O Paganini!—most undoubted kingOf St. Cecilia's flock, alive or dead,Whether their pasture be of pipe, or string,Or mighty organ, which doth overspreadAncient Cathedral aisles with flood of sound,—In all the wizard craft, matured by labour,That doth the spirit move, delight, astound,Thou hast no peer—thou hast not even a neighbour,In the long lapse of years from Tubal Cain to Weber.Sages have said, who read the book of night,That once each hundred years some meteor flaresAcross the startled heavens with brilliant flight,Making strange tumults in the land of stars;And, 'mid the realm of constellations vast,In steady splendour ever rolling on,Sweeps far and wide with fierce and furious haste,Rushing from pole to distant pole anon;And, like the monarch's ghost—"'Tis here—'tis there—'tis gone!"Thou dost to these, the meteor-born, belong,O mighty monarch of the strings and bow!And though it were to do sweet Cupid wrongTo call thee else like him—yet on thy brow,And in thy curved lips and flashing eyes,His clearest seal hath god-like Genius set,Who bade thee from the common herd ariseAnd win thyself a crown—nor ever yetHath Art her votary graced with brighter coronet.O that a stately temple might be rearedOn some wide plain—and open to the sky—Where all the great, the gifted, the reveredSide close to side, ensepulchred might lie!And there, where many a breeze at evening's closeIn solemn dirge around their tomb should sweep,Should all the sons of melody repose,That pilgrims from afar might come and weep,And by their sainted dust a silent vigil keep!And there together in renown should rest,The Italian minstrel of the broken heart![29]And he whose Requiem for a spirit blestWas his own dirge—too early lost Mozart!And he of the Messiah—and the flightOf Israel's children from their bonds abhorred,When God was cloud by day, and fire by night!And he, who sung of darkness, at one wordBursting to light—and Earth created by its Lord!And many more—with whom ungentle TimeForbids my weak and wandering verse to say;Save one great master-spirit, whom my rhymeMustpause to honour—for the meteor rayBurnt with intensest radiance o'er his head;Albeit too soon within his eager earThe realm of sound deep silence overspread,Whom yet the world is learning to revere—Beethoven! he should sleep with thee—the Wizard—near!There's left a space, beside his hallowed dust,For thee with whom began my feeble song;But be it long before the encroaching rustOf Time wear out thy energies—and longEre the grim Tyrant with resistless callBeckon thee hence—before thy bow be hungIn some gray chapel—and thy brethren allStrive for thy magic instruments unstrung;If Heaven were kind to man, thou shouldst be ever young!
O Paganini!—most undoubted kingOf St. Cecilia's flock, alive or dead,Whether their pasture be of pipe, or string,Or mighty organ, which doth overspreadAncient Cathedral aisles with flood of sound,—In all the wizard craft, matured by labour,That doth the spirit move, delight, astound,Thou hast no peer—thou hast not even a neighbour,In the long lapse of years from Tubal Cain to Weber.
Sages have said, who read the book of night,That once each hundred years some meteor flaresAcross the startled heavens with brilliant flight,Making strange tumults in the land of stars;And, 'mid the realm of constellations vast,In steady splendour ever rolling on,Sweeps far and wide with fierce and furious haste,Rushing from pole to distant pole anon;And, like the monarch's ghost—"'Tis here—'tis there—'tis gone!"
Thou dost to these, the meteor-born, belong,O mighty monarch of the strings and bow!And though it were to do sweet Cupid wrongTo call thee else like him—yet on thy brow,And in thy curved lips and flashing eyes,His clearest seal hath god-like Genius set,Who bade thee from the common herd ariseAnd win thyself a crown—nor ever yetHath Art her votary graced with brighter coronet.
O that a stately temple might be rearedOn some wide plain—and open to the sky—Where all the great, the gifted, the reveredSide close to side, ensepulchred might lie!And there, where many a breeze at evening's closeIn solemn dirge around their tomb should sweep,Should all the sons of melody repose,That pilgrims from afar might come and weep,And by their sainted dust a silent vigil keep!
And there together in renown should rest,The Italian minstrel of the broken heart![29]And he whose Requiem for a spirit blestWas his own dirge—too early lost Mozart!And he of the Messiah—and the flightOf Israel's children from their bonds abhorred,When God was cloud by day, and fire by night!And he, who sung of darkness, at one wordBursting to light—and Earth created by its Lord!
And many more—with whom ungentle TimeForbids my weak and wandering verse to say;Save one great master-spirit, whom my rhymeMustpause to honour—for the meteor rayBurnt with intensest radiance o'er his head;Albeit too soon within his eager earThe realm of sound deep silence overspread,Whom yet the world is learning to revere—Beethoven! he should sleep with thee—the Wizard—near!
There's left a space, beside his hallowed dust,For thee with whom began my feeble song;But be it long before the encroaching rustOf Time wear out thy energies—and longEre the grim Tyrant with resistless callBeckon thee hence—before thy bow be hungIn some gray chapel—and thy brethren allStrive for thy magic instruments unstrung;If Heaven were kind to man, thou shouldst be ever young!
A fortnight later, Chorley was able to reassure his readers by contradicting the report. It seems that the rumour was started through the death of Dr. Paganini (referred to at the beginning of this essay), and there seems little doubt but that he was the brother of the violinist.
Plate X.—See Appendix.Copy of Oil Painting of Paganini in the Municipal Museum at Genoa.
In 1836, some speculators applied to Paganini to give the support of his name and his talent to the founding of a Casino in Paris, of which the ostensible object was music, the real end, gambling. It has been suggested that the project appealed to Paganini's avarice, which caused him to lend himself to the accomplishment of the undertaking. On the other hand, it is fair to assume that the artist was in ignorance of the true motive of the promoters of the scheme; and the fact that certain instructions to the trustees of the fortune settled on his son had been made public some four years earlier lends countenance to the impression that he was disgusted with gambling, and had long ceased to indulge in the vicious pastime.
In the early summer of 1837, Paganini's health having improved, he gave several concerts in Turin, both for the benefit of the poor, and on his own behalf. Later in the year, however, he was in Paris, living in the greatest seclusion. TheCasino Paganiniwas opened, apparently in October, 1837. The building was situated in the Rue Mont Blanc, and was supposed to be a kind of Club of Art and Literature. An orchestra of some fifty performers was engaged for concerts, which were open to subscribers only. In the grounds a brass band played to thoseassembled, and admission there apparently was free to the public. The object of the undertaking was not made known. A French paper stated by way of a joke that Paganini's part in the proceedings was to walk round the garden when the weather was fine. The Government refused to license the place as a gambling-house, and the management had to rely upon the concerts alone. It would appear that Paganini had signed a contract to play at the concerts, but the wretched state of his health was the excuse for his not doing so. He had been in Paris off and on from 1837 to some time in 1839. In 1838, certainly before April, he was there, and went to hear a newly invented instrument termed the Harmoniphone. This was the work of an ingenious musician, Jacques Reine Paris. It was a small key-board instrument designed to imitate the oboe, and intended as a substitute for it, in places where oboe players were not available. A distinguished company was invited to meet Paganini, who was greatly interested and pleased with the invention. Then, in December, Paganini witnessed what Berlioz described as the massacre of his "Benvenuto Cellini" at the opera. In the same month was inaugurated a society for the production of classical compositions, and for the encouragement of musical artists, and at this brilliant function, held in the Salle Erard, Paganini was present, with Meyerbeer, Auber, De Beriot, Donizetti, and a host of other celebrities. On the 16th of the month Paganini attended the concert given by Berlioz at the Conservatoire, when the symphony, "Harold," was performed. Paganini heard it for the first time, and at the close ofthe concert occurred the affecting incident of Paganini kneeling on the stage and kissing the hand of Berlioz, the demonstration being followed by a magnificent donation of 20,000 francs. Paganini seems to have had a transient recovery, for the papers spoke of his becoming corpulent.
Still, he did not play at the Casino Concerts, and a crisis soon arose. Early in 1839, the directors of the Casino brought an action against Paganini for breach of contract, and he was decreed to pay damages to the amount of 20,000 francs. This decision so much displeased both plaintiffs and defendant that they appealed against it. The case did not come on again for some time, and Paganini sought rest and change in the south of France. He stayed for some time at Marseilles, where, at the house of a friend, he once more abandoned himself to his art, devoting his time alternately to his violin and his guitar. Fétis states that notwithstanding his feeble health, Paganini attended a performance of Cherubini'sRequiemfor men's voices; and on June 21st went to one of the churches to take part in the performance of Beethoven's Mass in C.
But his malady could only be alleviated by frequent change of clime. Accordingly, in October we find him at Genoa, in the vain hope that his native air would prove beneficial; but he was prostrated by a violent nervous attack almost immediately following his arrival. He must, soon after, have left for Nice, which he never quitted alive. Nice, though a pleasant place, was not regarded as at all a favourable retreat for persons sufferingfrom pulmonary or bronchial affections, and it proved fatal to the great artist. But we must, for the moment, return to Paris.
The rehearing of the Casino case came before theCour Royale, Paris, on January 3rd, 1840. Paganini could not, of course, attend in person, but he was represented by Counsel, and it may be of interest to name the man who was entrusted with his defence. It was a certain Mons. Chaix-d'Est-Ange. From accounts of the proceedings, this legal luminary addressed the Court at great length. He described the prayers and entreaties of the proprietors of what he termed "this catchpenny establishment" to induce the grandMaestroto lend his mighty arm and name to their speculation. He had promised, in writing, to play nowhere but at their concerts; but as he had played nowhere else, the proprietors could have no legal right to such excessive damages. The counsel for the plaintiff, Mons. Barillon, declared that as Paganini's defection had ruined the speculation, the damages ought to be proportionate to his transcendent talent. Going into details, he stated that Paganini was installed in a splendid suite of apartments at the Casino, one boudoir being lined with flannel expressly for him; and that when he was complaining of his wretched health, he accepted a dinner offered him by the musicians of the orchestra, and gave toasts in both French and Italian. After that, he allowed bills to be printed, announcing that he would play at the Casino concert. Hundreds of tickets were eagerly bought at twenty francs each, when suddenly Paganini refused toplay. Entreaties were in vain; Paganini, in his own room, with closed doors, would practise, but would not play at the concert. Recourse was had to the musicians of the Grand Opera, so as not to disappoint the audience, but the prefect of police would not allow theemployésof the opera to be taken from their theatre, and ordered the Casino to be closed. Ruin stared the proprietors in the face, and 20,000 francs was no adequate compensation. The former decision was reversed, and Paganini was condemned by the Court in 50,000 francs[30]damages, and ten years imprisonment in default of payment.
Plate XI.—See Appendix.The House in which Paganini died.
Whether the fine was actually paid, I have found no evidence to prove, but the imprisonment was certainly not enforced. In a few months' time, the gaoler whom none can deny, touched Paganini with his icy hand, and the troubled spirit left its frail earthly tenement on May 27th, 1840.
Plate XII.—See Appendix.—Tablet on House in which Paganini died.
But not to rest were the mortal remains consigned. No peaceful grave for the wandering, restless being whose fitful fever of life was over at last. Paganini died without receiving the last Sacrament of the Church. He had indeed been visited by a priest, sent by the Bishop of Nice; but not deeming his end so near, made no confession, nor prepared himself for death according to the rite of the Church of Rome. The doubt as to his faith caused the Bishop of Nice to refuse burial in consecrated ground. The son, the friends of Paganini,and the principal artists of the place solicited the authorisation of a solemn service for his eternal repose, but in vain; all that was conceded was the offer of an authentic record of death, with leave to transport the corpse whither they might wish. This compromise was not accepted, and the matter came before the Court of Justice, when the decision was in favour of the Bishop. There was no alternative but to appeal to Rome, when the Bishop's decree was annulled, and the Archbishop of Turin was charged, conjointly with the Canons of the Cathedral of Genoa, to institute an inquiry into the Catholicism of Paganini. Meanwhile the remains—stated by theAthenæumto have been embalmed for interment at Genoa—were subjected to shocking indignities. The landlord wanted to let the house where the artist had died, and the corpse was laid in the cellar until a more fitting resting-place was found. Then it is said to have been moved to the hospital of Nice, thence by sea to theLazzarettoof Villa Franca, and finally to a country house Polcevera, near Genoa, part of the property of the heir of the illustrious artist. There the body remained four years. Rumours spread abroad of piteous moans and other lamentable noises being heard at night. To put a stop to these unpleasant reports, the young Baron Achille made an application for permission for a solemn service to be celebrated at Parma, in virtue of Paganini having been a knight of St. George. This was not fruitless. The service was celebrated in the church ofLa Steccata, appropriated to that order of chivalry. After the solemnity the friends of the deceased obtainedthe permission of the Bishop of Parma to bring the body within the boundary of the Duchy, when it was transferred to theVilla Gajona, for interment in the Communal cemetery. So, at last, in May, 1845, the mortal remains of the illustrious violinist were laid in the grave; by order of the government, there was no display of any kind, no outward symbol of homage. The mourners might, however, hope at least for the repose of the casket that once enclosed the fiery, turbulent, soaring spirit of one who knew no rest in life. But, alas! even that was not the end. In the letter addressed by Paganini to the Editor of the ParisRévue Musicale, the closing sentence breathed a prayer that, however calumniated he might be in life, the world would at least allow his ashes to repose in peace. That appeal was not granted. It has been shown that five years elapsed between his death and his burial; fifty years more, and the repose of the grave was broken. TheAthenæumof September 7th, 1895, contained this paragraph:—
"In the Communal Cemetery of Parma the mortal remains of the great violin player, Paganini, have just been exhumed. The violinist was buried there fifty-five years ago, nevertheless his face has been found to be well preserved and easily recognizable. It is proposed to show the body to the public before it is re-interred."
"In the Communal Cemetery of Parma the mortal remains of the great violin player, Paganini, have just been exhumed. The violinist was buried there fifty-five years ago, nevertheless his face has been found to be well preserved and easily recognizable. It is proposed to show the body to the public before it is re-interred."
Horrible! But first note the mistake. The body was buried fifty, not fifty-five, years before. Those terrible five years seem to have been unnoticed in this country,and I have been unable to find any reference to the mournful function of May, 1845.[31]
Now, what was the reason for exhuming the remains? For the purpose of removal to a more prominent site! Thus is homage paid to genius! Such, too, was the fate of Beethoven. His remains were removed in 1888 to the Central Cemetery at Vienna, and lamentable incidents attended the exhumation. Schubert, who, by his own desire, was buried by the side of the great master, did not escape the doom; but Mozart was mercifully spared; he was buried in a pauper's grave, and his body has remained undiscovered. The story of the preservation of his skull may be dismissed as apocryphal. But what are gorgeous monuments? Does the true artist value the case more than the instrument? Why seek ye the living among the dead? The artist does not die—he puts off the "muddy vesture of decay"; he lives in his art-work.
Plate XIII.—See Appendix.The Tomb of Paganini at Parma.
Having traced the career of Paganini "from the cradle to the grave," let us now look a little more closely at the man, the artist. Glimpses of his character have already been revealed, but so curiously interesting a personality will repay further study. Totally uneducated, he yet made himself so much a man of the world, as to enjoy the personal friendship of such notabilities as Lord Byron, Sir Thomas Clifford Constable, Lord Holland, Prince Metternich and others. In his official positions at Court he comported himself with dignity. He had the pride of the artist, and would not play if the conditions were not suitable. One instance has already been given. Here is another, which also occurred in Paris. Paganini was asked to play at a Court concert at the Tuilleries. He went the day before to inspect thesalonwhere the function was to take place, and found the heavy draperies so numerous that the tones of his violin would be deadened, and the effect of his playing would be lost unless the curtains were removed or rearranged; he acquainted an official with his wish to alter them. To that august personage a "fiddler" was a mere nobody, and Paganini was given to understand his proper place. Highly offended with the manner of theofficial, Paganini resolved not to play. The Court was assembled for the concert, but the great violinist was absent. A messenger was sent to his hotel, and was informed that the Signor had retired to rest very early.
Mobbed by ill-mannered crowds whenever he appeared in the streets, (and this especially in London, when strangers not only spoke to him, but even felt him, to ascertain if he was really flesh and blood), Paganini, with his sensitive nature, shrank more and more from contact with the outer world. He was not a Milton, "whose soul was like a star, and dwelt apart," but he was essentially a solitary, a recluse. His character was the result of his environment. Accustomed to brutal treatment in his childhood, he became hardened; set free from restraint, he tasted the wild joys of youth, only to find them turn to Dead Sea apples. Schumann, in his "Advice to young musicians," wrote: "The laws of morality are also the laws of art." But Paganini had no mentor, and learnt by bitter experience the lesson of life. He was accused of avarice, and many ridiculous stories were told of him. When at Prague, it is said that even the members of the theatre were struck off the free list, and he was annoyed that the police who watched the upper galleries could not be made to pay for their places! He beat down a London laundress a halfpenny in her charge for washing his shirts, and Moscheles gives currency to the story, though he cannot vouch for its truth, that Paganini gave his servant a gallery ticket for one of his concerts on condition that the man served him gratuitously for one day! All these wretched things mayhave been true, more's the pity. But there is one little story that appears to have been overlooked. The father of Nicolo Paganini was avaricious, and compelled his son to minister to his avarice, even robbing him of the first-fruits of his own earnings; Nicolo in turn became avaricious, but it was for the sake of his little son, whose life he desired might be better than his own. "He saves for his yet uneducated child," wrote Guhr, in 1829. Yes, this man, proud, scornful, despising the crowds whose money made him rich, in the recesses of his heart nourished a love, pure and unselfish. That was the fine gold; his wealth was dross. His affection for the child was boundless, and he allowed the little fellow to tyrannise over him completely. There are pretty stories of his playing with the boy, but there is nothing about teaching the boy to play—the violin. The memory of his own childhood was quite sufficient to deter him from any attempt to force instruction on his boy, and cloud the sunshine of his young life.
The world gave Paganini its plaudits and its money; but there never seemed to be any bond of sympathy between the artist and the public. Yet Paganini could appreciate kindness. Moscheles relates that the father of his wife rendered Paganini some important service before the visit to England. When Paganini first called upon Moscheles he was profuse in expressions of gratitude, and taking down a miniature portrait of his benefactor he covered it with kisses. "Meantime," Moscheles writes, "we had leisure to study those olive-tinted, sharply defined features, the glowing eyes, the scanty, but longblack hair, and the thin, gaunt figure, upon which the clothes hung loosely, the deep sunken cheeks, and those long, bony fingers." Moscheles was of service to Paganini during his first days in London, and, to use his own words, he was paid with quite as many honied epithets as his father-in-law received. But he suspected the Italian to be rather too sweet to be genuine. Indeed, the friendship was too fervent to last long, and money was the cause of the rupture. Mori commissioned Moscheles to write a piece "Gems à la Paganini," taking the precaution of obtaining the violinist's consent. His style is imitated, and he expresses his admiration of the piece. A second and third book of "Gems" are published, and down comes Paganini with the charge of musical piracy. His permission extended only to the first book. A lawsuit was commenced, but Paganini effected a compromise with Moscheles, conceding the free sale of the three books of "Gems" in return for pianoforte accompaniments to twelve small violin pieces. Moscheles reluctantly consented to write the accompaniments, but refused to allow his name (which Paganini wanted) to appear on the title-page. Mori had to pay something by way of damages, and Moscheles at last rejoiced at being quit of an episode so little worthy of an artist, and at having done with those dreadful lawyers.[32]
But quite enough has been said in reference to Paganini's avarice: it has been shown that he had a motive for saving money. Is it as easy to account forother traits of his character? That aloofness, that scorn of the world, that hard bargaining: "Take me or leave me," revealing callous indifference, was there no cause for all that? There is a very graphic, and at the same time, appalling, account of the impression produced by Paganini among the Parisians, which is translated at length in Dubourg's "The Violin." Berlioz wrote of the weird genius making his appearance in France during the uproar of the collapse of a dynasty, and arriving in Paris—with the cholera. The terrors of the scourge were powerless to check the tide of curiosity: the people were mad for the time being. This is the conclusion of the notice just mentioned: "Of such a public, and such an artist, how saddening is the sight!... The public, made up of idlers—of beings isolated, cold, corrupt—must beamused, forsooth! and the artist exhausts his taste and his sentiment, and well nigh perspires blood and water, to comply with their exactions—toamusethem! and if he attain this end, the public clap their hands, the manager of the theatre counts out to him a heap of gold, and he goes away, with his ears deafened at the noise which has surrounded him, and which, for a moment, it may be, has made his heart beat high;—he goes away, with a loving grasp tightened over the coin he has so hardly won; and now inwardly exclaims, with a smile of pity, 'The blockheads—the barbarians! who is there among them that can comprehend me—that canfeelmy intentions!' and then the home-returning public, selfish to the very soul, indemnify themselves for their finger's-end applause by sottish contempt, by remarksthat are empty, or worse—that are scornful, bitter, shocking, disgusting even—such as those which may have been buzzed into one's ears in Italy or in Paris, but varied in a hundred ways, and aggravated at will, just ashevaries and enlarges, twists and turns, beneath his magic bow, a subject of apparently the most simple and insignificant kind. And now the voices most distinguishable among the ebbing crowd murmur out the words, 'Gambler, Libertine'! or worse.... And the privileged public resort again to the theatre, to admire the talent of him who they comprehend not; and the artist returns, in like manner, toamusethose who provoke his pity, and whom he beholds so far below him! Thus we have contempt on one side, compassion on the other; applause from hands chilled with the touch of gold, on the one part,—on the other, sounds that borrow their animation from no social sympathy! Such are the relations between the public and the professor such the bonds that connect them!" Unhappy artist; miserable public! How shall we account for this pitiful state of things, this gulf between the performer and the auditor? We must seek the explanation in the letter to theRevue, referred to more than once, but now claiming our attention more directly.
Plate XIV.—See Appendix.Paganini in Prison.
The pictures of "Paganini in Prison," exhibited so lavishly while the artist was in Paris in 1831, provoked him to remark that there were some "honest fellows" making money of a calumny that had pursued his steps for the last fifteen years. He then referred to the different versions of the crime imputed to him: that hekilled a rival whom he found in company with his mistress; or that it was his mistress who had been the victim of his jealous fury; the only point of agreement was the imprisonment. "Let me tell you," the letter continued, "what happened to myself in Padua about fifteen years ago (1816), on this very subject. I had given a concert with some success: the next day I went to a table-d'hôte; I entered the room late; was, perhaps, the sixtieth guest, and took my seat unnoticed. One of the company expressed himself in flattering terms of the effect produced by my performance the evening before. His next neighbour agreed in the praises bestowed on me, but added, 'Nobody ought to be surprised at Paganini's ability: he owes it all to an eight years' solitary imprisonment in a dungeon, with nothing but his violin to occupy his time, or soften the rigours of his confinement. He was condemned to this long incarceration for having assassinated a friend ofmine, who was unfortunate enough to be his rival.' As you may easily believe, every one was loud in denouncing the enormity of my crime; when I addressed myself to the speaker, begging him to inform me where and when this tragical adventure had occurred. All eyes were in an instant turned upon me, and you may judge the astonishment of the company at finding the hero of this tale of murder and imprisonment one amongst them. The relater of the story was not a little embarrassed. 'It was not a friend of his own that had fallen—he had heard—he had been told—he believed—but after all it was very possible he might have been deceived,' etc. Now see, Sir, how easyit is to play with the reputation of an artist merely because men, inclined to indulge in idleness themselves, cannot conceive it possible that he may have studied as closely in his own chamber and in full possession of his liberty, as he would if he had been chained up in a dungeon."
There was an occurrence that gave rise to these reports, and which Paganini related in the same letter. "A violin player, named D——i,[33]who was at Milan in 1798, associated himself with two other men of bad character, and engaged with them in a plot to assassinate, by night, the curate of a neighbouring village, supposed to be in possession of much wealth. Luckily for the curate the heart of one of the conspirators failed him, and he denounced his companions. The gendarmes watched the spot, and took D——i and his accomplice into custody at the moment they arrived at the curate's dwelling. They were condemned to twenty years' confinement in irons, but General Menou, after he had been appointed governor of Milan, at the end of two years restored the violinist to liberty. Would you believe it, Sir? this is the sole foundation upon which the whole history of my incarceration has been erected. A violin player, whose name ended ini, had been engaged in a murder and imprisoned—it could only bePaganini—the assassinated party was converted into either my rival ormy mistress, and it was I,Paganini, who had been so many years loaded with chains, and immured in a dungeon. Solely with the view of wringing from me the secret of my new system, have they complimented me with fetters, whose only effect would have been to paralyze my arms."
Paganini further stated that he called on the Italian ambassador resident in Vienna, to testify that he had known the artist for nearly twenty years, during all which time his conduct has been that of an honest man. He also pointed out that having been constantly before the public from the age of fourteen, he must have had a mistress and a rival when he was seven! for there was no room for an interval of eight years afterwards. It was at Vienna that one of the audience, while Paganini was playing "The Witches' Dance," distinctly saw the devil close to the violinist, guiding his fingers and directing his bow; the said devil was dressed in red and had horns and a tail, and the striking likeness of the countenances of the two, plainly proved the relationship between them. That pretty story followed Paganini everywhere: and, as has been seen, in Prague he had to publish a letter from his mother disproving the rumour of his Satanic parentage. There is something intensely pathetic in Paganini's conclusion: "I see nothing else for it but to leave malignity at liberty to disport itself at my expense."
In this prosaic, materialistic twentieth century, which believes in little besides money, there is no fear of any of our violin wonders being associated with the arch-fiend.They may be regarded as physic problems, but the supernatural is eliminated from the study. But Paganini did not live in the twentieth century, and in his day the devil was a very real personage, notwithstanding the temporary overthrow of much belief through the French Revolution, and the enthronement of the "Goddess of Reason" in the Church of Notre Dame, Paris. It may seem absurd, now, even to recall these calumnies; but we have to deal with the environment of a great genius, to study the cause of his failing to become great as a man; for surely he had the making of a fine character. That he should traverse the greater part of Europe, pursued by tales of devilry and murder, is one of the saddest comments on that period; that the "iron entered into his soul," and the man capable of affection became a miser and a misanthrope, is more mournful still. He was the "Flying Dutchman" of the violin.
How was it that the devil and the violin came into relationship? We have it on the authority of Martin Luther that the devil hates music. Luther not only believed in the devil, but he fancied he saw him: and in the room of the Castle of Wartburg may still be seen the mark on the wall, where he threw his inkpot at the fiend, who tried to thwart his work of translating the Bible. It is curious that the only instrument which, to the present writer's knowledge, Satan has been represented as playing upon, is one of the precursors of the violin. There is a piece of sculpture in the Cathedral of Amiens, depicting Satan playing on an oval three-stringed Vielle, of thethirteenth century.[34]The story of Tartini and his dream, when the devil played so marvellously on the violin, is known to everyone, and is, moreover, perpetuated in the sonataIl Trillo del Diavolo. It is related of Thomas Baltzar, the first great violinist ever heard in England, that when he played at Oxford he astonished everyone by "running up his fingers to the end of the finger-board." John Wilson, the Oxford Professor of Music, "the greatest judge of musick that ever was," according to Anthony à Wood, "did, after his humoursome way, stoop down to Baltzar's feet, to see whether he had a huff on, that is to say, whether he was a devil or not, because he acted beyond the parts of man." As this took place in 1658 there was some excuse for the grim pleasantry; moreover music had suffered an eclipse, and performers in this country were comparatively few. Even the gentle and polite Corelli forgot himself so far as to apply the term, devil, to another violinist. As the story may not be so well known as the foregoing, I shall briefly repeat it. Nicolaus Adam Strungk (or Strunck), violinist to Ernest Augustus, Elector of Hanover, when in Rome (circa1684) made it his business to see Corelli. Introducing himself to the Italian master as a musician, Corelli asked what was his instrument. Strungk replied that he could play upon the harpsichord, and a little upon the violin; but he particularly wished to hear Corelli on the latter instrument, his fame being widely known. Corelli obligingly consented, and played a piece to theharpsichord accompaniment of Strungk. Strungk afterwards played a toccata, with which Corelli was so much taken that he laid aside his instrument in his transport of admiration. When Strungk had finished at the harpsichord, he took up the violin, and began handling it in a careless manner, whereupon Corelli remarked that he had a good bow-hand, and wanted nothing but practice to become a master of his instrument. At that moment Strungk put the violin out of tune, and played on with such dexterity, attempering the dissonances occasioned by the mistuning with such amazing skill, that Corelli cried out in broken German: "I am called Arcangelo, a name that in the language of my country signifies an Archangel; but let me tell you, that you, Sir, are an Arch-devil!"
There is nothing malicious in these stories of the devil and the fiddler; and if Paganini had experienced nothing worse than what has just been related, he might have treated the matter as a joke. But that which malice or envy originated, a "reptile press" promulgated. Innocent of crime, Paganini was branded as a felon; gifted with genius of the rarest order, cultivated to a perfection absolutely unique, his skill was attributed to the aid received from the devil. Add to this his wretched health, and there is both mental and bodily suffering. In his later years he was cut off from intercourse with others, like Beethoven—but with this difference: Beethoven employed a tablet or note-book for his friends to convey their words to him; Paganini transmitted, through a similar medium, his thoughts to others. He was dumb!Is there no brighter side to this picture? If there be, let us turn to it.
It is, perhaps, fortunate that no man can be consistent throughout his life; the morose must smile at times, and the misanthrope mitigate his hatred of mankind. Paganini was but human, and his life was not all shadow. Though his intimate friends were few, there were some who were able to place on record details of the private life of the great violinist. Of such, the most useful to biographers was George Harris. He was an Englishman, attached to the Court at Hanover then connected with Britain; a dramatist of a certain order, he accompanied Paganini on his tours in Germany, acting for a time as his secretary, and apparently he was with him when in England. From him we learn a good deal.
Paganini was always on the move, and travelling in his day was not the rapid, comfortable, even luxurious process it is now. In the post-chaise Paganini stowed his luggage, which was of the simplest—and shabbiest—description. A dilapidated box held his beloved violin, his linen, cash and jewellery; a carpet-bag and a hat-box completed his outfit. He was philosophically indifferent to comfort, but in his later years he always had the windows of his carriage closed. When he arrived at his quarters, the windows of his room were thrown open, and he indulged in a sun-bath—again anticipating modern medical advice. Paganini, when travelling, was fond of taking a stroll when the horses were changed. It was a relief to stretch his legs after the close confinement of the post-chaise, but sometimes his rambles were soprolonged that there was weary waiting for him when all was ready to resume the journey, and drivers became exasperated. Paganini was made to suffer on one occasion. That was when travelling from London to Birmingham. He had already tried the patience of his coachman by causing loss of time, and the man declared he would drive on without him, rather than wait again. At the next stopping place Paganini walked off as usual, leaving Harris asleep in the vehicle. The horses being changed, the driver started, leaving Paganini behind. This caused some trouble, for a post-chaise had to be sent from the next station in search of the derelict, and Paganini in his rage refused to pay the extra expense. He was summoned before the Birmingham magistrates, and the case going against him he was compelled to discharge the debt. Poor Paganini, he always suffered when he came into contact with the law.
PLATE 15. (See Appendix.) Letter in French by Paganini.PLATE 15. (See Appendix.)
PLATE 16. (See Appendix.) Note in Italian by Paganini.PLATE 16. (See Appendix.)
PLATE 17. (See Appendix.) Note in Italian by Paganini.PLATE 17. (See Appendix.)
In his personal habits Paganini was simplicity itself. Frugal to a degree in his repasts, a cup of chocolate sufficed for a meal when starting early on a journey, and often he would fast until evening. When in a happy mood after a concert, he would join the table d'hôte and do as others did, but the slightest indulgence was punished the next day. He preferred solitude, but when he mixed with others he would join freely in the conversation; if music were touched upon he became silent, or left the room. So long as he could find accommodation that was quiet, he cared little for its quality. Scenery had no charms for him, and all climates but his own were equally indifferent to him. His accounts were keptin a little red pocket-book (found under his pillow after his death), in a kind of arithmetical shorthand only decipherable by himself. He never had been taught the science of numbers, or he might have been made a first-rate mathematician.
Harris stated that all the time he was with Paganini he never heard him play a single note except before an audience. That may have been correct so far as Germany was concerned, but the Rev. John Edmund Cox, in his "Musical Recollections," has something very different to say about Paganini. "During his career he visited my native town,[35]and as I had the good fortune then to be able to converse in French, the friends who had engaged him for a sound of concerts in that place and its vicinity placed me in direct communication with him somewhat in the capacity of a secretary; so that I not only travelled in his company and heard him at every concert at which he appeared, but I lived in the same hotels and lodgings which had been secured for him. This kind of semi-official position necessitated my seeing much of him during his leisure hours, when he threw off the suspicious restraint which was always apparent in his manner when he was among strangers, whom he imagined were bent upon getting as much as possible out of him for their own advantage. Then, indeed, he would evince anything but a hard and ungenerous nature, his manner being not only kind but courteous; whilst any attention that was afforded to his wants or to his comfortswas sure to elicit not only looks but words of gratitude. In public he confined himself almost exclusively to the performance of his own music,—... but in private—for he had his violin constantly in his hand—he would sit and dash off by the hour together snatches from the compositions of the best masters, and give readings of such originality to passages that had been heard again and again, as apparently have never been supposed to be possible by any other player. As an instance in point, he one morning, whilst I was writing several notes for him, commenced the firstmotivoof Beethoven's magnificent violin concerto. To write was then impossible; and he, perceiving how entranced I seemed, asked whether I knew what it was. On my replying in the negative, he promised, if it could be managed, that I should hear the whole of that movement before we separated." The promise was redeemed. The above is valuable as showing that Paganini was not quite so wanting in knowledge as was generally supposed. He could converse in French, though at that time—1831—he had only spent a few weeks in France. Education, proper, he had none; but the statement that he could speak no language but his own, is evidently incorrect. The allusion to strangers bent upon getting as much as possible out of him for their own advantage, finds an illustration in the story of the Englishman who is said to have followed Paganini for some six months, watching his every movement, lodging at the same hotels, and employing every means to get at the great secret of the violinist's art. At last his perseverance seemed about to be rewarded. Lookingthrough the keyhole of Paganini's door, the Englishman saw the violinist take his instrument from its case—raise it to his shoulder, even shift the left hand up and down the neck; but not the ghost of a sound. It was just a study of positions, and the violin was then restored to its place. In despair, the inquisitive amateur gave up the quest.
The concerts Paganini gave for the poor were evidence of his natural goodness of heart. It is true, such efforts cost him little; he gave a few hours' time: the public found the money. One day, when walking in Vienna, he saw a poor little Italian boy playing the violin in front of a large house. He drew from him a touching story of poverty, and a sick mother; and emptying his pockets into the boy's hands, he took from him his violin and began to play. He was soon recognised, and a crowd assembled; the people were immensely diverted, and gave a generous response when the hat was handed round. With "Take that to your mother," Paganini sent the boy off rejoicing, and turning to the companion of his walk, he remarked, "I hope I've done a good turn to that little animal." He was fond of applying the word "animal" to those sometimes spoken of as "the lower classes," but was not altogether singular in that respect.
At the anniversary dinner of the Royal Society of Musicians, in 1832, among the donations announced was one of ten guineas from Paganini. This was thought so excessively mean an acknowledgment of the generosity of the English nation, that the announcement was received with groans and hisses. That was distinctlyrude on the part of those who, having dined well, ought to have been in a genial state of mind.
At least one generous action must be placed on record. It was told by George Augustus Sala many years ago.[36]The mother of that voluminous writer was a vocalist, and made herdébutat Covent Garden Theatre in 1827, as the Countess in Bishop's version (or perversion) of Mozart's "Marriage of Figaro." In 1828 she became a widow, and supported her family by teaching singing and giving annual concerts, chiefly at Brighton, where she lived. For one of her benefit concerts she engaged Paganini. The most distinguished artists of her day had gladly given their gratuitous assistance at similar functions, and Paganini accepted the small fee of twenty-five guineas. Sala was a very small boy at that time (born in 1828), and possibly drew upon his imagination when recounting the event so many years later. This is what he wrote:—"'Take your little boy with you, Madame Sala,' was the shrewd counsel of ——, a valued friend of my mother; 'take the boy with you when you pay Pag.; perhapsthatwill soften him a little.' I was the smallest and chubbiest of the tribe; then, duly washed, combed and made spruce, my parent took me in her hand, and led me to the Old Ship, where Paganini was staying. We were ushered, not without fear and trembling on my part, into the presence of the mighty musician, who was at breakfast. Then my mother, alluding as far as she in delicacy could to her large familyand small means, proceeded to count out—sovereign by sovereign, shilling by shilling—Paganini's fee of five and twenty guineas. I can see with the eye of memory the whole man before me now, his gaunt angular form, his black elf-like locks falling in weird confusion over his neck and shoulders, his cadaverous face and shaggy brows, his long bony hands with the veins standing out like cordage, his amazingly large feet, and especially his neck, disproportionately long, scraggy, and corrugated. I can see the glare—so it seemed to me—which, when he raised his bent brows, darted upon the pile of money, and the spasmodic avidity with which he extended his hand and swept the pile towards him.... 'A very nice little boy,' he was good enough to say, alluding to myself; 'but time is bad, and there is no monish in de vorld: no, never no monish at all.' My mother rose with a heavy heart to depart. 'Stop, little boy,' said the great violinist, and he beckoned to me with a skinny finger, which any of the witches in Macbeth would have been proud to own; 'stop, take this, it will buy you a cake.' He thrust a crumpled piece of paper into my hand, rose from his chair, and, without more ado 'bolted'—that is the only word suited to the action—into his bedroom. He had given me a bank note for fifty pounds! Superstitious people used to whisper that Paganini had sold himself to the enemy of mankind; spiteful people used to draw him as a greedy, flint-hearted miser.... I only know how he acted towards my mother."
From the man we now turn to the artist. Schiller wrote: "The artist is the son of his age, but pity for him if he is its pupil or even its favourite." It has been shown how truly Paganini was the child of his age; the pity was that he became its pupil and its favourite; in consequence he failed to attain the supreme height where dwell the spirits of the greatest. But he was a great artist, in spite of his concessions to the public taste; and he held in reverence that which he found great in others. When in Vienna in 1828, exactly a year after the death of Beethoven, Paganini attended a concert, and heard a performance of the great master's Symphony, No. 7, in A. Profoundly moved by that sublime composition, he remained mute, his gaze fixed and mournful; suddenly the tears rolled from his eyes; his grief and emotion wrung from him the words:E morto!Anders, who relates the incident, adds: "Never was the immortal author ofFideliomore worthily extolled than by those tears, by that simple word. The day may come when some disciple, some friend of the Genoese artist, will say in his turn, seized with bitter sadness,E morto!" Strange, that Chorley should have employed the very words, in thepremature obituary notice which has been already referred to.
When in Paris, Paganini once visited the Institution for the Blind. He was so much struck with the beauty and purity of intonation that characterised the singing of the pupils, that he declared that never before had he an adequate notion of what harmony was.
The artist, as well as the art, claimed his respect. There seems to have been no artistic jealousy about him, and to the young performer he was invariably kind, whilst to the established professor he was just. It is said that when Paganini's concerts took place at the King's Theatre, it was proposed to dispense with the services of the "leader" at the Opera. When Paganini heard of this, he paid a well-merited compliment to the abilities of Signor Spagnoletti, and insisted upon his engagement at all the concerts, he, Paganini, might give at the Theatre. It is true, at rehearsal, Paganini never gratified the members of the orchestra as to what the concert performances were likely to be; but he was careful to have the accompaniments well prepared. Quick-tempered, he was irritated at any faulty work, but when all went well he expressed his approbation by exclaiming, "Bravissimi! Siete tutti virtuosi!" ("You are all artists!") Paganini brought the orchestral parts with him to rehearsal, and took them away afterwards; as to the solo part, no one had a chance of looking at that, for Paganini played everything from memory. His kindness to brother-artists has been placed on record. The young violoncellist Ciandelli, who rendered such service to Paganiniwhen he was turned into the street by the brutal landlord, was afterwards well repaid by the instruction Paganini gave him. The great violinist told Schottky, his biographer, that he took a lively interest in young Ciandelli, and that he imparted to him his secret. He gave him lessons, and at the end of three days so transformed his playing, that from being a mediocre performer, he became the first violoncellist at the Theatre Royal, Naples, with a possibility of becoming the first in the world. However, as history is silent respecting the subsequent achievements of Gaetano Ciandelli, he need not claim further attention.
The Bohemian violinist, Joseph Slavik, appeared at Vienna in 1826, when he was twenty years of age. Moscheles heard him play, and said he was considered in Vienna as the second Paganini. Of course that was hearsay;thePaganini had not then been heard outside Italy. When Paganini was in Vienna, in 1828, he become acquainted with young Slavik, and held him in affectionate regard. At all hours the young student had access to the idol of his worship, and received many valuable hints and ideas upon fingering, etc., and friendly encouragement to pursue his daring course with unwearying application. He spent two years in retirement, zealously studying the Paganini method, and when he reappeared in Vienna, he was spoken of as no petty imitator, but a second original. A contemporary notice, comparing Slavik with Paganini, states:—"The only difference between the two at present is, that the pupil, carried away by the ardour of youth, often suffers himselfto be seduced into the most gigantic attempts, the success of which on every occasion no mortal can with certainty rely upon; while the other, possessing the plaintive and deeply pathetic tones of a singer, at the same time resembles a consummate piece of musical mechanism, which accomplishes the most extraordinary feats quietly and without effort." Slavik died at Pesth, in 1833, at the early age of twenty-seven; what he might have become his actual achievements plainly indicated.
In his later years, Paganini appears to have had great delight in listening to young artists. In 1836, Antonio Bazzini, then a youth of eighteen, played to Paganini, who was enraptured with his performance. A year later, in Paris, Paganini heard a much younger violinist, the boy Apollinaire de Kontski, and actually went so far as to give him a testimonial. Articles in the musical dictionaries all state that Paganini gave some lessons to the child; some say that the friendship between the two resulted in Paganini bequeathing to De Kontski his violins and compositions. Grove, in quoting Mendel, says this statement requires confirmation. When Apollinaire de Kontski died, in 1879, nothing, so far as I have been able to ascertain, transpired concerning the alleged bequest. But the testimonial seems to have escaped the notice of dictionary compilers, so, as a curiosity, I reproduce it from theMusical World, of June 21st, 1838:—
"Having heard M. de Kontski, aged eleven years, perform several pieces of music on the violin, and having found him worthy of being ranked among the mostcelebrated artists of the present day, permit me to say, that if he continues his studies in this fine art, he will, in course of time, surpass the most distinguished performers of the age.(Signed)Paganini."
"Having heard M. de Kontski, aged eleven years, perform several pieces of music on the violin, and having found him worthy of being ranked among the mostcelebrated artists of the present day, permit me to say, that if he continues his studies in this fine art, he will, in course of time, surpass the most distinguished performers of the age.
(Signed)Paganini."
But if Paganini was fond of hearing and encouraging other artists, he was averse to anything like competitive display. When he met Lafont at Milan in 1816, as already related, he played at the concert given by that artist. The function came to be regarded as a contest, and an account of it appears in Laphaléque's pamphlet. Some paper, early in 1830, having quoted this notice, Lafont wrote a letter of protest, which is interesting enough to reproduce in part. He wrote:—
"Sir, I have just read, in your journal of the 2nd of Feb., an extract from the Notice published on the celebrated violinist, Paganini. As this notice contains statements utterly erroneous, as regards me, I owe it to truth, to the advice of my friends, and to the favour with which the public has been pleased to honour me during twenty-five years, to give an exact statement of the facts of the case. The following is a narration of what occurred. In the month of March, 1816, I gave in conjunction with M. Paganini, a concert in the great theatre, La Scala, at Milan, and, far from making a cruel trial of the powers of my adversary, or of being beaten by him, as is pretended by the author of the Notice, I obtained a success the more flattering, as I was a stranger in the country and had no other support than my talent.
"I played, with M. Paganini, the concerted symphonyof Kreutzer, infamajor. For several days previously to the concert we rehearsed this symphony together, and with the greatest care. On the day of the concert it was performed by us as it had been rehearsed, with no change whatever; and we both obtained an equal success in the passages executed together or separately. On coming to thephrase de chantinfaminor, in the second solo of the first part, there was a decided advantage for one of us. This passage is of a deep and melancholy expression. M. Paganini performed it first. Whether the strong and pathetic character of the piece was ill-suited to the ornaments and brilliant notes which he gave in it, or whatever else was the cause, hissoloproduced but little effect. Immediately after him, I repeated the same passage, and treated it differently. It seems that the emotion by which I was then agitated, caused me to give an expression more effective, though more simple, and it was so felt by the audience, that I was overwhelmed with plaudits from all parts of the house. During fourteen years I have been silent on this trifling advantage obtained over M. Paganini in this instance, only in the symphony, and probably rather by the superiority of the school than by that of talent. It is painful to me to speak of myself; nothing short of the misrepresentation of the article in question could have provoked me to reply. I was not beaten by M. Paganini, nor was he by me. On all occasions, I have taken pleasure in rendering homage to his great talent; but I have never said that he was the first violinist in the world; I have not done such injustice to the celebrated men—Kreutzer, Rode, Baillot,and Habeneck, and I declare now, as I have always done, that the French school is the first in the world for the violin."
After this modest assertion Lafont concludes with an expression of rejoicing in the opportunity of praising a talent of which he felt it an honour to be the rival, but of which no one could make him the adversary.
This epistle provoked a rejoinder from Francesco Cianchettini[37]who wrote:—"As I was present at that contest, I do assert that the account given by Mr. Imbert is not erroneous, but correct. The public decision was in favour of Paganini; Mr. Lafont having acquiesced in silence to such a decision, does not diminish one iota of his acquired fame: as not only himself, but every living violinist who dares to enter into rivalry with Paganini, will be prostrated, although the Signor has not had the advantage of being a pupil of thesuper-excellent Parisian Violin School. In Paris, I have heard how the talented violinists, mentioned in Mr. Lafont's letter, speak of Paganini. TheCoriosigladiators of the Neronian age spoke with the same freedom of Hercules. Had this demigod suddenly appeared on the arena with his club, all of them would instantly have shrunk into pigmies."
In a footnote Cianchettini added that whatever excellence the Parisian Violin School might lay claim to, was derived from Italians; from Viotti, through Pugnani and Tartini, to Corelli, "the father of the violin."
But the genius of Paganini was fully understood and appreciated by a far greater Frenchman than Charles Lafont:—Hector Berlioz.
The friendship between Paganini and Berlioz has been briefly referred to, but it is a subject for further consideration, as it reveals the influence that the one artist wielded over the other. The first meeting of the two men must be told in the words of Berlioz himself. A few remarks are needed by way of preface. In the summer of 1833, Berlioz married the English actress Miss Smithson, who, still weak from her carriage accident, had, on her wedding day, "nothing in the world but debts, and the fear of never again being able to appear to advantage on the stage." To pay off these debts Berlioz organized a benefit entertainment, beginning with drama and ending with a concert. But his programme was too long, and he had forgotten something—the claque. His poor wife could not conceal her lameness, and though talented as ever, she failed to obtain a recall. Another actress, having taken precautions, had an ovation. Then at midnight the band of theThéâtre Italien, not being obliged to play after that hour, left the place, and theSymphonie Fantastiquecould not be played. Liszt assisted, and the affair was not quite a failure, financially, though the promoter came in for bitter attacks. Poor Berlioz was in despair, but he took his courage in both hands, and announced a concert at theConservatoire. He took care to engage artists he could trust, and with his friend Girard as conductor everything went well, theSymphonie Fantastiquetaking the room by storm. Now let Berliozspeak: "My success was complete, and the former judgment on me was reversed. My musicians looked radiant with delight as they left the orchestra. Lastly, my happiness was completed when the public had all gone, and a man stopped me in the passage—a man with long hair, piercing eyes, a strange and haggard face—a genius, a Titan among the giants, whom I had never seen before, and at first sight of whom I was deeply moved; this man pressed my hand, and overwhelmed me with burning eulogies, which literally set both my heart and brain on fire. Itwas Paganini(22nd December, 1833). From that date my relations with that great artist, who exercised such a happy influence upon my destiny, and whose noble generosity has given birth to such absurd and malicious comments."
It was some time in January, 1834, that Paganini called upon Berlioz and said he had a wonderful viola, a Stradivari, upon which he should much like to play in public, but he had no music for it. Would Berlioz write a solo for him? Berlioz was flattered by the proposal, but replied that in order to produce a composition sufficiently brilliant to suit such a virtuoso, he—Berlioz—ought to be able to play the viola, and that he could not do. So he thought Paganini alone could meet his own wishes. Paganini, however, pressed his own point, adding that he himself was too unwell to compose anything. Berlioz then set to work. To quote his own words: "In order to please the illustrious virtuoso, I then endeavoured to write a solo for the viola, but so combined with the orchestra as not to diminish theimportance of the latter, feeling sure that Paganini's incomparable execution would enable him to give the solo instrument all its due prominence. The proposition was a new one. A happy idea soon occurred to me, and I became intensely eager to carry it out."
Paganini was impatient to see the music, and as soon as the first movement was finished, it was shown to him. He did not like the long silences. "That is not at all what I want," he said; "I must be playing the whole time." "You really want aconcertofor the tenor," Berlioz replied, "and you are the only man who can write it." Paganini said no more, and soon afterwards left for Nice. Berlioz then gave free play to his fancy, and wrote the series of scenes for the orchestra, the background formed from the recollections of his wanderings in the Abruzzi, the viola introduced as a sort of melancholy dreamer, in the style of Byron's "Childe Harold." Hence the title "Harold in Italy." Now, this is the point: "Harold" was inspired by Paganini, who indirectly gave a new art-form to the world. The piece was produced on November 23rd, 1834, but Paganini was then in Italy, and he did not hear it until four years later.
But Paganini was destined to inspire something greater still. He was again in Paris in 1838, and, as before related, was present at the "horrible performance" of Berlioz' "Benvenuto Cellini." Sad at heart Paganini said: "If I were manager of theOpéra, I would at once engage that young man[38]to write me three such operas:I would pay him in advance, and should make a capital bargain by it." The failure of the opera threw Berlioz on a bed of sickness. But he had to live, and was soon arranging to give concerts at theConservatoire. The first barely paid expenses, but the second, at which both theSymphonie FantastiqueandHarold en Italiewere performed, was more successful, and at this Paganini was present. This has also been incidentally mentioned, but further notice is required on account of the sequel. Again we must allow Berlioz to speak for himself. "The concert was just over; I was in a profuse perspiration, and trembling with exhaustion, when Paganini, followed by his son Achilles, came up to me at the orchestra door, gesticulating violently. Owing to the throat affection of which he ultimately died, he had already completely lost his voice, and unless everything was perfectly quiet, no one but his son could hear or even guess what he was saying. He made a sign to the child, who got up on a chair, put his ear close to his father's mouth and listened attentively. Achilles then got down, and turning to me, said, 'My father desires me to assure you, sir, that he has never in his life been so powerfully impressed at a concert; that your music has quite upset him, and that if he did not restrain himself he should go down on his knees to thank you for it.' I made a movement of incredulous embarrassment at these strange words, but Paganini seizing my arm, and rattling out 'Yes, yes!' with the little voice he had left, dragged me up on the stage, where there were still a good many of the performers, knelt down, and kissed my hand. I neednot describe my stupefaction; I relate the facts, that is all."
In his frenzied state Berlioz went out into the bitter cold, met Armand Bertin on the boulevard, told him what had occurred, caught a chill, and again had to keep his bed. Two days later, the little Achilles called, the bearer of a letter, and of a message to the effect that his father would himself have paid the visit, but was too ill to do so. The letter ran as follows:—
"My Dear Friend,Beethoven dead, only Berlioz now can revive him; and I, who have enjoyed your divine compositions, worthy of the genius which you are, entreat you to accept, in token of my homage, twenty thousand francs, which will be remitted you by the Baron de Rothschild on presentation of the enclosed. Believe me always your most affectionate friend,Nicolo Paganini.Paris, December 18th, 1838."
"My Dear Friend,
Beethoven dead, only Berlioz now can revive him; and I, who have enjoyed your divine compositions, worthy of the genius which you are, entreat you to accept, in token of my homage, twenty thousand francs, which will be remitted you by the Baron de Rothschild on presentation of the enclosed. Believe me always your most affectionate friend,
Nicolo Paganini.
Paris, December 18th, 1838."
Picture the scene! Berlioz, pale with excitement; his wife, entering the room, imagines some new misfortune has befallen them. Told of what has happened, she calls her son Louis. Berlioz' words again: "And my wife and child ran back together, and fell on their knees beside my bed, the mother praying, the child in astonishment joining his little hands beside her. O Paganini! what a sight! Would that he could have seen it!"
The news soon spread abroad, and there were mixed feelings with regard to Berlioz; delight on the one hand,detractions on the other, and "scandalous insinuations" against Paganini. It was some six days before Berlioz recovered sufficiently to visit and thank Paganini. The latter would not hear a word; it was the greatest pleasure he had ever felt in his life, he said; adding, "Ah! now none of the people who cabal against you will dare to say another word, for they know that I am a good judge, and that I am not easy" the last clause bearing two meanings: "I am not in easy circumstances," or, "I do not part with money easily." I know that this gift of Paganini to Berlioz is now regarded as a myth. One version of the story is that Paganini was merely the agent, the real donor being Armand Bertin, the great friend of Berlioz, who wished to remain in the background. Another version is to the effect that Jules Janin, editor of theJournal des Débats, compelled Paganini to make the gift to Berlioz, who was the musical critic on that paper; and that Paganini, fearing to lose his prestige with the public if Berlioz turned against him, yielded to the pressure put upon him. I am going to give chapter and verse for all this, for it is a matter that should be put at rest. But first, what a condition is revealed of the press in relation to art. Berlioz in money matters was incorruptable, though he was often poor enough; therefore I leave him out of the discussion. But think of the possibility of the transaction! Janin, years before, had written bitter things of Paganini—things I have declined to quote in this memoir; but Janin must have been quite as bad as he asserted Paganini to have been, if he was capable of thismonstrous proposition. There are two details to be considered, and the first is the date. In 1838, the public career of Paganini was at an end. There was the wretched Casino business, it is true, but there was no performance by Paganini. In the second place, supposing for a moment that Berlioz could or would employ his pen in disparagement of the great violinist, could he have written anything more violent, more depreciatory, than critics had been writing for the previous twenty years, criticisms which Paganini had survived, and grown rich upon? Besides, if the Janin story be true, the Bertin must be false. Where then is the authority for the former? In 1840, Liszt wrote a memorial notice of Paganini. In it passing reference is made to some deeds of benevolence. Lina Ramann, in her "Life of Liszt," of which the first part was published in 1880, prints this essay, and at the point above mentioned adds a long foot note[39]giving the Janin story, which she averred Liszt knew through Janin himself. That was a safe story to reproduce, though it might have been contradicted by Liszt if he ever saw the book. Now for the Bertin version. The authority quoted for that is always Ferdinand Hiller. In 1868, Hiller published his work "On the Musical Life of our Time," in which he relates some gossiping with Rossini, in 1856. The conversation turned upon Paganini on one occasion, and Hiller asked about the kingly gift to Berlioz. Rossini replied that all Paris knew it, and he must needs believe it, but at bottom he held the thing impossible. Nothing moredefinite is there recorded. In 1871, Hiller published a new series of similar papers or essays, but of this work I know nothing. Rossini was a raconteur, and fond of saying good things. There is no reason to doubt the good faith of Ferdinand Hiller; he set down what Rossini said, which, after all, was only the expression of a doubt. This reticence was perhaps owing to the fact that Berlioz was still living. But how was Rossini likely to know the facts of the case? He went to Italy in 1836, and returned to Paris about the end of May, 1855; consequently he knew nothing of the alleged gift at the time, and as Armand Bertin died in 1854, Rossini could not have heard the story from him. So far, one would be justified in attaching little credence to Hiller's gossip with Rossini.