But there was a sequel. Rossini died in November, 1868, and Berlioz passed away in March, 1869. His Autobiography was published in 1870, with the Paganini incident as it has already been related. To the last, Berlioz believed that the money came from Paganini. In 1880, Hiller published a work entitled "Künstlerleben," in which a chapter was devoted to Berlioz. Again reference is made to the princely gift, incredible from so mean a man as Paganini. "Rossini gave me the key to this enigma," writes Hiller, "and I do not hesitate to communicate the same, as it can no longer be unpleasant to anyone concerned in the matter." He then goes on to say that Paganini consented to be the agent of Armand Bertin, who really found the money. "Are you sure that this was true?" asked Hiller; "Iknowit," repliedRossini, seriously. Hiller then states his conviction that Rossini's account must be correct.[40]Now was this the outcome of a subsequent conversation with Rossini, or an amplification of the "gossip" at Trouville? Hiller is candid enough to say that some may doubt, and I should confess to being among the doubters if his evidence was the sole support of the story.
But in 1896, appeared the evidence of one whose testimony was unimpeachable. The late Sir Charles Hallé went to Paris in 1836, when a youth of seventeen. In 1838, he was introduced to Paganini, was invited to visit him, and often played to him; and, once, nearly heard Paganini play! An extract from Hallé's "Autobiography" will show what he thought of the great violinist: "From my earliest childhood I had heard of Paganini and his art as of something supernatural, and there I actually sat opposite to the man himself, but only looking at the hands that had created such wonders. On one never-to-be-forgotten occasion, after I had played and we had enjoyed a long silence, Paganini rose and approached his violin case. What then passed in me can hardly be imagined; I was all in a tremble, and my heart thumped as if it would burst my chest; in fact, no young swain going to the first rendezvous with his beloved could possible feel more violent emotions. Paganini opened the case, took the violin out, and began to tune it carefully with his fingers without using the bow; my agitation became almost intolerable. When he was satisfied, and I said to myself, with a lump in my throat,'Now, now, he'll take the bow!' he carefully put the violin back and shut the case. And this is how I heard Paganini." Hallé also became acquainted with Berlioz and acquaintance ripened into a close friendship. He saw the change worked in Berlioz through the Paganini incident; how his courage was strengthened, and from a morose, he became a cheerful companion. Then he divulges what had been a life-secret: "Armand Bertin, the wealthy and distinguished proprietor of theJournal des Débats, had a high regard for Berlioz and knew of all his struggles, which he, Bertin, was anxious to lighten. He resolved therefore to make him a present of 20,000 fr., and in order to enhance the moral effect of this gift he persuaded Paganini to appear as the donor of the money. How well Bertin had judged was proved immediately; what would have been a simplegracieusetéfrom a rich and powerful editor towards one of his staff became a significant tribute from one genius to another, and had a colossalretentissement. The secret was well kept and never divulged to Berlioz. It was known, I believe, to but two of Bertin's friends besides myself, one of whom is (Victor) Mottez, the celebrated painter; I learned it about seven years later when I had become an intimate friend of the house, and Madame Armand Bertin had been for years one of my best pupils."[41]This must be accepted as a true statement of the case, but it proves no more than that Paganini became a party to a benevolent conspiracy; he never boasted of the gift, nor claimed any credit for it. Even when Berlioz, relieved of his financialtroubles, set to work with a light heart at the composition which was to be worthy of dedication to the illustrious artist to whom he owed so much (his own words), even when he wrote to Paganini about a subject, all the answer he could get was: "I can give you no advice." He chose Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet" as a theme, worked at it for seven months, and produced a masterpiece. Paganini inspired him, but never heard the work "undertaken chiefly to please him."
To Paganini the world owes still more. It has been already stated that Paganini's playing when in Paris in 1831 exerted an extraordinary influence over Franz Liszt, and gave the direction to his genius. I use the word "genius" advisedly, believing that Liszt is one of that sacred band to whom the term belongs of right. This is not the place to discuss the position Liszt occupies among composers; nor is this country yet qualified properly to judge him. Wagner, Schumann and Chopin have passed the ordeal; from persecution they have arrived at deification, so to speak, and even their faults are regarded as merits. But prejudice dies hard, and Liszt has yet to suffer. His earnest disciple Walter Bache sacrificed time and means in his Liszt propaganda, but with scant success. My point here is to try and show that Paganini, despite all shortcomings as a man and as an artist, had a mission—whether he knew it or not—and fulfilled it through others.
Beethoven's pianoforte playing, and pianoforte compositions, led makers of that instrument to extend its compass; Liszt led the way to a new system for thepianoforte, with effects hitherto undreamt of, and the impulse came from Paganini. No other instance is on record of an instrument like the violin absolutely revolutionising the treatment of the pianoforte. I have already referred to Liszt in Paris, how, depressed and suffering, he withdrew from art and buried himself in solitude. The revolution of 1830 aroused him, but it was Paganini who rekindled the flame of art. Here I must have recourse to Lina Ramann's "Franz Liszt."
Liszt went to hear Paganini: "Charmed, stunned, yet seeing clearly at the same time, he could have cried out for sorrow and exultation. This playing! it was the vision of his soul, after which he had sought and grasped and yet could never find or seize. Now here he felt it realised before him. With kindling power it seized his artistic will. Until then Liszt had groped and sought without any conscious aim; following the hidden impulse of his spirit, he had given place to all kinds of whims.... Now, all at once, he was led by Paganini into fixed paths and the lost thread of his development was found again. By Paganini's playing the veil had been torn away which lay between him and his artistic will.... Paganini's playing had fanned the Promethean spark of his genius to a brilliant flame. That for which the poets of the time strove in their literary productions—freedom of form and of subject—he saw here in the domain of reproducing music. With all this the serious defects and onesidedness of the great violinist's capabilities and genius did not escape the youthful pianist. He measured him by the ideals of artistic culture which shone before his owneyes.... He recognised plainly the limits of the influence which Paganini exercised over him, and saw how human was the mission of the artist—a consciousness was awakened thatartistic culture is inseparable from human sympathies, that only a great man can become a great artist. This conviction drew from his lips the proud but noble words 'Génie oblige.'[42]With indescribable eagerness, and at the same time with exulting triumph, Liszt, after having heard Paganini, turned again to his instrument. He was seldom seen; in public, as a pianist, never. His mother alone was the silent witness of his perseverance and restless working. As Wieland, he hammered at his piano. He, who, already as a boy, had climbed the Parnassus of study, now sat at the instrument often six hours a day and practised; yes, he exercised the language of his spirit, and created for it an organ of expression." The author then goes on to describe the new ideas that came to Liszt when studying the Twenty-four Capricii of Paganini, and how he discovered new combinations, and also that the hand of the pianist had yet much to learn. "With this perception a bridge was built to new technical triumphs in the art of pianoforte playing.... On the one hand he increased the beauty and breadth of sound of this instrument in a marvellous degree, while on the other, he gave at the same time a fatal blow to the modern pianoforte music of his day. This was the new discovery which Liszt made through Paganini, and onthe foundation of which he has created an extension of the arena of sound.... Thus Paganini's capriccios gave Liszt the first impulse towards the modern system for the pianoforte, and at the same time prompted him to enter on the territory till then unknown of transferring effects."[43]
What the influence of Liszt has been, is beyond the present purpose to inquire. But, blot out Paganini and every note he has written, and he reappears in the art work of at least one great French composer, and in that of the greatest pianist the world has yet seen—one to whom the high compliment has been paid in the epithet—"The Paganini of the Pianoforte."
Is it worth while at this distance of time to refer to the actual playing of Paganini? Can one recall "the touch of a vanished hand?" This memoir would not be complete without some account of Paganini's art beyond that given in the story of his life. Here I do not venture to write as a violin expert, and I shall only quote from Guhr's "On Paganini's Art of Playing the Violin"—which is presumably still accessible to students—in so far as it may be serviceable to the general reader. Leaving æsthetic, and higher considerations generally, out of count for the moment and limiting our attention to matters technical, we find much that was absolutely new. As regards mere extravagance and eccentricity of execution, Paganini was surpassed by Locatelli. We have to take into consideration the concert-pitch in use at the time of Paganini's public career. That, I take it, corresponded very closely with the Diapason normal now coming into general use. Paganini employed thin strings, and, for purposes to be named presently, often tuned his violin a semitone higher than the pitch of the band which accompanied him—equivalent to the English pitch, or high pitch still in use in some places. These thin stringsserved another purpose—the easy production of harmonics. If there was one thing more novel than any other in Paganini's playing it was the introduction of harmonics, melodies, double notes, and double shakes in harmonics. The natural harmonics were of course known to all violinists, but the artificial harmonics, if not the invention of Paganini, were first employed by him as integral features of his compositions as well as of his performances. Then there was his particular kind ofstaccato, produced by throwing his bow forcibly on the string, "letting it spring while he runs through the scales with incredible rapidity, the tones rolling like pearls" (Guhr). The Rev. Dr. Fox said the bow seemed to act with the elasticity of a spring fixed at one end, and made to vibrate. The combination of bowing, withpizzicatoby the left hand, if not new, was employed by Paganini to a degree never attempted before. Lastly, there was his wonderful performance on the fourth string, which he tuned up to B flat, and sometimes even a semitone higher. Much of his use of these devices is put down as clap-trap, yet since his day many violinists have employed the same means, if they have not achieved the same result.
PLATE 18. (See Appendix.) Programme for a concert by Paganini.PLATE 18. (See Appendix.)
PLATE 19. (See Appendix.) Programme for a concert by Paganini.PLATE 19. (See Appendix.)
PLATE 20. (See Appendix.) Programme for a concert by Paganini.PLATE 20. (See Appendix.)
PLATE 21. (See Appendix.) Programme for a concert by Paganini.PLATE 21. (See Appendix.)
PLATE 22. (See Appendix.) Programme for a concert by Paganini.PLATE 22. (See Appendix.)
Let us consider, for a moment, the performances on the G string. It is certain that Paganini was not the originator of that manner of playing, for Leopold Mozart wrote of Esser[44]as playing on the G string alone with the greatest ease. Compositions for a single string were also written before Paganini's day, for Friedrich Wilhelm Rust (1739-1796) composed a violin sonata for the Estring. But Paganini made such a feature of this species of performance because it pleased the public, and, in giving the audiences that which they preferred rather than that which his artistic conscience should have prompted, he became the pupil of his age, and fell from his high estate. On the other hand, he may be said to have discovered the powers of the fourth string, to which, by the employment of harmonics, he gave a compass of three octaves. He was censured for his partiality in this direction, but in these days every violinist plays a solo on the G string. Is not Bach's "Aria" played everywhere as a fourth string solo? Yet, as musicians know, it was not written for that string, nor as a solo, forming, as it does, the theme of the slow movement of the "Overture in D," for strings, two oboes, three trumpets, and drums. Moreover, in Mozart's Violin Concerto in E flat, No. 6, composed in 1766, there is in the slow movement, an eight-bar period for the G string, and also one of the same length in the Finale. In Beethoven's Violin Concerto the principal theme of the Rondo is assigned to the G string, and also when it recurs after the second subject. This work was composed in 1806, a short time after Paganini wrote his "Napoleon Sonata," but was heard in public years before Paganini's was so performed. These two compositions are mentioned merely to show that the charm of the fourth string was not unknown in early days; to refer to later works would be superfluous.
Now, as to Paganini's tuning his instrument a semitone higher than the ordinary pitch. It will be conceded thatthe different keys have distinctive qualities, to which some musicians are more sensitive than others. Some term it key-colour: I prefer the expression key-character. On the violin some keys are more sonorous than others. The effect may be partly mental, and I believe—though I may be wrong—that a violinist plays with a different feeling in the key of E, to that which would be excited by the key of E flat, and this apart from the æsthetic import of the composition itself.[45]In many concertos the chorus violins—if I may so call them—sometimes play the same notes with the soloist, and so absorb the tone of the latter that the listener can only hear the mass of violin tone. It is on record that Paganini was never overpowered by thetuttiin any of the pieces he played, though some writers say his tone was not remarkable for volume. The explanation may be found in what follows. Paganini had an almost morbidly keen musical organisation, an acute sense of hearing, in which he resembled Mozart and Berlioz. Paganini wrote the solo part of his first concerto in D (tuning his violin a semitone higher), and the orchestral parts in E flat. Why? Not because D was an easier key to play in, nor because some passages if viewed as in E flat were marvels of execution; but because he felt the difference in the "power" of the two keys. Mozart's Concertante for violin and viola, with orchestra, is in E flat, but the viola part is in D, and the instrument was to be tuned a semitone higher. This was done "both to give it a clear sound and to makethe execution easier."[46]Mozart's piece was probably written in 1780, so here is one of the expedients ascribed to Paganini as a trick made use of by a great master before the famous violinist was born. Berlioz never heard Paganini play, but he was the first among his contemporaries to understand and appreciate Paganini's intention in this respect. In hisSoirées de l'Orchestrehe wrote: "He (Paganini) has known how to render distinct and dominating the tones of a solo violin by tuning its four strings a semitone above those of the orchestra; which enabled him to play in the brilliant keys of D and A, while the orchestra accompanied him in the less sonorous keys of E flat and B flat." Berlioz knew, if any one did, what was the distinctive character of a key. It is highly improbable that either he or Paganini ever heard, or even knew anything of Mozart's "Concertante" just mentioned. So much by way of clearing Paganini from the charge of charlatanry. Artistic faults and failings he had, and these no attempt has been made to conceal; but every succeeding generation of violinists has been deeply indebted to the great Genoese for opening up new possibilities, by the way in which he advanced the character and power of the violin. Leaving now the technical side of his art, let us hear what his great contemporaries have to say of his playing from the æsthetic standpoint. We need not refer again to Lafont and Lipinski, but will begin with Spohr. It has been mentioned that Spohr met Paganini at Venice, in 1816. Spohr wished to hear the great Italian play something,but the latter declined. He afterwards explained to Spohr that his style of playing was calculated for the great public only; and that if he were to play to Spohr he must play in a different manner, for which he was not then inclined. So it was not until 1830 that Spohr heard Paganini at Cassel. This is what he wrote: "In June, 1830, Paganini came to Cassel and gave two concerts in the theatre, which I heard with great interest. His left hand, and his constantly pure intonation were to me astonishing. But in his compositions and his execution, I found a strange mixture of the highly genial and childishly tasteless, by which one felt alternately charmed and disappointed, so that the impression left as a whole was, after frequent hearing, by no means satisfactory to me." Paganini was playing to his "great public," and in that respect lost Spohr's esteem; but can a great violinist, of strong personality, be perfectly just to a contemporary of a different temperament? Schumann, as a composer, could look upon Paganini from a different point of view. This is what he says: "When I heard him for the first time, I expected him to begin with a tone such as had never been heard before. But with how small, how thin a tone he commenced! Then he began to weave his spells; invisibly he threw out his magnetic chains among the public; they oscillated above and around. And then the rings became more and more intricate; even the audience seemed to contract, while he interlaced his tones until they seemed melted into one—one with the master himself, all counterbalancing each other with sympathetic influence." This is not criticism; it is scarcely description:it is as fanciful as Heinrich Heine's description, but it is a proof of the great violinist's power to touch the imagination. Ignaz Moscheles, a virtuoso pianist, complains of his utter inability to find language capable of conveying a description of Paganini's wonderful performance. "Had that long-drawn, soul-searching tone lost for a single second its balance, it would have lapsed into a discordant cat's-mew; but it never did so, and Paganini's tone was always his own, and unique of its kind. The thin strings of his instrument—on which alone it was possible to conjure forth those myriads of notes and thrills and cadenzas would have been fatal in the hands of any other violin player, but with him they were indispensable adjuncts." Again: "Nothing could exceed my surprise and admiration; his constant and venturesome flights, his newly discovered source of flageolet tones, his gift of fusing and beautifying subjects of the most heterogeneous kind; all these phases of genius so completely bewildered my musical perceptions, that for several days afterwards my head seemed on fire and my brain reeled. I never wearied of the intense expression, soft and melting like that of an Italian singer, which he could draw from his violin." Yet, later, Moscheles had to say: "I find both his style and manner of playing monotonous." Liszt, many years later said: "No one who has not heard him can form the least idea of his playing." Paganini indeed could soar to the Empyrean, but he had not the Peri's pure gift which would open the gate of Paradise!
PLATE 23. (See Appendix.) A letter by Paganini.PLATE 23. (See Appendix.)
François Joseph Fétis, who befriended Paganini whenfirst he visited Paris, certainly held no brief for the celebrated artist, but rather presided over him as judge. He stated that the art of Paganini was an art apart, which was born with him, and of which he carried the secret to the grave. He further stated that Paganini often assured him that his talent was the result of a secret discovered by himself, a secret he intended to reveal, before his death, in a method for the violin, which should have but few pages, but which should throw all violinists into confusion. Fétis questions the existence of the secret, and thinks the great artist was labouring under a delusion. Yet he has to acknowledge that there was something extraordinary and mysterious in the power that Paganini possessed in the execution of unheard of difficulties in an infallible manner. His intonation was always perfect.[47]
William Gardiner, the Leicester amateur, who became acquainted with Paganini, wrote: "There was no trick in his playing; it was all fair, scientific execution, opening to us a new order of sounds, the highest of which ascended two octaves above C in alt."
An Italian physician, Francesco Bennati,[48]made a physiological study of Paganini, accounting for his wonderful executive powers as due not so much to hismusical genius as to his peculiar physical formation. In particular, the flexibility of his wrist, and the great lateral extension of his finger joints, enabled him to execute passages impossible to others. But there must have been something beyond technique. I have heard many persons, professional and amateur, speak of his playing as something beyond conception, not only in regard to execution, but in the power of swaying an audience, playing upon their emotions; the whole man was an instrument. No other artist was so widely quoted by his contemporaries. Mendelssohn, Chopin, and others make reference to Paganini whenever anything wonderful is spoken of. Chopin was a great admirer of Slavik, and considered him only second to Paganini. Every volume of reminiscences down to the present day includes the name of Paganini, if only to relate that somebody once heard him play. But not only musicians, poets also sang his praises. Is there anything more beautiful than the tribute paid him by Leigh Hunt? A few lines may be quoted:
So played of late to every passing thoughtWith finest change (might I but half as wellSo write!) the pale magician of the bow,Who brought from Italy the tales made true,Of Grecian lyres, and on his sphery hand,Loading the air with dumb expectancy,Suspended, ere it fell, a nation's breath.He smote—and clinging to the serious chordsWith godlike ravishment, drew forth a breath,So deep, so strong, so fervid thick with love,Blissful, yet laden as with twenty prayers,That Juno yearn'd with no diviner soulTo the first burthen of the lips of Jove.The exceeding mystery of the lovelinessSadden'd delight; and with his mournful look,Dreary and gaunt, hanging his pallid face'Twixt his dark and flowing locks, he almost seem'd,To feeble or to melancholy eyes,One that had parted with his soul for pride,And in the sable secret liv'd forlorn.But true and earnest, all too happilyThat skill dwelt in him, serious with its joy;For noble now he smote the exulting strings,And bade them march before his stately will;And now he lov'd them like a cheek, and laidEndearment on them, and took pity sweet;And now he was all mirth, or all for senseAnd reason, carving out his thoughts like proseAfter his poetry; or else he laidHis own soul prostrate at the feet of love,And with a full and trembling fervour deep,In kneeling and close-creeping urgency,Implored some mistress with hot tears; which past,And after patience had brought right of peace,He drew as if from thoughts finer than hopeComfort around him in ear-soothing strainsAnd elegant composure; or he turn'dTo heaven instead of earth, and raise a prayerSo earnest-vehement, yet so lowly sad,Mighty with want and all poor human tears,That never saint, wrestling with earthly love,And in mid-age unable to get free,Tore down from heaven such pity.
So played of late to every passing thoughtWith finest change (might I but half as wellSo write!) the pale magician of the bow,Who brought from Italy the tales made true,Of Grecian lyres, and on his sphery hand,Loading the air with dumb expectancy,Suspended, ere it fell, a nation's breath.
He smote—and clinging to the serious chordsWith godlike ravishment, drew forth a breath,So deep, so strong, so fervid thick with love,Blissful, yet laden as with twenty prayers,That Juno yearn'd with no diviner soulTo the first burthen of the lips of Jove.The exceeding mystery of the lovelinessSadden'd delight; and with his mournful look,Dreary and gaunt, hanging his pallid face'Twixt his dark and flowing locks, he almost seem'd,To feeble or to melancholy eyes,One that had parted with his soul for pride,And in the sable secret liv'd forlorn.
But true and earnest, all too happilyThat skill dwelt in him, serious with its joy;For noble now he smote the exulting strings,And bade them march before his stately will;And now he lov'd them like a cheek, and laidEndearment on them, and took pity sweet;And now he was all mirth, or all for senseAnd reason, carving out his thoughts like proseAfter his poetry; or else he laidHis own soul prostrate at the feet of love,And with a full and trembling fervour deep,In kneeling and close-creeping urgency,Implored some mistress with hot tears; which past,And after patience had brought right of peace,He drew as if from thoughts finer than hopeComfort around him in ear-soothing strainsAnd elegant composure; or he turn'dTo heaven instead of earth, and raise a prayerSo earnest-vehement, yet so lowly sad,Mighty with want and all poor human tears,That never saint, wrestling with earthly love,And in mid-age unable to get free,Tore down from heaven such pity.
It was urged against Paganini as a fault, that he rarely played any other music than his own. Paganini was one of the latter-day examples of the virtuoso and the composer represented by one and the same person. From the days of Handel to the time of Beethoven, the composer was his own interpreter, and never gave concerts with compositions by others. But Paganini didat times play concertos by Rode and Kreutzer, though it was said that in these he was less successful than in his own. The Rev. Dr. Cox heard Paganini play the first movement of Beethoven's Concerto—in fact it was performed for his special edification. This is what he said of it: "Never shall I forget the smile on that sad, pale, wan, and haggard face, upon every lineament of which intense pain was written in the deepest lines, when I caught his eye, or the playing, into which a spirit and sympathy were thrown that carried one wholly away. As soon as he had concluded, and before I could rush up to him to express my thanks, he glided away. I never saw him afterwards." It was also stated that Paganini failed as a quartet player. His strong individuality might have been an obstacle in the way of securing the perfect unanimity of feeling and expression that characterise fine quartet playing; but to imply that he could not perform the music was absurd. As an executant, pure and simple, Paganini never had, and possibly never may have, a compeer.
But the question remains: did Paganini's playing result in any permanent benefit to the art? Had he a permanent influence, and if so, was it for good? To take a material aspect, it was owing to Paganini that the fame of Joseph Guarnerius was published beyond Italy. "The names of Amati and Stradivarius became familiar to the musical world gradually, but Guarnerius, in the hands of a Paganini, came forth at a bound. This illustrious violin was often credited with the charm which belonged to the performer; the magical effects and sublime strainsthat he drew forth from it, must, it was thought, rest in the violin. Every would-be violinist, whose means permitted him to indulge in the luxury, endeavoured to secure an instrument by the great Guarnerius. The demand thus raised brought forth those gems of the violin maker's art now in the possession of wealthy amateurs and a few professors. When the various works of the gifted Guarnerius were brought to light, much surprise was felt that such treasures should have been known only to a handful of obscure players, chiefly in the churches of Italy."[49]
Plate XXIV.—See Appendix.A Semi-Caricature of Paganini, 1831.
It has been shown that Paganini's performances caused a revolution in the style of composition and execution in pianoforte music, as exemplified in the works of Liszt. But did violin playing benefit? As Paganini belonged to no school, so he founded no school. He had his imitators, but he had few pupils, and no absolute successor. Camillo Sivori is generally put forth as his only pupil. I have heard that great artist, but—I say it with diffidence—I could never consider him the equal of what I imagined Paganini to have been. According to William Gardiner, Paganini was accompanied by Antonio Oury when he first went to London. It was Oury who introduced Gardiner to Paganini, and the former stated that Oury was Paganini's favourite pupil.[50]Then the ChevalierRobbio, who appeared at Jullien's concerts at Drury Lane Theatre in 1854, claimed to have been a pupil of Paganini. Acknowledged pupils were Teresa Ottavio, who was playing in Vienna, in 1835, and Mlle. Neumann, who gave concerts in Venice and elsewhere, in 1838. But all these were of small account. The question remains. Did Paganini influence the art of violin playing, and in what direction? Let a very recent writer contribute an answer. "We would not miss this greatest of fiddlers in the annals of violin playing—no, not for a Spohr or any other great modern violin master; but his influence can hardly be called beneficial. It forced violin playing into a Procrustean bed unsuited to its true nature and mission. Paganini had temporarily transformed the angel into a devil, and the angel did not escape unscathed—Lucifer burned his wings. Violin-playing will never be quite what it was before Paganini. He helped to hurry the growing old process—brought out the lines, the spots, and the wrinkles on the once fair face. He, before all others, established the iron rule of technique, with its train of other evils, in the place of the gentler reign of charming naiveté of the elder master."[51]There is truth here, and cause for sadness; but can the hand of time be turned back, and music regain the artless joy of the seventeenth century, when technique was unknown? Paganini, after all, was only one of the forces that effected the revolution that produced the music of the last half of the nineteenth century. It is not too much to say that the technique of the modernorchestra, in regard to the string section, is due to Paganini. Compare the scores of the classical composers with those of the most modern writers, and see what an enormous difference there is in the work for the strings—from the violins to the double-basses. The orchestral player of to-day is a virtuoso. For good or evil, music has entered upon a phase that has raised executive skill to a pinnacle never attained before: and this it owes to Paganini: may it be the prelude to higher achievements in the spiritual domain of art!
There remains the consideration of Paganini as a composer. It is a truism to say that a composition has primarily to be judged from the standpoint of the age in which it was written. A Genius, we are told, is not only before his own age, but before all ages. All the same, the great Geniuses come into the world precisely at the right moment. To some music one may fitly apply the epithet "Immortal"; for it seems to be written, "not for an age, but for all time." That title is not claimed for the music of Paganini, but, in view of what has been written for the violin, it is necessary to take into consideration the date of Paganini's compositions. Take the two greatest surviving forms—the symphony and the concerto—and compare works in those forms, belonging to different periods. Mendelssohn and Schumann were innovators, so it was said, in regard to symphonic form. Both wrote symphonies of which the movements were connected, and Schumann by the recurrence of themes anticipated the "organic whole" of the symphonic poem. But in 1776, Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach composed symphonies in the modern one-movement style. This is not the time to discuss them, but justtaking the first, in D, I may point to the coda of the opening movement, which effects a modulation to E flat, the key of the slow movement. In this the subject enters, for the second time, in B flat; and a deceptive cadence is followed by a passage ending on the dominant of D, and so returning to the primary key for the last movement. The score is for flutes, oboes, one bassoon, horns, first and second violins, viola, violoncello, violone, and cembalo. Now, here is a work quite modern in its disregard of key relationship, and in the linking together of the different movements. Yet it would not be right to judge it by comparison with the symphonies of the last half century.
With regard to the concerto, take that form for the violin only. To go no further back than the works of the great Leipzig Cantor, Johann Sebastian Bach, we find his two concertos, in A minor, and E major, are scored only for strings, though the "continuo" implies the harpsichord. The concerto in D minor for two violins is scored in the same manner; and in all there is evidence that the soloist took part in thetuttisections. Then there is the Symphony movement, from an unknown church cantata, for violin concertante, with accompaniment of two oboes, three trumpets, drums, two violins, viola and continuo. In all these the basic principle is the contrasting of thetuttiandsolosections, which sustain a kind of dialogue. Much the same form is observed in Mozart's violin concertos, which, with one exception, are scored for oboes, horns and strings. The exception is the sixth, in E flat, which is scored for one flute, two oboes,bassoons, and horns. In this the form approaches that of the sonata, though thetuttiandsolocontrasts still remain, and evidently the soloist played in thetuttisections. To Viotti, born in 1753, three years before Mozart, must be assigned the honour of giving the violin concerto its fullest classical form. His orchestral background was rich in colour, he having adopted the complete Haydn Combination; and his solo parts were of prime importance. Beethoven's concerto (1806), and Mendelssohn's (finished in 1844), employ the same orchestra. Beethoven links the slow movement to the Finale, and Mendelssohn connects the whole. The latest concerto form is in part a reversion to the earliest type. The solo part is but a more elaborate line in the orchestral column, and the soloist is scarcely distinguishable from his orchestral colleagues.
In view of the question I wish to raise, I hope the reader will pardon this digression. Paganini sometimes played pieces by Kreutzer and Rode, but I have not been able to find evidence of his acquaintance with the concertos of Viotti. The reason may not be far to seek. Paganini remained in Italy until 1828; Viotti, born in Italy, left his country, and only once returned to it—in 1783, and that for a very short time. His long residence in Paris led to his being identified with the French School of violinists. His works were played by other performers during his life-time, but it is questionable whether they were known to Paganini. What I want to ask is simply this:—upon what work, or whose work, was Paganini's first concerto modelled? It was written in 1811, accordingto theMusical World(Vol. for 1851, p. 822), or in 1820 according to the "Oxford History of Music" (Vol. VI., p. 225). The form of the work will be dealt with later; here the question is one of instrumentation. Berlioz wrote: "It was said of Weber, 'He is a meteor!' With equal justice it may be said of Paganini, 'He is a comet!'" I would paraphrase Berlioz and say Paganini's First Concerto came upon the world as a comet—a comet with a most portentous tail! Paganini was the Richard Strauss of his day. Fancy, in the scoring of a concerto, trombones, double-bassoon, cymbals, and bass-drum! and that in the year 1811, possibly. Why, it only requires a few more horns and trumpets, some tubas, a rattle and other percussion instruments, to come up to the latest twentieth century scoring. But a truce to badinage. A big score, of itself, is not necessarily a thing to be praised; however, Paganini's full scoring never obscured the solo part, and that is more than can be said of some violin concertos of later date. I do not pretend to a knowledge of the whole of the literature for the violin, but I have heard much of it; yet I can recall no violin concerto going beyond the orchestral resources adopted by Beethoven in his work, of earlier date than Paganini's first concerto. I have further to confess that I have never seen an original score of any of Paganini's works, but I have written out a score from what I believe to be authentic band parts. I have heard the First Concerto, "reduced to one act," with the exordium cut out; and however much such a rendering may be in accordance with modern taste, I can only regard it as unjust to thecomposer. In the present day Paganini's music is looked upon with pity not far removed from scorn; how did his contemporaries esteem it?
Rossini is reported to have said: "Truly, it is fortunate that Paganini did not devote himself exclusively to lyric composition; he would have become a very dangerous rival."[52]Moscheles wrote: "His concertos are beautiful, and have even their grand moments; but they remind me of a brilliant firework on a summer's eve, one flash succeeding the other—effective, admirable—but always the same. His 'Sonate Militaire,' and other pieces, have a southern glow about them, but this hero of the violin cannot dispense with the roll of the drum; and completely as he may annihilate his less showy colleagues, I long for a little of Spohr's earnestness, Baillot's power, and even Mayseder's piquancy."
Very little was said of Paganini's compositions—I mean by way of description, orchestration, or even criticism—when the composer was in England. The writers seemed always engrossed and absorbed by the performance and personality of the man.
Schumann repeats what was said of Paganini; that he, himself, rated his merit as a composer more highly than his talent as avirtuoso. We know that Rubinstein desired to have his name handed down to posterity as a composer rather than as a pianist. The fates have been unkind to both. To return to Schumann. He remarks that "if general opinion has not, until now, agreed with him (Paganini), it must at least be allowed that his compositionscontain many pure and precious qualities, worthy of being firmly fixed in the richer setting required by the pianoforte." This of course referred to the caprices, Op. 1, but the observation is a curious illustration of the way in which individual minds regard things from their own standpoint.
Paganini's music appealed to Liszt as a means of creating a new school of pianoforte technique, as well as composition; very little can be gleaned from Liszt as to his æsthetic views regarding it. Fétis says great worth is revealed in the compositions of Paganini, as much by the novelty of the ideas as by the elegance of the form, the richness of the harmony, and the effects of the instrumentation. These qualities shine above all in the concertos; but, he adds, these works require the magic of his talent to produce the effect he intended. Berlioz was, perhaps, the most appreciative of Paganini's contemporaries. In hisSoirées de l'Orchestrehe says: "A volume might be written in telling all that Paganini has created in his works of novel effect, ingenious contrivances, noble and grandiose forms, and orchestral combinations unknown before his time. His melodies are broad Italian melodies, but full of a passionate ardour seldom found in the best pages of dramatic composers of his country. His harmonics are always clear, simple, and of extraordinary sonorousness. His orchestration is brilliant and energetic, without being noisy. He often introduces the bass drum into histuttiwith unusual intelligence."
During Paganini's lifetime no one else seems to haveplayed his music, although one of his imitators is said to have reproduced some pieces from memory. After Paganini's death, the propagandist of his works was his nephew and pupil, Ernesto Camillo Sivori. He made his début at the Leipzig Gewandhaus Concerts, October 3, 1841, and a week later introduced there Paganini's Variations on the Prayer fromMosé in Egitto. In all, some dozen pieces by Paganini were given at those famous concerts from 1841 to 1876. Sivori also introduced Paganini to the then very conservative concerts of the Philharmonic Society, London, in 1844. But they did strange things in those days. The first movement of the Concerto in B minor was included in the first part of the concert on April 29, 1844; the Adagio and Rondo coming in the middle of the second part! Poor Sivori had to submit to similar treatment of his own concerto at the Society's concerts in 1845. It would be interesting to know how Paganini's music fared at the concerts of the Paris Conservatoire, but I have not been able to procure any reliable data relating to the subject.
Rumour was long busy with the project entertained by Paganini's son, the Baron Achilles, of publishing a complete edition of the compositions of the great violinist; and in 1887 a paragraph in theAthenæumannounced on apparently good authority that the Baron was preparing for immediate publication the whole of the works of his father which still remained in manuscript. Several of those were named, but nothing more has been heard of the undertaking. I have scrutinised the musicalpress from that date to the present time, and have failed to gather any further information on the subject.
From every available source I have compiled the following list of Paganini's compositions:—
Op. 1. Twenty-four Capriccios, for violin alone.Op. 2. Six Sonatas, for violin and guitar.Op. 3. Six Sonatas, for violin and guitar.Op. 4. Three Grand Quartets, for violin, viola, violoncello and guitar.Op. 5. Three Grand Quartets, for the same.Op. 6. Concerto, No. 1, in E flat (D), for violin and orchestra.Op. 7. Concerto, No. 2, in B minor, for the same.Op. 8. "Le Streghe." Introduction and Variations.Op. 9. "God Save the King." Variations.Op. 10. "Carnaval de Venise." Variations.Op. 11. "Allegro de Concert." "Moto Perpetuo."Op. 12. "Non più mesta." Introduction and Variations.Op. 13. "Di tanti palpiti." Introduction and Variations.All for violin and orchestra.Op. 14. Sixty Studies in Variation form, on the Air "Barucaba," for violin alone.
Op. 1. Twenty-four Capriccios, for violin alone.
Op. 2. Six Sonatas, for violin and guitar.
Op. 3. Six Sonatas, for violin and guitar.
Op. 4. Three Grand Quartets, for violin, viola, violoncello and guitar.
Op. 5. Three Grand Quartets, for the same.
Op. 6. Concerto, No. 1, in E flat (D), for violin and orchestra.
Op. 7. Concerto, No. 2, in B minor, for the same.
Op. 8. "Le Streghe." Introduction and Variations.
Op. 9. "God Save the King." Variations.
Op. 10. "Carnaval de Venise." Variations.
Op. 11. "Allegro de Concert." "Moto Perpetuo."
Op. 12. "Non più mesta." Introduction and Variations.
Op. 13. "Di tanti palpiti." Introduction and Variations.
All for violin and orchestra.
Op. 14. Sixty Studies in Variation form, on the Air "Barucaba," for violin alone.