The violinist’s last note hung in the air, and for a few moments there was silence. The audience at Wynn’s Hotel in Falmouth were absorbing what they had just heard. A few began, hesitantly, to applaud. The rest continued to sit, as if under a spell. Then they erupted, rose to their feet, cheering and shouting their appreciation.
The concert had begun as billed, at 7pm on Thursday 19 August 1802. Of the six items on the programme, the centrepiece was the first performance of the violin concerto played by its celebrated young composer Joseph Emidy. Tickets for the event had sold out.
One concertgoer said that Emidy’s playing achieved ‘a degree of perfection never before heard in Cornwall’. Musically literate, those present would have been familiar with pieces by Mozart and Haydn performed at concerts of regional or national orchestras, and may have heard the First Symphony by a major new talent: Ludwig van Beethoven. Many believed this local man was comparable to those Viennese masters.
‘Where this great talent came from was a mystery’
William Tuck, a former pupil, recalled he had heard ‘most of the stars who have appeared on the London stage’, but none of them, he believed, equalled Emidy. Tuck added, ‘Where this great talent came from was always a mystery to me, and to all who came in contact with him.’ Why such a mystery? Why such astonishment at Emidy’s extraordinary ability?
Since a youngster, Joseph Antonio Emidy had played the violin. His patron had given him encouragement, lessons and a high-quality instrument. Nothing unusual in that.
Emidy’s tombstone, in a churchyard just outside Truro, provides some clues. Its inscription, weathered and partially concealed by lichen, states the deceased was a migrant, ‘a native of Portugal’, a country he left ‘about forty years since’ to live in Cornwall. These words do not tell the whole story. And according to James Silk Buckingham, another of Emidy’s students and later friend, it was a story ‘too remarkable to be passed over in silence’.
So, where was Joseph Emidy from?
Although Emidy’s early life was spent in Portugal, he was born in West Africa, then brought to Europe as a slave. Only through the memoirs of Buckingham and Tuck, a few brief newspaper accounts, naval records and a painting do we learn anything about this virtuosic violinist. All his music has been lost.
In his autobiography, Buckingham recounts how he met Emidy. Realising the study of music was ‘a most agreeable recommendation in female society’, the 18-year-old Buckingham took flute lessons. In Falmouth where he lived, the one available teacher, ‘who taught equally well the piano, violin, violoncello, clarionet, and flute… was an African negro, named Emidee… an exquisite violinist, a good composer, who led at all the concerts of the county’.
‘His talent soar’d and genius marked his flight’
Where did this musical versatility originate? Emidy’s love of music probably began before he was stolen from his homeland. Perhaps he played the N’goni, a rhythm harp, or the 21-string kora, or the xylophone-like balafon. Wherever it came from, as Emidy’s tombstone asserts, ‘His talent soar’d and genius marked his flight.’
During their daily lesson, Emidy told Buckingham his history, and it’s apparent his ‘genius’ extended beyond music. He was also an accomplished linguist. In what was now his third language, he confided how ‘he was born in Guinea… sold into slavery to some Portuguese traders, taken by them to the Brazils when quite a boy, and ultimately came to Lisbon with his owner or master’.
June 1795: A moment that changed Emidy’s life
Buckingham takes up Emidy’s narrative from his arrival in Lisbon. The transportation of slaves to Portugal had been outlawed in 1761: therefore, on or before his arrival in Lisbon, Emidy would have been granted liberty. However, it is likely he remained with his former owner’s family. Immediately recognising Emidy as a gifted player, they supplied him with a violin and a teacher. They probably realised what an asset he would be at their soirées and balls.
Lisbon was a vibrant coastal city, but most importantly, it had an opera orchestra. After a few years, Emidy was invited to join its second violins. He was on the threshold of a promising musical career. What happened next changed all that.
In June 1795, a group of English naval officers from the British frigate HMS Indefatigable had a night at the opera. Among them was Sir Edward Pellew, the ship’s celebrated Cornish captain. Since May, Indefatigable had been docked in the river Tagus undergoing repairs. Now, the crew were again turning their thoughts seaward, and looking forward to some morale-boosting music on board. But there was a problem; they lacked a good fiddler.
Kidnapped – violin and all
Buckingham reports: ‘Sir Edward, observing the energy with which the young negro plied his violin in the orchestra, conceived the idea of impressing him for the service.’ Pellew instructed his lieutenants to wait for Emidy to leave the theatre, kidnap him, violin and all, and take him to the ship.
The Indefatigable’s muster book of 1795 records an alternative version of events. It lists ‘Joshua Emede… Landsman’ as a volunteer, who entered the ship on 24 June. Well, they could hardly admit they kidnapped him. For the second time, Emidy was abducted, ‘forced, against his will, to descend from the higher regions of the music in which he delighted – Gluck, Haydn, Cimarosa and Mozart – to desecrate his violin to hornpipes, jigs, and reels, which he loathed and detested’.
Because he left the captain in no doubt he would escape at the first opportunity, Emidy was not allowed ashore until released as a free man in 1799. Until recently, it was believed the reluctant seaman then disembarked at Plymouth and made his way to Falmouth. In fact, it seems Emidy willingly followed Pellew to his next ship.
The muster book for Impétueux lists ‘Joseph Emede’ in May 1799 and in subsequent years. Now ranked as an able seaman, this suggests Pellew thought highly enough of Emidy to invite him on board his new ship, with promotion. Pellew was no doubt keen to take advantage of the man’s exceptional facilities and willingness to learn.
A vanished back catalogue
With better pay and a share in the prize money, Emidy could hope to accumulate enough funds to set himself up as a musician in England. It didn’t take long. He came ashore in Plymouth in April 1802. Four months later, he was leading the Falmouth Harmonic Society in his ‘Grand Miscellaneous Concert’.
It was promoted as ‘under the patronage of several respectable gentlemen’; one of them was surely Sir Edward Pellew, around whom the social life of Falmouth revolved. Emidy, like Buckingham, soon discovered music was alluring to ladies. Not long after arriving in Falmouth he married a Cornish woman, Jenefer Hutchins. After the birth of their sixth child, they moved to Truro, the fashionable town most likely to provide audiences for regular concerts.
Domestic life didn’t distract Emidy. In 1815, just two years after Philharmonic concerts were established in London, Emidy set up the Truro Philharmonic Orchestra. The leader? Joseph Emidy, of course. As well as playing he continued composing, producing concertos for the violin, mandolin, guitar, horn and Kentish bugle, quartets, quintets and symphonies, even some variations on a Grecian air for piano. Glowing reviews typically praised the ‘exquisite skill’ of Emidy’s execution. Yet, like all his music, these pieces have disappeared.
He might have become a Mendelssohn or a Beethoven
When Emidy died in 1835, Buckingham summed up the loss to the world of music: ‘With the same advantages as were enjoyed by most of the great composers of Europe, this man might have become a Mendelssohn or a Beethoven; but as it was, it was the achievement of extraordinary perfection, in spite of a thousand obstacles and difficulties.’
Today, visitors to Truro Cathedral are told about Emidy’s life. Leading tours, Dee Gordon Jackson, orchestra and soloists manager of Three Spires Singers, is proud to point out the boss dedicated to him on the ceiling. ‘Emidy’s musicianship transcended all barriers,’ she says. ‘How sad his compositions are lost; just imagine them being played today in the Cathedral!’
And where is Joseph Emidy’s music now?
So that leaves us with the question of what happened to Emidy’s lost music. Does it lie silenced under a stack of dusty manuscripts in a Cornish attic? Did someone claim it as their own? Some musicologists believe it might resurface because it was distributed around musical societies. If so, let’s hope one day it finds its way back to the music stands and the final, most exciting chapter can be written about Joseph Antonio Emidy.
Main image: Joseph Antonio Emidy statue in Falmouth © Graham Hall