CHAPTER IV.

“With heav’nly touch of instrumental sounds.”

With no intention to be thus particular, I must beg permission, nevertheless, to extract a few more passages of contemporary notice. The celebratedCapriccio, in which he introduced the air from theCarnaval de Venise, merits a separate description:—

“On reaching his position in the centre of the stage, he seemed at once to lose all consciousness of the presence of mortals, and to live and breathe for his violin alone. He touched its strings lightly and trippingly, as if to awaken it, and then, after having given it three or four of those sweeping, switching strokes, which almost justify the expression that he thinks to lash it into submission to his spirit, he threw off a most singular mutilation of the Venetian Air, “Oh! come to me!” in which, while he appeared to retain only the sad part of the original, he communicated to it an odd wailing character. On this subject hecapriccio’dsome four or five variations, all in a consistent style, in which he introduced most of his peculiar movements of hand and bow. At the end, he was rapturously applauded, and he retired as he had entered. The applause, however, being continued, mixed with some cries ofencore, he came forth again, but without his violin, and, making a most eloquent bow, retired once more. The plaudits were, however, now redoubled, and the wicked audience, having got the crotchet into their heads, pretty unanimously vociferatedencore; when, after some delay, thegood Signor absolutely did make his appearance with his second self—or hispickaninney—his violin; and did vouchsafe two little variations more, of the wizard strain:—the last was altogether performed by the hand which held the instrument, and without the aid of the bow. On the whole, so strange, so whimsical an outpouring of melancholy we never heard before, and probably never shall again:—one really did not know whether to laugh or cry at it. Nothing upon record, that we know of, comes near it, with the exception ofCorporal Trim’spathos in the kitchen.”

In the region of the harmonic notes, which was before (comparatively speaking) almost a “terra incognita,” Paganini may claim the undoubted merit of having made extensive discoveries:—

“Thestaccatoruns, performed with the bow and concluded with a guitar note, are quite original with Paganini; and this is one of the few novelties in which he may find successful imitators. But his manner of producing the harmonic notes, which ascend to a height never before imagined, will probably remain a perpetual mystery42; it is not their least marvellous characteristic that, exquisitely attenuated as they are, the distinctness and strength of the sound is not, in the smallest degree, impaired. In performing on the fourth string only, he introduces the harmonics as part of the regular scale, thus obviating, in effect, all deficiency as to compass. The introduction ofpizzicatoruns, on this solitary string, is another inexplicable mechanical feat.”

And again, as to these wonder-working harmonics:—

“Signor Paganini having, through vast exertion, procured himself the aid of two entire additional octaveswith their half-notes, making in all 28 noteson the fourth string, by means of the harmonics, is able to execute pieces of a very extensive scale on that string alone. The labour he must have gone through, before he could so completely obtain the command of the harmonic notes, none but violin performers of experience can form a notion of. The most surprising part of the use he makes of them is in the clearness and strength of their tone, which render them as audible as the full notes, at any distance.”

At his (so called) farewell Concert at the King’s Theatre, on the 20th of August, two of the pieces he selected for his display were especially remarkable in the treatment. One of them, afandangoof very bizarre character, performed on the fourth string, consisted, in part, of a sort of whiningly amorous colloquy between two birds. An incidentalcrowing, like that of a cock, was privately conjectured, by one of the musical men present, to be the artist’s medium of conveying an oblique satire uponthe audience, as the subdued vassals of his will. No impression of the kind, however, existed withthem, for they demanded the repetition of the affair. The other piece was our National Anthem of God save the King, certainly an ill-selected subject for exhibition on a single instrument, and, in the treatment of it (if I may venture to advance my own impressions experienced at the time), too full of sliding, and, as it were,puling, to satisfy the pre-conceptions derived from the fullness, steadiness and grandeur, characteristic of the original composition. Indeed, as it appeared to my own humble judgment, there was intermixed in the general performances of this wonderful artist, “something too much” of this sliding and tremulous work, the result, seemingly, of an overstraining at expression—of anattempt, if I may so speak, to make the note carry more than it couldbear. The effect, in such cases, was in some degree analogous to that of Velluti’s singing; it bespoke intentions outstripping the possibility of execution. But then, amid so much splendid achievement, must we not always expect to find some mark or other of the imperfection belonging to that poor human nature which is the agent?

Whatever may have been, in theartisticsense, the relative appreciation of Paganini’s talent, in the various European countries that had witnessed its display—it is certain that he was no where so highly estimated, according to themonetaryscale, as in England, where it has been supposed (though the exact computation of such matters is difficult) that his receipts amounted to about twenty-four thousand pounds. Whilst the golden shower was descending on him, he was not so absorbed in its fascination, as to forget the silent claims of the penny-less;—nor would it be fair to measure his impulses in this direction, by the side of that largeness of soul which we have all so greatly delighted to honour in the excellent Jenny Lind.

In the summer of 1834, after an absence of six years, spent partly in Europe and partly in America, Paganini revisited Italy—where, looking wistfully towards the sweets of retirement, he invested a portion of his accumulated funds in the purchase of an agreeable country-residence in the environs of Parma, called theVilla Gajona. Among the projects he at that time entertained, was the thought of preparing his various compositions for publication—a measure towards which the eager curiosity, of those especially interested in the violin, had long been pointedly turned, under the impression that all which was mysterious in the productionof his extraordinary effects would thus be freely elucidated. Exaggerated notions, however, as to the pecuniary value of such a work, seem to have possessed the mind of Paganini; for, an enterprising Parisian publisher, who had made hopeful approaches to him whilst in London, had been frightened away by the discovery, that if he were to enter on the speculation by payment of the sum expected, he must look through a vista of ten years, for the commencement of his profits!

Received every where with honour in his own country, as the result of his foreign ovations, and decorated, by Maria Louisa, Duchess of Parma, with the Imperial Order of St. George, the caressed Artist was, nevertheless, incapable of any continuous enjoyment, for the want of that health which his restless and transitive spirit had no where been able to attain. A speculation of no sound character, with which he was induced to connect himself (in ignorance, as it is believed, of its real nature), drew him away to Paris, in 1838, and, in the result, damaged his pocket, and did not wholly spare his reputation. In that project, designed professedly for concerts, but covertly for gambling, he became involved, through a legal verdict, to the extent of 50,000 francs.

In the midst of the troubles associated with that affair, his ailments had deepened into consumption; and he made a painful journey through France, under medical prescription, to reach Marseilles. There, in retirement, beneath the roof of a friend, a brief return of energy enabled him to take up, now and then, his violin or his guitar; and he one day showed so much animation as to join effectively in a certain quartett of Beethoven’s, which he passionately admired. The necessity for change, so peculiarly felt by consumptive patients, impelledhim again to his own Genoa; but thegreatchange was at hand—and another journey brought him to his last earthly scene, which was at Nice. The closing process was rapid. His voice became hardly distinguishable from silence itself—and sharp attacks of cough, that grew daily more obstinate, completed the exhaustion of his strength.

Of the final moments of this memorable man, an Italian writer has furnished some account, in terms which, touching as they are, yet leave in the heart a sense of something to be desired—something which no reflecting mind will be at any loss to understand. The account is (in English) as follows:—

“During the evening that was his last, he manifested more tranquillity than was habitual to him. On awaking, after a short slumber, he had the curtains of his bed drawn aside, that he might contemplate the full moon, serenely marching through the immensity of the clear heaven. In the midst of that contemplation, he again sank into drowsiness; but the whispering of the contiguous trees excited in his bosom that stir of gentle emotion, which is the very life of the beautiful. As if he would have rendered back to Nature the sweet sensations he was receiving from her in that final hour—he extended his hand toward his charm-haunted violin—toward the faithful companion of his wanderings—toward the magic thing that had been as an opiate to his troubles;—and then—he sent up to heaven, along with its expiring sounds, the last sigh of a life that had been all melody!”

The date of the event was the 27th May, 1840—and the age of the deceased, fifty-six. The great Artist left considerable wealth, together with the title of Baron (conferred on him in Germany) to his only son,Achilles, the offspring of a union with a certain vocalist, named Antonia Bianchi—a union which, not having been secured and sanctioned by the church’s testimony, was soon severed by the lady’s temper.

The life of Paganini had been a “fitful fever”—and the desire to “sleep well” may indeed be conceived to have been as an abiding thirst within him. Even his cold remains, however, were not permitted, by jealous and jaundiced authority, to repose undisturbed. Slander had been furtively busy with his name—he had died without thestampconferred by official religious ministrations—his Catholicity was dubious—his mortal relics could not (sodecided the Bishop of Nice) be committed to consecrated ground. In vain did his son, his friends, and the chief professors of art in that city, make solicitation of leave for a solemn service to be performed in behalf of his eternal repose, under the plea that, like many another victim of consumption, he had not supposed his death to be imminent, and had departed this life suddenly;—the leave was refused; and all that could be obtained, was the offer of an authentic declaration of demise, with license to transport the corpse whithersoever it might be wished. This was declined—and the affair was brought before a public tribunal, which gave verdict in favour of the Bishop. Appeal was then had to Rome, where the Bishop’s decision was cancelled, and the Archbishop of Turin was charged, conjointly with two Canons of the Cathedral at Genoa, to make enquiry into Paganini’s Catholicity. During all this time, the corpse had remained in a room at the Hospital at Nice. It was then transferred, by sea, from the lazaretto of Villa Franca, near that city, to a country-seat in the neighbourhood of Genoa. There, a report soon got into circulation, of strange and lamentablesounds being heard by night. To arrest these popular impressions, the young Baron Paganini undertook the cost of a solemn service to the memory of his father, which was celebrated in one of the churches at Parma. After this expenditure, the friends of the deceased had permission from the Bishop of Parma to bring the corpse within that Duchy—to transfer it to theVilla Gajona—and to inter it near the village church:—and this funeral homage was at length rendered to the remains of the man of celebrity, in May 1845, but without any display, in conformity with orders from the government.

The sum bequeathed by Paganini to his son (for whom a documentary legitimacy had been procured) amounted to two millions of francs (about £80,000), charged with legacies of fifty, and sixty thousand francs, respectively, to his two sisters, and with an annualpittanceof 1200 francs to the mother of his loved Achilles. He left also some valuable instruments, including an incomparableStraduarius, a charmingGuarnerius, of the small pattern, an excellentAmati, abassof Straduarius, agreeing with the violin by the same maker, and his large and favouriteGuarnerius. This latter, the sole instrument associated entirely with his travels, he bequeathed to the city of Genoa, being unwilling that any other artist should possess it after him.

Some further particulars, to illustrate chiefly the habits of theman, may not be deemed superfluous.

Paganini’s existence was a series of alternations betwixt excitement and exhaustion; and it is not surprising to find that his moods of mind were variable and uneven, and that he would sometimes sit, for hours together, in a sealed and sombre taciturnity, whilst, atother times, he would surrender himself to a wild effervescence of gaiety,—without any apparent motive in either case. Most commonly silentious, he was talkative when travelling. The weak state of his health made him averse from loud conversation; and yet, when the rattle of the wheels over the pavement became deafening, he would talk loud and fast. To the scenic charms out-spread before his eyes, he was insensible—his urgent impulse being to move rapidly, and to reach his journey’s end. In his later years, a low bodily temperature was habitual to him, insomuch that he would wrap a furred pelisse around him, in summer-time, and huddle himself up in a corner of his carriage, with every window closed. In-doors, on the contrary, he would have all the windows open, and called it taking an air-bath! He anathematized the climates of Germany and France, but, above all, that of England; and declared that Italy was the only country to live in. The intensity of his internal sufferings transmuted, at times, his ordinary pallor into a livid, or even a greenish hue; but his recourse was to quackery—tooneempirical remedy, in which he had faith, and not to doctors, in whom he had none. Before commencing a day’s journey, he took no tea, nor coffee, but either soup or a cup of chocolate. If it were early in the morning, he would start without taking anything, and sometimes continue fasting the greater part of the day. For the encumbrances of baggage, he had almost the contempt of aNapier. A small shabby box, in which he placed his belovedGuarneriusinstrument, his jewels, money, and meagre stock of linen,—a carpet bag—and a hat-box—these were his accompaniments, and were all stowed inside the vehicle. Careless of all that goes by the name ofcomfortable, he was also very little solicitous about his toilet. Hiswardrobe might have gone into a napkin. As for his papers, they were thrust into a small red portfolio, in “most admired disorder,” such as himself alone could penetrate for any immediate purpose. Arithmetician he wasnot, in the ordinary sense—but he managed his business calculations in a way of his own, that answered all his need. To the style of his accommodations on the road, he was quite indifferent, provided only that his rooms werequiet. At the day’s end, a light supper, or (sometimes) a cup of camomile tea, sufficed him.

In his own quarters, Paganini maintained usually the strictest solitude, and seemed always to quit his room with regret. His violin, as silent as himself, was not touched, save when he tuned it for a concert, or a rehearsal. He had workedenough—his labours had long before carried him to the summit;—his want, his craving want, wasrepose. There is a floating story about his having been dodged and watched for six months, from one halting-place to another, by an enthusiastic English amateur, who hoped to “pluck out the heart of his mystery,” to grasp the secret of his studies, by lodging at the same hotels, and occupying (whenever possible), a contiguous chamber. Vain expectation! a profound silence always enveloped the great Professor. At length, however, the crisis of discovery seemed imminent. Paganini was seen (through a key-hole) to seat himself on a couch—to take the incomparable fiddle from its case—to raise it to his left shoulder! Still, the silence was unbroken—not the whisper of a note could be distinguished! Paganini, absorbed doubtless in the composition of some new piece, only shifted his left hand about, upon the neck of the instrument, to study his positions, without the help of the bow—and then restored the un-awakened fiddle to its resting-place. TheEnglishman (says the story) renounced his hapless pursuit, and returned home in despair!

Enchained to music and its toils, from his earliest youth, Paganini had acquired very little general knowledge. Books were strange things to him and history and science, almost nullities. Political events had no interest for him: he looked at the newspapers merely for what personally concerned him. His mind was much engaged with his own projects for the future—such as forming a Musical Conservatory in Italy, publishing his compositions, writing operas, and ceasing to travel. He had aByronicmistrust of friends, and proneness to regard them as secret plotters against his peace. As for visitors (by whom he was sometimes besieged), as many as he was not constrained to see, were passed over to his Secretary. To those Artists who sought his converse, that they might enucleate his professional secrets, he listened patiently—but maintained his reserve. Invitations to dine or sup, which at every large town came in a shower upon him, were sparingly and reluctantly accepted. On rising from the table, if he could escape unperceived, he would immediately retire, to take repose. He was more livelybeforethanafterdinner—an ill compliment, perhaps, to hishost, but no bad way of signifying the real sacrifice he had made, in accepting his invitation. In evening society, he was cheerful, in the absence ofmusic; but, if that were started, either in practice, or as a conversational topic, his good humour instantly vanished;—nor is this at all wonderful, when we remember that his public life was one enormous compound of music, and that toforgetthat art, when in his more private moments, must have been to him as a want and a refuge. His eyes, weakened by the glare of stage lamps, had anowl-like propensity to shun the light, as was manifest in his custom of turning his back to the chandeliers &c. in evening society, and sitting in total darkness at home. He had a faculty, like that of George the Third, for unfailing recollection of the persons and names of those who had been once presented to him; and yet (strange to say) the names of the towns, wherein he gave his concerts, would slip from his memory, as soon as he had quitted them.

On the mornings of his concert-days, he allowed himself a liberal time for quiet—lounging at ease upon a sofa, as if conscious that composure is the cradle of strength—and then he would start up, full of decision for business. Amid the ensuing preparations, he took a good deal of snuff—the sure sign of his being earnestly engaged. At rehearsal, he was careful to exclude strangers. If they found their way in, however, he touched his solo passages almost inaudibly, or indicated them by a slightpizzicato. With the orchestra, he was rigorous in the extreme—exacting the minutest attention to every point. When he came to some special passage of display, in expectation of which, the members of the band were on their legs, all eagerness to catch what was coming, he would sometimes carelessly throw off a few notes only, and then turn towards them with a smile, and the words,Et cœtera, Messieurs!It was for the evening—for the public—that he reserved all the wonders of his talent. He always took away with him the various orchestralparts, which he would entrust to no one else. As for theprincipalpart, it was never seen, as he played frommemory, and sought to prevent the copying of his compositions. He had a way—the caprice of conscious power—of keeping the public a long time waiting, before he would show himself, and begin to play. His departure from a concert-room was the picture of a triumph. The curious and the enthusiastic formed a dense lane, extending to his carriage, and welcomed him with transports of admiration. At his hotel, a similar assemblage awaited him with their acclamations. Elate with such marks of general favour, he would then join thetable-d’hôte, not without an appetite for supper, though, perhaps, depression and indigestion might constitute the experience of the following day.

Such, then, as artist and as man, was Nicholas Paganini—whom let noneenvy, nor deem that a world-wide fame waswellacquired by the sacrificeshemade for its attainment—sacrifices involving, almost of necessity, much oblivion of the higher purposes of life, along with the forfeiture of some of its best comforts. Measuring the toils and sufferings of his career against its triumphs, surely we may say, “le jeu ne valait pas la chandelle!”—the precious flame of life wastoo dearlyexpended on a perfection that allowednothing elseto be perfected!” For a fitting wreath to the memory of Paganini, thecypressshould bear equal part with thelaurel; since pity and admiration can hardly be dissevered, in our thoughts of him. The consummation ofthe artistwas the spoiling ofthe man. To render himself, in so absolute a sense, themasterof his instrument, it was essential to become, what he emphatically was—itsslave. Bodily health, and moral vigour, withered alike under a dedication tooneobject of ambitious study, so early sighed for, and with such prolonged severity pursued. That thesuccess, however, (be its relative worth what it may) wascomplete—that the bold and wild adventurer reached the highest attainable summit in those regions of art that he explored and illustrated—is a point which seems hardly capable ofrational dispute. Allowing some of his eccentricities to weigh against him asdefects, there will yet remain sufficient ground for regarding him, on the whole, as the greatest ofallviolinists, past or present; nor wouldhebe themosthardy of prognosticators, who should venture to assign him the like pre-eminence over all future individuals of his calling;—for how can we anticipate another such happy union of theinventivewith theexecutivepower—another case in which there shall be so strange a concurrence in the various requisites of pre-disposing organization,43inflexible will, and co-operating circumstance? The same causes, however, which have placed him so far above the level of the crowd of instrumentalists, would seem to deny to him the production of any permanent or important impression on the general state of his Art. He could hardly have been followed by others, even if he had undertaken to be their teacher, and to “ungird his strangeness” to their toiling apprehensions, disclosing to them the most subtle principles of what he himself delighted to callla filosofia del violino.Hismeans would still have been abovetheirmeans, and the end would never be reached. Thus, although the greatest of artists, he must be reckoned, as a director and propagator of his art, far less considerable than Viotti of the modern school, Corelli of the old, or even others less distinguished than these two men of fame. “In considering the discoveries of Paganini,” said once an able French critic, “as regards their application to the progress of the art, and of genuine music, I think that their influence will be very limited, and that what arises out of them is only good inhishands; for, indifferently executed, it would be insupportable. The art of Paganini stands alone: it was born and it will die with him.” It is true that we have hadsubsequentexperience, in various instances, of a certain degree ofapproximationto the feats of Paganini; but, were this even closer than it is, it would not invalidate what has been here suggested as to the almost incommunicable nature of such skill as his.

Potent to stir the vibratory string,Andwondersfrom the realms of sound to bring!Skilled, through theear, to reach the awakenedheart,Or bid theFancyplay her picturing part!Conqu’ror, whose captives, gladdened with soft strains,Clung to thy sway, and revelled in their chains,And came in crowds, their homage to renew,And heaped the tribute still, as still thy due!Howvoidthe space that thou were wont to fill!Thy throne, how vacant, now—andmutethy skill!Hast thou—hastfound, far, far from earthly din,Therestthy glittering triumphs could not win?—Farewell!—What chief soe’er may seek to reign,Thy likewe shall not look upon again!

Thecompositionsof Paganini, replete as they are with the most surprising difficulties, and the boldest innovations, form prominent examples of what may be called theromanceof instrumental music. The design entertained by their author, of giving them to the world in his own life-time, as well as of imparting thesecretthat should make their execution seem no longer super-human, was destined to have no fulfilment; and it is to be regretted that his death rendered impossible the complete publication ofallthat he had composed, as not a few of the manuscript pieces were left by him in an imperfect state. Oftwenty-fourseveral pieces, enumerated as forming the whole of the MS. original works of Paganini, preserved by his son,nineonly were discovered to be in a completed state. An edition of all that is presentable, however, has been undertaken in Paris, to gratify at length a twenty-years expectation but it is very doubtful whether a London edition will be ventured on, since it is only for the higher class of professors—for a very select minority—that such a collection can have any attractiveness, beyond that of mere curiosity.

Monsieur Fétis, in his literary notice, written to accompany the Collection just referred to, has given some able critical remarks on the compositions in detail. His pamphlet may be consulted with advantage by the enquiring reader. Alluding to the compositions in their general character, M. Fétis observes that great merit is displayed in them—novelty as to the ideas, elegance as to the forms, richness of harmony, and variety in the effects of instrumentation. These qualities (he adds) shine out particularly in theConcertos, however much they may differ from the classic type of those of Viotti, which, with all their charming sentiment, left something yet to be desired, on the score ofvariety, in the more rapid passages.

In his own compositions (which he always playedwith more satisfaction to himself than those of any other master) the mind of the great artist was highly developed; but to execute his peculiar intentions, in all their complexity, he needed the beautiful, exemplary, unfailing accuracy of intonation, that so distinguished him. How nicely exact, in the softest passages, his double notes! With what marvellous certainty did his bow pitch down upon the strings, no matter what the relative distance of the intervals! His hand (says M. Fétis) was a geometricalcompass, that divided, with mathematical exactness, the neck of the violin—and his fingers always came plump upon the very point at which the intonations of his double-note intervals were to be obtained.

As some sort of antidote to positivedespair, I will conclude this chapter with a passage in which, despite their thorny intricacies, the above-named writer recommends the practical study of Paganini’s Works:—

“It will perhaps be asked, what can be the advantage of introducing fresh difficulties into Art! In Music, it will be reasonably contended, the object is not toastonish, by the conquest of difficulties, but tocharm, by means of sentiment. Against this principle, I would be the last to declaim; but I would observe, first, that there is no preventing those cases ofexception, in which certain artistswillseek the triumphs of their talent in extreme perils of execution, which, if successful, the public will as surely applaud;—and, secondly, that the study of what is most arduous, leads to certainty in what is more simple. A violinist who should attain the power of playing the Concertos of Paganini, with truth of tune, and in perfect proportion, would possess,à fortiori, an undeviating accuracy in ordinary music.

”

... furnished out witharts.—Dryden.

Next in importance to the Italian School of Violinists, that of France now offers its claims to our notice. If the palm, indeed, were to be awarded according to the comparative merits of theliving(or recently living) Masters of each School, it must be given in favour of France; for, though we might admit the Italian Paganini to have been “facile princeps,” the greatest ofallperformers—and though we might overlook the consideration of his belonging, in fact, to no class or acknowledged system whatever—he is, still, butoneman of might,—a Goliah, without an army to back him, since his qualified countrymen, in modern days, are few—whereas the French have a redoubtable band of champions, present or recent, whose united force is able to defy living competition. It is in the aggregate of thepastwith the present, however, that the Italians are found to predominate. The probable originators of the art of violin-playing (in so far, at all events, as it was worthy to be called such),theyhave been likewise its steady and decisive improvers in every department, from the days of Corelli to those of Viotti, a space of about a century;—whilethe excellence of the French is of more modern growth, and, it should be remarked, of more limited character. Brilliancy of style, neatness and finish of execution, aretheirdistinguishing traits. They are a gay and a polished nation—they are gay and polished fiddlers. They animate you in thevivace, they dazzle you in theallegro brillante—but they commonly fail to reach your heart through theadagio appassionato. Their violinists have all the skill that is independent of deep feeling. Inexpression, they fall short of what is required: they catch its lesser graces, but they seem rarely to attain its higher powers. The violin, considered more particularly as thefiddle, is an instrument too congenial to the temperament of the French, to have escaped their especial notice and close cultivation. To all that is mercurial in their tendencies, as well as to much that is artificial in their habits, it lends itself with the utmost readiness: it is the best instrument to dance to; it is the best instrument to protect fromennuiyour sitters at a theatre: it sharpens the pungency of anair de vaudeville; it sets off the ceremonial of a ballet. In this sense, the French have “marked it for their own,” and achieved wonders with it. Out of this sphere—this lower empire—their power has been less considerable. It must be confessed, however, that this limitation applies with greater force and distinctness to the timeprecedingtheir great Revolution, than to later days. That mighty event, which stirred up the depths of the national mind, and opened the channels of thought in every direction, could not but exert some degree of influence, even on those arts that have least connection with the ordinary business of men. The French taste in music—formalistic, ungenial, and anti-catholic as it was—has undergonesomechange for the better, through the convulsionssions that have overthrown Kings, and scattered Courts. It still retains, albeit, much of its old, hard idiosyncrasy. French music is still, for the most part, “caviareto the general.” It lacks cosmopolitan character. To ensure it a full and hearty welcome, it needs a French education. If these observations be just, it follows that our lively neighbours, in dealing with stringed instruments, as well as with others, would not attain first-rate success in the way ofcompositionfor them—and such has been (I submit) the fact. Their realfortelies inexposition—in giving outward manifestation and effect to the ideas of others.

It is the remark of one of their own countrymen (the able Mons. Choron), that the principal merit of the French School of Music, taken altogether, lies in the various branches ofexecution. And, with reference always to this quality, execution, he adds, “the style in which the French have real and undisputed merit, and indeed, in many respects, have a marked superiority, is the instrumental in general, and especially that of the violin. On this point, the French have always had great pretensions, andoftenfounded in justice.” After alluding to the alleged excellence of early French violinists, and, in particular, of the twenty-fourpetits violonsof Louis XIV, formed by Lully, M. Choron has the candour to acknowledge that he knows not how to reconcile this with the following statement, given by Corette (a furious partisan, by the way, of the French School of Music), in the Preface to his Méthode d’Accompagnement, published at Paris about 1750.—“At the commencement of this century,” says that author, “music was very dull and slow, &c.... When Corelli’s Sonatas were first brought from Rome (about 1715), nobody in Paris could play them. The Duke of Orleans,then Regent, being a great amateur of music, and wishing to hear them, was obliged to have themsungby three voices. The violinists then began to study them, and, at the expiration ofsome years, threewere found who could play them. Baptiste, one of these, went to Rome to study them under Corelli himself.”—Having quoted this embarrassing passage, M. Choron thus continues:—“Be this as it may; since that period, instrumental music has been studied with ardour by the French, and they have made astonishing progress in it. France has now an excellent school for the violin,founded upon that of Italy.”

The excellence of the school, thus defined as to its peculiar character, and thus denoted as to its origin, none will probably be disposed to deny, who are conversant with the general state of instrumental performance at the present time. Adverting again to the question ofcomposition, we may assert, and that also on M. Choron’s authority, that the French have only been imitators, although they are not without names of some celebrity there likewise. M. Castil-Blaze,44in a passage wherein he takes a rapid glance at a few of the French violinists, presents us with a tolerable notion of the characteristics of the French system, both as to playing and writing:—“Kreutzer excels in voluble touches, whether continuous or detached into pointed notes. Rode is distinguished by traits ofcoquettishcharacter, as well as by a free vocal effect conveyed by full notes, whose whole charm is in the quality of the tone. Lafont exhibits an admirable shake, with much grace and refinement in his style. Baillot dazzles in rapid passages, and surprises by the boldness of hisdouble-stringed effects, and the magic of his bow.” Here we find, albeit expressed in the most favorable terms, far more of the pretty and the glittering, than of the solid or the elevated.

“Each of these masters,” continues M. Castil-Blaze, “has lavished upon his compositions those peculiar traits which he most affected, and has made sparing use of such as were remote from his own style of execution. It is certain that those favorite traits would not come beneath his hand, in equal proportion, in a composition of Viotti’s; nay, he would there meet with some that would not admit of his displaying all the extent of his resources, &c. It is therefore indispensable that the virtuoso, who desires to show himself in the most favorable light, should compose his own music, or, at least, should direct him who is charged with its composition.”—This, it needs scarcely to be observed, may be well enough calculated to favor the triumphs of individual vanity, by giving prominence to mechanical dexterity; but it is obviously not founded on a regard for the higher principles of art.

Having glanced at the great national Revolution, as to its agency in modifying French musical taste, let us give a momentary attention, likewise, to another influential agency—that of theConservatoire de Musique—an institution which has done much, during the last half century, to foster and develop merit in the Art under consideration. M. Castil-Blaze, in his work, “De l’Opéra en France,” thus notifies its origin and effects:—

“In 1793, a union took place of all which France possessed that was most illustrious in the line of composers, singers, and instrumentalists. TheConservatoireof France, that monument of our musical glory, was raised on the foundation of the oldEcole de Chant.All the scattered documents, the varying and sometimes contradictory theories, the principles professed by each master, were brought together, examined, revised;—and then was formed a universal code of music, a system of instruction clear in its elements, methodical as well as rapid in its progression, and certain in its results. * * * * * * * * Then, and only then, were heard in France the sublime productions of Haydn and Mozart, which came forth with all the charms of novelty, though our predecessors had been essaying them for twenty years before.”

It may be here incidentally mentioned, that, in 1802, there sprang up so violent a dissention among the professors at the above valuable Institution, as to excite some fears about the continuation of its existence. Subjoined is an epigram that was born of that occasion:—

“J’admire leurs talents, et même leur génie,Mais, au fait, ils ont un grand tort;C’est de s’intituler professeurs d’harmonie,Et de n’être jamais d’accord.”

Or, as we might phrase it in our own tongue:—

The force, the skill, for which they’re fam’d,I praise;—yet one great fault I see:OfharmonyProfessors nam’d,How comes it that theycan’t agree?

Let us now proceed to consider the principal French violinists in their order—commencing with Lully, who, though not a Frenchman, but rather (as Burney styles him) a Frenchified Tuscan, belonged entirely to France, both by his education, and the results of it. It has been already observed that Baltazarini, the Italian (who became,Gallicè, Monsieur de Beaujoyeux, and who flourished about eighty years earlier than Lully), was thefirst who introduced the violin to Court favour and fashion in France; where, however, till the time of Lully, it appears to have had no higher province than that which it enjoyed in association with the dance and the ballet—a condition which may, perhaps, be termed “frivolous and vexatious,” but which must be allowed to have coincided pretty exactly with the national taste, at the time.

Jean Baptiste de Lullywas born of obscure parents at Florence, in 1633 or 34. The bias towards music which he shewed, while yet a child, induced a worthy Cordelier, from no other consideration than the hope of his some time becoming eminent in the art, to undertake his tuition on the guitar—an instrument which, in the sequel, he was always fond of singing to. The Chevalier de Guise, a French gentleman, who had been travelling, brought Lully into France, in 1646,as a present to his sister, according to Dr. Burney’s phrase and statement, or, in the more qualified language of another account, to serve as a page to Mademoiselle de Montpensier, a niece of Louis XIV, who had commissioned the Chevalier to find her out some pretty little Italian boy for this latter purpose. If such were the lady’s instructions, thecountenanceof the youth did not answer to them; but his vivacity and ready wit, in addition to his skill on the guitar, determined the Chevalier, as it appears, to engage him. On his arrival and presentation to the lady, he found her so dissatisfied with his looks, as to induce a change in her intentions—and, instead of her page, he was made to fill the office of her under-scullion!

Neither the disappointment he experienced, however, nor the employment to which he was destined, affected the spirits of Lully. In the moments of his leisure fromthe kitchen, he used to scrape upon a wretched fiddle, which he had contrived to procure. That fiddle it was which caused him to emerge from his obscurity! A person employed about the Court, happening one day to hear him, informed the Princess that the youth had an excellent taste for music. She directed that a master should be employed to teach him the violin; and, in the course of a few months, he became so great a proficient, that he was elevated to the rank of Court Musician. In consequence of an unlucky accident, he was dismissed from this situation; he afterwards, however, found means to get admitted into the King’sband of violins, and applied himself so closely to the study of music, that, in a little time, he began to compose. Some of his airs having been noticed by the King, Louis XIV, the author was sent for, and his performance of them was thought so excellent, that a new band was formed, called “Les petits Violons,” and he was placed at the head of it. Under his direction, they soon surpassed the famous band of twenty-four, which had previously enjoyed an extent of reputation attributable rather to the low state of musical taste and knowledge among the French, at that period, than to the skill of the performers; for they were incompetent (according to De la Borde) to play any thing they had not made a special study of, and gotten by heart. This was about the year 1660, at which time the favorite diversion of the French Court was a species ofballet, that consisted of dancing, intermixed with dramatic action, and musical recitative. The agency of Lully’s musical talent in these entertainments soon procured him the favor ofle Grand Monarque, who liked music in so far as it conduced to dancing, and had a taste which found its satisfaction in airsde rigueur, containing a stated number of bars,accented with the utmost reference to saltatory convenience.45

In the soul of Louis, vanity supplied the place of musical ardour, and led him to consider the establishment of an Opera necessary to the splendour of his Court. Lully became, after that event, the great dramatic musician of France. Of his importance in that relation, however, and of his fortunate league with the lyrical genius of Quinault, &c. it is not within my purpose to treat. Possessing, now, the situation of Composer and joint Director to the French Opera, he relinquished the connection with his former Band, and instituted one of his own. On becoming appointed superintendent of the King’s private music, he neglected almost entirely the practice of the violin; yet, whenever he could be prevailed on to play, his excellence astonished all who heard him. The Maréchal de Grammont had a valet named Lalande, who afterwards attained some distinction as a violin-player. One day, after dinner, the Maréchal desired Lully to hear Lalande, and to bestow on him a few directions. Lalande accordingly played; but Lully, whenever he did not please him, snatched the instrument out of his hand, made use of it himself preceptively, and, at length, became warmed into such excitement, through the train of ideas producedby his own playing, that he did not lay down the violin for three hours.46

In the year 1686, the King was seized with an indisposition that threatened his life; and on his recovering from it, Lully was required to compose aTe Deum, in grateful celebration of the deliverance. Accordingly he wrote one, which was not more remarkable for its excellence, than for the unhappy accident with which its performance was attended. Nothing had been neglected in the preparations for the execution of it, and, the more to demonstrate his zeal, Lully himself beat the time. With the cane that he used for this purpose, in the heat of action (from the difficulty of keeping the band together), he struck his foot; this caused a blister to arise, which increasing, his physician advised him immediately to have a toe taken off, and, after a delay of some days, his foot, and at length the whole limb. At this dreadful juncture, an empiric offered to perform a cure without amputation. Two thousand pistoles were promised him, if he should accomplish it; but all his efforts were in vain. Lully died on the 22nd of March, 1687, and was interred at Paris, where an elegant monument was erected to his memory.

A strange story is extant, in relation to the closing scene of Lully’s life. His confessor prescribed to him, as the condition of his absolution, that he should commit to the flames his latest opera. Lully, after many excuses, at length acquiesced, and, pointing to a drawer in which the rough draught ofAchille et Polixènewas deposited, it was taken out and burnt, and the confessorwent away satisfied. Lully grew better, and was thought out of danger, when one of the young Princes came to visit him. “What, Baptiste,” says he to him, “have you thrown youroperainto the fire? You were a fool for thus giving credit to a gloomy Jansenist, and burning good music.”—“Hush, hush!” answered Lully, in a whisper, “I knew well what I was about—I have another copy of it!” Unhappily, this ill-timed pleasantry was followed by a relapse; and the prospect of inevitable death threw him into such pangs of remorse, that he submitted to be laid on a heap of ashes, with a cord round his neck; and, in this situation, he expressed a deep sense of his late transgression. On being replaced in his bed, he became more composed, and (as the relation goes) he expired singing, to one of his own airs, the emphatic words, “Il faut mourir, pécheur, il faut mourir!”

The high estimation which the oncesous-marmiton, and afterwards regenerator of the music of France, had enjoyed, enabled him to amass considerable money. In natural disposition, he was gay and cheerful; and, although he was rather thick and short in person, somewhat rude in speech, and little able to shape his manners to the formal refinements of the French Court, he was not without a certain dignity, which intellect succeeds in conferring.

The musical style of Lully was characterized by vivacity and originality; by virtue of which qualities, his compositions, chiefly operas, and other dramatic entertainments, kept possession of the French stage till the middle of the last century, when Rameau came into vogue. Lully is considered to have invented theoverture, or at least to have given to it its most distinctive marks of character. He composedsymphonies forviolins, in three parts; but these are not to be met with in print.

If we may judge of the old French violin-players,en masse, from the kind of business assigned to them by Lully, in his operas, we must draw a very moderate conclusion as to their proficiency; or, to borrow the words of Dr. Burney, we must regard them as “musicians not likely, by their abilities, to continue the miraculous powers ascribed to Orpheus and Amphion.” Even for half a century after Lully’s time, the French progress on the instrument appears to have been far from considerable. Their performers had as yet borrowed but little of the true spirit of their great Italian originals; nor do we come to any very important name among them until that of

Jean Marie le Clair(orLecler), who was born at Lyons, in 1697. This artist may, perhaps, be regarded as presenting, in his performance and his compositions, a distinct commencement of the French Violin-school, as divaricating from that of Italy. His father was a musician, and, from his instructions, aided by assistance from other masters (and from Somis, in particular), he became an excellent performer. He went abroad for several years, to reap improvement from the professors and performances in other countries; after which, on an invitation from the Duke de Grammont, who had been his pupil, he went to Paris, and was allowed a handsome pension from him. By the recommendation of this nobleman, Le Clair obtained the situation of symphonist to Louis the Fifteenth, in which he laboured incessantly to improve the practice of the violin among his countrymen. With this view, he composed, and published in the year 1723, a collection ofsolos for the violin; and soon afterwards another of the same kind, in both ofwhich he has displayed much knowledge of the instrument, combined with the resources of a well-regulated fancy. Besides these two Collections of Solos, Le Clair was the author ofSix Sonatas for two violins and a bass; two books ofDuos, two ofTrios, two ofConcertos, and two under the title ofRecreations.

The character and conduct of Le Clair were of a nature to attract the attention and esteem of all who knew him. He lived, for the most part, a retired and contemplative life; yet, he at last fell a sacrifice, as it has been supposed, to envy. He was assassinated whilst walking alone in the streets of Paris, in the evening of the 22nd of October, 1764.

Le Clair was celebrated for the spirit and energy of his performance; and his compositions afford, in some measure, a proof of his powers. At least, it may be said, that, for boldness and dignity of style, there are no instrumental compositions by any of the older French authors, not excepting those of Lully, which can be compared with them. It is true that they are difficult of execution, and this, for some time, was an obstacle to their currency. The modern school, which laughs at any impediments in the way of execution, would do ample justice of hand to his hardest passages, were itnowthe fashion to present them to the public ear.

Jean Baptiste Senaillé, who may also be considered as having had some share in the foundation of the French Violin School, was a contemporary of the artist just recorded; and drew his first breath in Paris. His early lessons were received from Queversin, one of the four-and-twenty who formed the King’s band of violinists. His next instructor was Baptiste Anet; but the completion of his studies took place in Italy, whither he was attracted by the high celebrity of the artists there.He returned to Paris in 1719, with a well-earned reputation, and subsequently formed some good pupils, among whom were Guignon, and (probably) Guillemain.

Jean Pierre Guignonwas born, in 1702, at Turin, probably of French parents, and became further Gallicized by going early into France, where he had a long career of distinction. He brought to the exercise of his art a liberality conducive to its diffusion and repute, as well as redounding to his own honor—for he gave gratuitous lessons to many young violinists whom the “res angusta domi” might else have left to struggle on without encouragement. His talents gave further aid to thefidicinalcause by the valuable compositions which they enabled him to devote to it, consisting of Sonatas, Duetts, Trios and Concertos. Guignon had the support of courtly patronage, and gave instructions to the Dauphin, father of Louis XVI. During thirty years, he held an appointment rather suggestive of mock-heroic associations, than either flattering or useful—that ofRoi des Violons, et Maître des Ménestriers, an office which, as already stated in these recording pages, had given rise to our English dignity, more ridiculed than respected, ofKing of the Fiddlers. Guignon died at Versailles in 1774.

Gabriel Guillemain, born at Paris, in 1705, produced some sonatas for the instrument that have been held in considerable estimation, and was also admired as a performer. In the decline of his life, he lost his faculties, and, in that melancholy state, became his own destroyer (in 1770), inflicting on his person no less than fourteen wounds.

Pierre Gaviniès, a native of Bordeaux, claims some distinction, both as composer and as performer. So great was his aptitude for the latter character, thathe made hisdébutat theConcert Spirituelin Paris, when he had attained but fourteen years of age; nor were his pretensions those of mere vulgar precocity, that makes a dash at music, as parrots do at language; for he gained the approbation of the best of all judges, Viotti. The estimation in which the talents of Gaviniès were held, procured for him, in 1794, the honour of being appointed Professor of the Violin at the then newly formed institution, the ParisConservatoire. His works consist of three collections (or operas) of Sonatas, several Concertos, and a series of violin music entitledLes vingt-quatre Matinées, the pieces in which are, for the most part, very difficult. He died in 1799, at the advanced aged of 73.

François Joseph Gossec, a composer of some eminence, though not expressly for the violin, fixed his residence at Paris in 1751, and was soon afterwards attached to the suite of the Prince de Condé, as leader of his band. In 1770, he founded the Concert of Amateurs, which enjoyed a marked success during ten seasons, and had the accomplished but volatile Chevalier de St. George for its “premier violon.” Gossec subsequently filled an important post at theConservatoire, and was, in other respects, actively connected with the progress of music in France. He died “full of days.” The symphonies of this master, and the Quartetts of Davaux, which preceded, in France, those of Haydn, are cited as advantageous specimens of French instrumental music of the concerted kind; and some of them are still heard with pleasure.

Pagin, who drew his excellence from that best fountain, the Italian school, was born in France, in the year 1730. Addicting himself early to the violin, and prompted by the desire to form his style on the purestmodel, he travelled into Italy, expressly to receive instructions from Tartini. His happy disposition for the art was turned to speedy advantage by that master, and Pagin had scarcely reached his twentieth year ere he returned to Paris, where the success that attended him, in various performances at theConcert Spirituel, attested the value of the means which he had taken for his proficiency. His enthusiasm, however, in relation to his great preceptor, occasioned a check to his career. He chose to play, exclusively, the music of Tartini and the French musicians, resenting his choice, set about to oppose him. Their jealousy, whether alarmed for national or for individual credit, took an ingenious method of working out its purpose: it was by the ironical applauses and sinister compliments which he received, at one of the above concerts, that the unwelcome innovator was compelled to forego appearing at any more of them. He was subsequently engaged in the suite of the Count de Clermont. Dr. Burney, who heard him in 1770, has recorded his admiration of the expression and lightness that distinguished his performance.

Pierre Lahoussaye, another venerator and follower of Tartini, commenced his date of life at Paris, in 1735. At a still earlier age than Pagin, he gave public manifestation of his talent. He first found his infant way upon the instrument, unaided, and then, after some tuition from the solo-player, Piffet (styledle grand nez), made hisdébutat theConcert Spirituel, when only nine years old. Shortly afterwards, the little Lahoussaye had the fortunate opportunity of hearing, at a musical party where he was introduced, the greatest violinists of the time, including especially—Pugnani, Giardini, Pagin, Gaviniès, Vanmalder, Domenico Ferrari, &c. A solo was played by each of these men of mark:and the eager astonishment with which the “tender juvenal” listened to their successive outpourings of expression, or feats of dexterity, could not but attract the attention of all. On Ferrari’s putting a violin into the boy’s hand, he not only made some brilliant preludings, but repeated from memory several passages in a sonata of Tartini’s that Pagin had just before played. An enthusiast himself, Pagin was so delighted with the boy, that he at once undertook his further instruction, and prevailed on the Count de Clermont to assign to him a post as his chamber-musician. Thus advantageously placed, the young Lahoussaye was, however, restless till he could accomplish his favorite wish—that ofseeing Tartini. Under this impulse, he attached himself to the suite of the Prince of Monaco, and went with him to Italy. Repairing with all speed to Padua, he found the wondrous master in the church, in the act of commencing a concerto. To express the surprise and admiration of the young Frenchman, at the purity of tone, spirit and accuracy of execution, truth and delicacy of expression, that triumphed in the performance of the Italian, would be difficult indeed. He felt at once so humbled as to the sense of his own powers, as almost to abandon the hazardous wish for an introduction to him whom he had so eagerly sought out. Creditable as was this diffidence to the character of the aspirant, the kind disposition of Tartini rendered it unnecessary. He received him favourably, was gratified to observe in his performance something of the manner of his own school, and engaged to advance him in it. Lahoussaye was reluctantly drawn away to Parma, through his situation with the Prince of Monaco: but, after delighting the court there by his talent, he found means to return to Tartini at Padua, and continued for a longtime under his tuition, remaining in Italy, altogether, for the space of fifteen years. In 1769, he visited London; and, after passing three years there, returned to his native Paris, to diffuse, according to his means, and as far as the musical habit of his countrymen might admit it, the benefits of the Italian style. He arrived at the situation ofChef d’Orchestreto theConcert Spirituel, and to the Italian Opera in Paris. In 1789, he had the honor to succeed Mestrino asChef-d’Orchestreof the Theatre of Monsieur; and he afterwards filled the same post at the Feydeau Theatre. On the establishment of the ParisConservatoire, he was appointed Professor of the First Class. The compositions of Lahoussaye are numerous, and have had some celebrity, although, for the most part, they have remained in the manuscript state.

Paisible(pupil of Gaviniès) whose gentle name contrasts painfully with his violent end, was born in 1745, at Paris, and was one of those able artists who contributed to give éclat to theConcert Spirituel. Full of youthful hope derived from the impression he had there created, he made a musical “progress” through a part of France, the Netherlands, Germany, and as far as St. Petersburg. Here, however, the tide of his success was suddenly turned. His desire to exhibit his talents before the Russian Empress was baffled, owing, as it has been supposed, to the intrigues of Antonio Lolli, who was then in the service of the Imperial Court. Failing also in his endeavour to obtain notice by means of public concerts, Paisible engaged in the service of a Russian Count, with whom he went to Moscow. This resource did not last long; and the concerts he attempted at Moscow were even more discouraged than those at St. Petersburgh. Distracted by misfortune and debt,he closed his career in 1781, by the act of his own hand—having written a touching letter of farewell to his friends, in which he desired them to sell his violin (a valuable one), with the object of defraying the claims against him.

Simon Leduc, another distinguished pupil of Gaviniès, and one of the directors of theConcert Spirituel, was born in 1748. Two books of Solos, and several Concertos and Symphonies, are his works as a composer. There is extant, in connection with his name, a little anecdote of some interest. About a month after his decease, in 1777, there was a rehearsal of one of his symphonies for theConcert des Amateurs. In the middle of the adagio, the Chevalier de St. George, who had been his friend, and was then leading the orchestra, was so affected by the expression of the movement, combined with his recollection of the composer, that he let fall his bow, and burst into tears!

F. Hippolite Barthélémon, a fine performer of the old school, was born at Bordeaux, in 1741. In the early part of his life, he served awhile as a midshipman in the navy of the King of Spain; but Apollo soon asserted his claims above those of Mars, and Barthélémon resigned himself to that softer sway. After pursuing his new career for a time in Paris, where he composed an opera for the Italian Theatre, he came over to England in 1765. Here also he produced an opera for the Italian stage, through the success of which he became acquainted with Garrick, and received from him a musical commission, which was settled for in a way that evinced the accustomed parsimony of that great actor and little manager. As leader of the Opera band for several seasons, and solo performer on various public occasions, Barthélémon gave ample proofs of his mastery overthe violin. His adagios in particular were much admired, and his extempore cadences were so scientific and appropriate as, to seem like the natural continuation of the composer’s own ideas. Among his engagements while in London, was that of leading the band at Vauxhall Gardens; in which situation he once figured as a principal in a whimsical occurrence. It chanced, one night, when the gardens were full of fashionable company, and the stream of music was at high tide, that a bewilderedbat, which had winged its eccentric course for some time about the walks, to the discomposure of the visitors, found its way into the illuminated orchestra, and, after having made two or three circuits there, flew into Barthélémon’s face, with so forcible a familiarity as to unseat him from his eminence, and precipitate him, wholly frighted from his propriety, to the floor. He fell on his ceremonial sword, which, in breaking his fall, was itself broken; and he was picked up in a condition which fortunately did not forbid his joining in the general chorus of laughers; nor did he fail to congratulate himself, that, in falling on his own sword, he hadnotdone so after the old Roman fashion47.

One of Barthélémon’s points of excellence consisted in hissoloperformances of Corelli’s music, in which his sweetness and polished taste were charmingly manifested. He and Salomon are supposed to have been the last, who made it a regular habit to study, and to performin public, the compositions of Corelli. Barthélémon died in London, in the year 1808.

Dismissing, with the tribute of a simple mention, the names of Mondonville, Bertheaume, Jadin, and Grasset, we come now to the more recent time when the genius ofViotti, diffusing its influence over the whole modern system of violin performance, lent an especial lustre to a number of musicalsatelliteswho are marked in theFrenchnomenclature. The Italian Viotti infused new life into the French School, which, seeking its resources more from fancy than from feeling, and (with few exceptions) relying rather upon the small excellencies of nice execution, than upon the sympathies whichexpressioncan command, had become somewhat exhausted. Viotti communicated to the French Violinists a share of the vigour and the intellectual character that animated his own style, and taught them

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