fact that Titus Livius was born there. People visited his house, later his tomb, "with the fervour of pilgrims to Mecca." No less famous as composer and theorist than as performer, and one of the creators of the science of modern harmony, Tartini was one of the musical authorities of his century. No Italian virtuoso regarded himself as consecrated until he had won Tartini's approbation. Of all the musicians of his country he was pre-eminent in matters of taste, and he above all was unprejudiced in respect of the artistic merits of other nations. "He is polite, complaisant, without pride and without eccentricity" says De Brosses; "he argues like an angel, and without partiality, as to the different merits of French and Italian music. I was quite as much pleased by his conversation as by his playing."—"His playing had little that was dazzling about it;" for this virtuoso had a horror of empty virtuosity. When Italian violinists came to him that he might listen to their tricks of style, "he would listen coldly and then say: 'That is brilliant; that is lively; that is very good, but,' he would add, placing his hand over his heart, 'it has nothing to say to me here.'" His style was remarkable for the extreme distinctness with which every note was sounded—"one never lost the least of them"—and for its intense feeling. Until his death Tartini modestly filled a place in the orchestra of the Santo at Padua.
In addition to this great name there are others that have retained a legitimate fame even down to our own days. In Venice there was Vivaldi; he too was known to De Brosses; he promptly became one of the Frenchman's most intimate friends, "in order" says the latter "to sell me his
