Playing second fiddle......until

Playing second fiddle…… until?

I don’t remember much about my early years except for the fact we seemed to be continually travelling. Even today I can hear the clanking sound of train wheels and the feeling of living in rough surroundings or on couches with my family's relatives and friends. When we finally settled in London my father explained to me this period of his and my mother’s life.

“We were Russians living in Vladivostok. I was the first violinist in the city's orchestra. Your mother taught the piano at the city’s university. I was one of the founding members that led a politically motivated march against the government. Things got out of hand, there were clashes with the police resulting in several deaths on both sides. I was advised to leave the country along with the other members of the founding group of dissenters.”

My parents with me in their arms immediately went into hiding. Apparently it took them several days to work out a strategy of escape. The plan was finalized with train travel to our final destination to London where my father’s brother had lived for many years..

It was a long and arduous journey. The train would mean we could travel carrying essential and vital luggage. Changing trains often would help in covering up traces. Another considered advantage was it was always possible to find a hiding place on a train. My father left Vaidivosoke under the disguise of a false identity. My mother traveled to see relatives in western Russia with her child after the death of her husband. She would pose as a widower. My father had arranged to join an orchestra that was giving a concert in Minsk. My mother would cross the frontier as a nurse to an old man that was taking his grandchild to his parents in Minsk. Once in the capital of Belarus my parents had friends who could and agreed to book us a train passage to London.

Four months later after being questioned at various frontiers, sleeping in different hotels, stopping a night or two to admire a certain city as we crisscrossed Europe we arrived to the warm and emotional hugs of my father's brother. He was so unlike my father who was a small man with elegant and purposeful movement; he habitually wore a small goat’s beard. In fact I always saw him as a musician and if I had to pick the instrument it would have been the violin. His brother was quite the opposite, a large jovial man with a smiling face and a loud hearty laugh. I imagined him as being a pirate plowing the seas in a brigantine or galleon. Maybe it was his athletic figure and long hair that gave me that impression. I enjoyed being in his company. He owned a large house in the west of London. As he had always been a bachelor he employed a housekeeper and a cook. At the back of the house was a large shed which housed a well equipped workshop making and repairing musical string instruments. As a teenager I spent many happy hours in this shed working with my father’s brother and his team learning the art of making and repairing string instruments. I soon understood that his business was very well known amongst the musical world. All that was in the future at present we faced the realities of life, where were we going to live and how were my parents going to find employment? His brother took center stage, first you will live on my second floor, next….. tonight I have organized a welcoming party and then tomorrow we will talk about jobs and school for this young man. This large generous spirited man took us all under his wings and within a month my father had a place as a violinist in a major London orchestra. My mother was taken on as a piano and Russian teacher at St Paul’s school where I was sent as a day student.

As the years passed we lived in comfort on the second floor. The house was filled with music. There was so much talk, listening and playing I sometimes thought the house’s walls would collapse under these constant sounds. My father insisted I follow his footsteps in becoming a violin player, hopefully talented. He was now the first violist at the London Symphony Orchestra, a position of prestige. This entailed he was often absent as the Orchestra had many international commitments. Mother had the responsibility in his absence to oversee that I constantly practiced the violin. After St Pauls I was granted a scholarship to The Royal Academy of Music. The violin and the sound of music was ever present in my life and dominated my existence. I left the Royal Academy with a shower of praise from my parents and the school. I was offered a job as a violinist at the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. Two years later I held the position as second violinist. Four years later the position of first violinist became vacant. This has always been my ultimate goal. I was overlooked, the reason given was that I had become too independent minded as a player in the orchestra. I was deeply disappointed, depressed and in a fit of anger…I resigned. All those years of practice seemed to be leading nowhere. I could not accept seeing myself as always being the second violinist. I needed some miracle to happen to put my playing with the top of the world violinists.

In this mood and requiring the time to be alone and to think about my future I planned a week's holiday in Rome. It angered me when I thought of not being considered as too independent for the appointment of first violinist. To be fair there was a modicum of truth as I did like to put my own interpretation on the music being played.

On my second day in Rome I was sitting having my morning coffee on one of their magnificent plazas when I heard somebody of great talent playing the violin. For a few minutes the sound was quite extraordinarily beautiful. It suddenly stopped. The sound was coming from a small side street near the cafe leading into the plaza. I quickly paid for my coffee and went down the street. It was narrow and short. After a few steps on my left I saw a large window on the first floor of a building wide open, Against the wall on the opposite side of the street was a mattress with a violin lying on top of it. I picked up the violin and shouted up to the window.

“Hello, is this violin yours?”

The head of an old man popped out and said.”yes.”

“Did you just play it?”

“Yes , but I became highly frustrated as I could not play a particular passage. So I threw the violin out of the window.”

“An interesting way of relieving frustration. We have something in common. You play remarkably well. I am a violinist.”

“Let’s talk. Come up and bring the violin.”

When I arrived on the first floor he was there waiting for me with an extended hand. “ Welcome brother in music.” As I stepped into the room I was amazed by its layout. The room was split into two, one side for music the other side for painting. On the music side the walls showed a collection of violins waiting to be played. In the floor space there were several musical stands. In the corner I saw a pile of music sheets. The art side was littered with paint and paint brushes. There were many portraits of the same young man painted in different styles. He noticed I was looking with amazement at them.

Yes, he said. “He was my son who died about three years ago from a terrible accident. I can’t get him out of my mind. But we are here to talk about the violin. My name is Giovani Cornaro.

I extended my hand, “Ivan Petrov”.

“Ah! Russian, a country with a deep understanding of music. Well, let me tell you. I spend one week composing music for the violin and the following week trying to paint a portrait that does justice to my son. You might have heard me playing part of the music I composed before I got frustrated. I have written a passage that requires a certain sound that after several tries I can't play it on my violin”.

I look closely at the man who reminded me of my father, who had sadly died three years ago. He was a small wiry framed man with long, strong and elegant hands. He had a kind face, clean shaven with eyes showing a deep understanding of his fellow men. I immediately had the impression he was a man of passion and spirit. I was instantly attracted to him.

“Show me the score of your music and show me the passage that is causing all the problems.”

As I read through the score. I could see it was beautifully written. A seductive piece of music. When I came to the passage that was causing all the trouble I realized it would require exceptional dexterity with the bow and manipulation of figures to produce the sound he had written.

I looked up from the score and asked to see his hands and wrists. Slowly I manipulated them. “ You will never be able to play that passage as you have lost a part of your dexterity in your hand and wrist.I suggest you rewrite that part”.

“Do you think you can play it?”

“Give me a violin and I will try.”

The composition of the piece was superb, it played to all the beauty and versatility of the violin, it was a memorable and seductive concerto. The difficult passage added a note of pathos rarely heard from the violin. When I had finished I looked up to see the old man. He had tears in his eyes..

“My profound thanks for your playing. It rendered the piece more beautiful than I imagined”.

“Have you any other compositions in this style?”

“Yes, a few I only started trying to write concertos for the violin when I retired from making violins about three years ago.”

“Are all these violins hanging on the wall made by you?”

“All, but three were made by my two old friends. Violin makers tend to be a band of brothers.”

“The one I played responded in a manner not often found. You must have been a master craftsman”.

“The brothers always told me I was”.

“May I make a suggestion that I come and visit you tomorrow morning and I play a few more of your concertos. Maybe we could play a few together.”

“That would give me great pleasure. Please come around ten tomorrow. When I left he hugged me.”

That evening and night I thought a lot about the old man and how he was influencing my future thoughts. I would set myself up as an independent violin concert player for hire. To play second fiddle to anybody was yesterday's story. I would buy from the old man the piece I played and three more concertos I found interesting after I had played them tomorrow. These would act as a base for me to write my own concertos. Providing the price was reasonable I would try and buy one of his violins. As darkness came and my mind full of all these thoughts I fell into bed and slept soundly.

At ten twenty the next morning I began playing a few of his violin concertos. They had a fresh and pleasing sound all with a touch of sadness and pathos. I knew these would serve as a base to write my own concertos. We then enjoyed playing a few concertos together. It was a memorable morning. I took him to lunch and broached the subject of last night's thoughts.

“Giovani, I came to Rome to think about and if possible decided on what I want to do in the future. Meeting you and playing your violin and concertos has convinced me to embark on a career as an independent concert violinist. Therefore I would like to buy, if the price is reasonable, the first concerto I played and three of the concertos I played this morning, also I would like to buy a violin.

The old man looked at me with eyes lighted up with happiness and respect. “Ivan, this morning was one of the happiest days of my life. You are an extremely talented violinist. I might add you are making the right decision. Now to business. The first concertos you played is my gift to you for showing me why I was getting so frustrated by a certain passage. I slept last night in a deep sleep that I have not achieved for several months.

For the three concertos and the violin he gave me a price that was more than reasonable.

I flow back home with the sense I was flying to the stars

David Nutt August 2025