist, who claimed "Weil i an Spass versteh'! " ~ "Because I understand fun!"

Herr Kopfmüller's postcard was sent from Ulm on 22 June 1902. Ulm is a city on the upper course of the River Danube, at the confluence with the small Blau Stream in the southwestern German state of Baden-Württemberg.

* * *

At other times the smile makes you laugh even before the punchline. You may think you've heard it before but the longer and more improbable the story, the more funnier it gets. That might have been the style of Oscar Freyer, Mitglied von Emil Winter-Tymian's berühmtesten alles humoristen un Quartett-Sänger ~  Member of Emil Winter-Tymian's most famous everything humorist and quartet singer. Many traditional German songs are ballads that tell a tale. I imagine Oscar knew hundreds of them. He performed in a Dresden male vocal group that at various times numbered five to ten men. It was led by Emil Winter-Tymian (1860–1926), a Saxon folk singer, salon-humorist and theater director. In their skits the group sometimes dressed in women's clothing for comic effect.

Oscar's postcard was sent from Dresden on 2 June 1903. 

* * *

However with many comics sometimes their smile dissolves into a grin where you don't know if the joke might actually be on you. That's in the face of Otto Mücke, Gesangskomiker ~ singing comedian. His smug smirk challenges us as to who knows better; the fooler or the fooled. Up to the end of World War One, comical singers were very popular in Germany. I imagine that Otto sang original material and was likely accompanied on piano or guitar, but his twisted sneer suggests he had a barbed style like what we now call an "insult comic".

Otto's postcard was sent from Charlottenburg, Germany, a section of Berlin, on 2 August 1912. 

                                        Life's the biggest joke of all. 

                                Shakespeare said that all the world's a stage; 

                                    And well he knew in that far distant age. 

                                A stage it is, whereon Comedian Fate 

                                    Don't crack his jokes his whims to satiate. 

                                And after all the struggle, talk and fuss, 

                                    The curtain falls—and life has one on us. 

                                        (One Thousand Laughs from Vaudeville, 1908)

As I have often pointed out in my other stories of comics and clowns, humor is the most ephemeral of all arts. The gags, jokes, and songs that these comedians once told are lost forever. The people they lampooned and teased are forgotten. The social and political issues they mocked and satirized have disappeared into the cracks of history. All that is left is a picture of a smiling comical face.

I wanted to include examples of old jokes from their era (in both German and English) but I could not find anything that really fit. Mainly because the great majority of humor from the beginning of the 20th century is stale and unamusing like a forgotten candy bar left behind in the back of a kitchen drawer. Edible? Maybe. But appetizing? No way. And aging it for another few decades won't improve it either.  

My initial interest in collecting postcards of German/Austrian humorists was because they resembled the stout funny men of my generation. In Germany, humor is a serious business, so it's fascinating to see in these old postcards subtle elements of comic schtick that became part of American comic arts. A good clown can be appealing in any language when they reinterpret a gag.   

For more laughs
check out:
The Funny Men, part 1
High Class Jokers
Four Musical Jokers
Two Wise Guys
Pulling a Face
Stupefaction!

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where no one ever checks your fishing license.