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Great Violinists and Pianists

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Title: Great Violinists and Pianists

Author: George T. Ferris


        
Release date: January 4, 2006 [eBook #17463]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17463

Credits: Produced by David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREAT VIOLINISTS AND PIANISTS ***




Produced by David Widger





GREAT VIOLINISTS AND PIANISTS

By George T. Ferris


Copyright, 1881, By D. Appleton and Company.



NOTE

The title of this little book may be misleading to some of its readers,
in its failure to include sketches of many eminent artists well worthy
to be classed under such a head. There has been no attempt to cover
the immense field of executive music, but only to call attention to the
lives of those musical celebrities who are universally recognized as
occupying the most exalted places in the arts of violin and pianoforte
playing; who stand forth as landmarks in the history of music. To do
more than this, except in a merely encyclopedic fashion, within the
allotted space, would have been impossible. The same necessity of limits
has also compelled the writer to exclude consideration of the careers
of noted living performers; as it was thought best that discrimination
should be in favor of those great artists whose careers have been
completely rounded and finished.

An exception to the above will be noted in the case of Franz Liszt; but,
aside from the fact that this greatest of piano-forte virtuosos, though
living, has practically retired from the held of art, to omit him from
such a volume as this would be an unpardonable omission. In connection
with the personal lives of the artists sketched in this volume, the
attempt has been made, in a general, though necessarily imperfect,
manner, to trace the gradual development of the art of playing from its
cruder beginnings to the splendid virtuosoism of the present time.
The sources from which facts have been drawn are various, and, it
is believed, trustworthy, including French, German, and English
authorities, in some cases the personal reminiscences of the artists
themselves.




CONTENTS.


THE VIOLINISTS AND PIANISTS.

The Ancestry of the Violin.--The Origin of the Cremona School of
Violin-Making.--The Amatis and Stradiuarii.--Extraordinary Art
Activity of Italy at this Period.--Antonius Stradiuarius and Joseph
Guarnerius.--Something about the Lives of the Two Greatest Violin-Makers
of the World.--Corelli, the First Great Violinist.--His Contemporaries
and Associates.--Anecdotes of his Career.--Corelli's
Pupil, Geminiani.--Philidor, the Composer, Violinist, and
Chess-Player.--Giuseppe Tartini.--Becomes an Outcast from his Family
on Account of his Love of Music.--Anecdote of the Violinist
Vera-cini.--Tartini's Scientific Discoveries in Music.--His Account of
the Origin of the "Devil's Trill."--Tartini's Pupils.


VIOTTI.

Viotti, the Connecting Link between the Early and Modern Violin
Schools.--His Immense Superiority over his Contemporaries and
Predecessors.--Other Violinists of his Time, Giornowick and
Boccherini.--Viotti's Early Years.--His Arrival in Paris, and the
Sensation he made.--His Reception by the Court.--Viotti's Personal Pride
and Dignity.--His Rebuke to Princely Impertinence.--The Musical Circles
of Paris.--Viotti's Last Public Concert in Paris.--He suddenly departs
for London.--Becomes Director of the King's Theatre.--Is compelled to
leave the Country as a Suspected Revolutionist.--His Return to England,
and Metamorphosis into a Vintner.--The French Singer, Garat, finds him
out in his London Obscurity.--Anecdote of Viotti's Dinner Party.--He
quits the Wine Trade for his own Profession.--Is made Director of the
Paris Grand Opéra.--Letter from Rossini.--Viotti's Account of the "Ranz
des Vaches."--Anecdotes of the Great Violinist.--Dies in London in
1824.--Viotti's Place as a Violinist, and Style of Playing.--The Tourté
Bow first invented during his Time.--An Indispensable Factor in Great
Playing on the Violin.--Viotti's Pupils, and his Influence on the
Musical Art.


LUDWIG SPOHR.

Birth and Early Life of the Violinist Spohr.--He is presented with his
First Violin at six.--The French _Emigré_ Dufour uses his Influence with
Dr. Spohr, Sr., to have the Boy devoted to a Musical Career.--Goes
to Brunswick for fuller Musical Instruction.--Spohr is appointed
_Kammer-musicus_ at the Ducal Court.--He enters under the Tuition of
and makes a Tour with the Violin Virtuoso Eck.--Incidents of the Russian
Journey and his Return.--Concert Tour in Germany.--Loses his Fine
Guarnerius Violin.--Is appointed Director of the Orchestra at Gotha.--He
marries Dorette Schiedler, the Brilliant Harpist.--Spohr's Stratagem to
be present at the Erfurt Musical Celebration given by Napoleon in
Honor of the Allied Sovereigns.--Becomes Director of Opera in
Vienna.--Incidents of his Life and Production of Various Works.--First
Visit to England.--He is made Director of the Cassel Court
Oratorios.--He is retired with a Pension.--Closing Years of his
Life.--His Place as Composer and Executant.


NICOLO PAGANINI.

The Birth of the Greatest of Violinists.--His Mother's
Dream.--Extraordinary Character and Genius.--Heine's Description of his
Playing.--Leigh Hunt on Paganini.--Superstitious Rumors current
during his Life.--He is believed to be a Demoniac.--His Strange
Appearance.--Early Training and Surroundings.--Anecdotes of
his Youth.--Paga-nini's Youthful Dissipations.--His Passion for
Gambling.--He acquires his Wonderful Guarnerius Violin.--His Reform
from the Gaming-table.--Indefatigable Practice and Work as a Young
Artist.--Paganini as a _Preux Chevalier_.--His Powerful Attraction for
Women.--Episode with a Lady of Rank.--Anecdotes of his Early Italian
Concertizing.--The Imbroglio at Ferrara.--The Frail Health of
Paganini.--Wonderful Success at Milan where he first plays One of
the Greatest of his Compositions, "Le Streghe."--Duel with
Lafont.--Incidents and Anecdotes.--His First Visit to Germany.--Great
Enthusiasm of his Audiences.--Experiences at Vienna, Berlin, and other
German Cities.--Description of Paganini, in Paris, by Castil-Blaze and
Fetis.--His English Reception and the Impression made.--Opinions of the
Critics.--Paganini not pleased with England.--Settles in Paris for Two
Years, and becomes the Great Musical Lion.--Simplicity and Amiability
of Nature.--Magnificent Generosity to Hector Berlioz.--The Great
Fortune made by Paganini.--His Beautiful Country Seat near Parma.--An
Unfortunate Speculation in Paris.--The Utter Failure of his
Health.--His Death at Nice.--Characteristics and Anecdotes.--Interesting
Circumstances of his Last Moments.--The Peculiar Genius of Paganini, and
his Influence on Art.


DE BÉRIOT.

De Bériot's High Place in the Art of the Violin and Violin Music.--The
Scion of an Impoverished Noble Family.--Early Education and Musical
Training.--He seeks the Advice of Viotti in Paris.--Becomes a Pupil of
Robrechts and Baillot successively.--De Bériot finishes and perfects his
Style on his Own Model.--Great Success in England.--Artistic Travels
in Europe.--Becomes Soloist to the King of the Netherlands.--He meets
Malibran, the Great Cantatrice, in Paris.--Peculiar Circumstances which
drew the Couple toward Each Other.--They form a Connection which only
ends with Malibran's Life.--Sketch of Malibran and her Family.--The
Various Artistic Journeys of Malibran and De Bériot.--Their Marriage
and Mme. de Bériot's Death.--De Bériot becomes Professor in the Brussels
Conservatoire.--His Later Life in Brussels.--His Son Charles Malibran de
Bériot.--The Character of De Bériot as Composer and Player.


OLE BULL.

The Birth and Early Life of Ole Bull at Bergen, Norway.--His Family and
Connections.--Surroundings of his Boyhood.--Early Display of his Musical
Passion.--Learns the Violin without Aid.--Takes Lessons from an Old
Musical Professor, and soon surpasses his Master.--Anecdotes of his
Boyhood.--His Father's Opposition to Music as a Profession.--Competes
for Admittance to the University at Christiania.--Is consoled
for Failure by a Learned Professor.--"Better be a Fiddler than
a Preacher."--Becomes Conductor of the Philharmonic Society at
Bergen.--His first Musical Journey.--Sees Spohr.--Fights a Duel.--Visit
to Paris.--He is reduced to Great Pecuniary Straits.--Strange Adventure
with Vidocq, the Great Detective.--First Appearance in Concert in
Paris.--Romantic Adventure leading to Acquaintance.--First Appearance
in Italy.--Takes the Place of De Bériot by Great Good Luck.--Ole Bull
is most enthusiastically received.--Extended Concert Tour in Italy and
France.--His _Début_ and Success in England.--One Hundred and Eighty
Concerts in Six Months.--Ole Bull's Gaspar di Salo Violin, and the
Circumstances under which he acquired it.--His Answer to the King of
Sweden.--First Visit and Great Success in America in 1848.--Attempt
to establish a National Theatre.--The Norwegian Colony in
Pennsylvania.--Latter Years of Ole Bull.--His Personal Appearance.--Art
Characteristics.


MUZIO CLEMENTI.

The Genealogy of the Piano-forte.--The Harpsichord its Immediate
Predecessor.--Supposed Invention of the Piano-forte.--Silbermann the
First Maker.--Anecdote of Frederick the Great.--The Piano-forte only
slowly makes its Way as against the Clavichord and Harpsichord.--Emanuel
Bach, the First Composer of Sonatas for the Piano-forte.--His Views
of playing on the New Instrument.--Haydn and Mozart as Players.--Muzio
Clementi, the Earliest Virtuoso, strictly speaking, as a Pianist.--Born
in Rome in 1752.--Scion of an Artistic Family.--First Musical
Training.--Rapid Development of his Talents.--Composes Contrapuntal
Works at the Age of Fourteen.--Early Studies of the Organ and
Harpsichord.--Goes to England to complete his Studies.--Creates
an Unequaled Furore in London.--John Christian Bach's Opinion of
Clementi.--Clementi's Musical Tour.--His Duel with Mozart before the
Emperor.--Tenor of Clementi's Life in England.--Clementi's Pupils.--Trip
to St. Petersburg.--Sphor's Anecdote of Him.--Mercantile and
Manufacturing Interest in the Piano as Partner of Collard.--The Players
and Composers trained under Clementi.--His Composition.--Status as
a Player.--Character and Influence as an Artist.--Development of the
Technique of the Piano, culminating in Clementi.


MOSCHELES.

Clementi and Mozart as Points of Departure in Piano-forte
Playing.--Moscheles the most Brilliant Climax reached by the Viennese
School.--His Child-Life at Prague.--Extraordinary Precocity.--Goes to
Vienna as the Pupil of Salieri and Albrechtsburger.--Acquaintance with
Beethoven.--Moscheles is honored with a Commission to make a Piano
Transcription of Beethoven's "Fidelio."--His Intercourse with the Great
Man.--Concert Tour.--Arrival in Paris.--The Artistic Circle into which
he is received.--Pictures of Art-Life in Paris.--London and its Musical
Celebrities.--Career as a Wandering Virtuoso.--Felix Mendelssohn becomes
his Pupil.--The Mendelssohn Family.--Moseheles's Marriage to a
Hamburg Lady.--Settles in London.--His Life as Teacher, Player, and
Composer.--Eminent Place taken by Moscheles among the Musicians of
his Age.--His Efforts soothe the Sufferings of Beethoven's
Death-bed.--Friendship for Mendelssohn.--Moscheles becomes connected
with the Leipzig Conservatorium.--Death in 1870.--Moscheles as Pianist
and Composer.--Sympathy with the Old as against the New School of the
Piano.--His Powerful Influence on the Musical Culture and Tendencies of
his Age.


THE SCHUMANNS AND CHOPIN.

Robert Schumann's Place as a National Composer.--Peculiar Greatness as
a Piano-forte Composer.--Born at Zwickau in 1810.--His Father's
Aversion to his Musical Studies.--Becomes a Student of Jurisprudence
in Leipzig.--Makes the Acquaintance of Clara Wieck.--Tedium of his Law
Studies.--Vacation Tour to Italy.--Death of his Father, and Consent
of his Mother to Schumann adopting the Profession of Music.--Becomes
Wieck's Pupil.--Injury to his Hand which prevents all Possibilities of
his becoming a Great Performer.--Devotes himself to Composition.--The
Child, Clara Wieck--Remarkable Genius as a Player.--Her Early
Training.--Paganini's Delight in her Genius.--Clara Wieck's
Concert Tours.--Schumann falls deeply in Love with her, and
Wieck's Opposition.--His Allusions to Clara in the "Neue
Zeit-schrift."--Schumann at Vienna.--His Compositions at first
Unpopular, though played by Clara Wieck and Liszt.--Schumann's Labors
as a Critic.--He marries Clara in 1840.--His Song Period inspired by
his Wife.--Tour to Russia, and Brilliant Reception given to the
Artist Pair.--The "Neue Zeitschrift" and its Mission.--The
Davidsbund.--Peculiar Style of Schumann's Writing.--He moves to
Dresden.--Active Production in Orchestral Composition.--Artistic Tour in
Holland.--He is seized with Brain Disease.--Characteristics as a Man,
as an Artist, and as a Philosopher.--Mme. Schumann as her Husband's
Interpreter.--Chopin a Colaborer with Schumann.--Schumann on Chopin
again.--Chopin's Nativity.--Exclusively a Piano-forte Composer.--His
Genre as Pianist and Composer.--Aversion to Concert-giving.--Parisian
Associations.--New Style of Technique demanded by his Works.--Unique
Treatment of the Instrument.--Characteristics of Chopin's Compositions.


THALBERG AND GOTTSCHALK.

Thalberg one of the Greatest of Executants.--Rather a Man of Remarkable
Talents than of Genius.--Moseheles's Description of him.--The
Illegitimate Son of an Austrian Prince.--Early Introduction to
Musical Society in London and Vienna.--Beginning of his Career as a
Virtuoso.--The Brilliancy of his Career.--Is appointed Court Pianist to
the Emperor of Austria.--His Marriage.--Visits to America.--Thalberg's
Artistic Idiosyncrasy.--Robert Schumann on his Playing.--His Appearance
and Manner.--Characterization by George William Curtis.--Thalberg's
Style and Worth as an Artist.--His Piano-forte Method, and Place as a
Composer for the Piano.--Gottschalk's Birth and Early Years.--He is sent
to Paris for Instruction.--Successful _Début_ and Publie Concerts
in Paris and Tour through the French Cities.--Friendship with
Berlioz.--Concert Tour to Spain.--Romantic Experiences.--Berlioz on
Gottschalk.--Reception of Gottschalk in America.--Criticism of his
Style.--Remarkable Success of his Concerts.--His Visit to the West
Indies, Mexico, and Central America.--Protracted Absence.--Gottschalk
on Life in the Tropics.--Return to the United States.--Three Brilliant
Musical Years.--Departure for South America.--Triumphant Procession
through the Spanish-American Cities.--Death at Rio Janeiro.--Notes on
Gottschalk as Man and Artist.


FRANZ LISZT.

The Spoiled Favorite of Fortune.--His Inherited Genius.--Birth and
Early Training.--First Appearance in Concert.--Adam Liszt and his Son
in Paris.--Sensation made by the Boy's Playing.--His Morbid Religious
Sufferings.--Franz Liszt thrown on his own Resources.--The Artistic
Circle in Paris.--Liszt in the Ranks of Romanticism.--His Friends and
Associates.--Mme. D'Agoult and her Connection with Franz
Liszt.--He retires to Geneva.--Is recalled to Paris by the Thalberg
_Furore_.--Rivalry between the Artists and their Factions.--He commences
his Career as Traveling Virtuoso.--The Blaze of Enthusiasm throughout
Europe.--Schumann on Liszt as Man and Artist.--He ranks the Hungarian
Virtuoso as the Superior of Thalberg.--Liszt's Generosity to his own
Countrymen.--The Honors paid to him in Pesth.--Incidents of his
Musical Wanderings.--He loses the Proceeds of Three Hundred
Concerts.--Contributes to the Completion of the Cologne Cathedral.--His
Connection with the Beethoven Statue at Bonn, and the Celebration of
the Unveiling.--Chorley on Liszt.--Berlioz and Liszt.--Character of the
Enthusiasm called out by Liszt as an Artist.--Remarkable Personality
as a Man.--Berlioz characterizes the Great Virtuoso in a Letter.--Liszt
ceases his Life as a Virtuoso, and becomes Chapel-Master and Court
Conductor at Weimar.--Avowed Belief in the New School of Music, and
Production of Works of this School.--Wagner's Testimony to Liszt's
Assistance.--Liszt's Resignation of his Weimar Post after Ten
Years.--His Subsequent Life.--He takes Holy Orders.--Liszt as a Virtuoso
and Composer.--Entitled to be placed among the most Remarkable Men of
his Age.




THE GREAT VIOLINISTS AND PIANISTS.




THE VIOLIN AND EARLY VIOLINISTS.

The Ancestry of the Violin.--The Origin of the Cremona School of
Violin-Making.--The Amatis and Stradiuarii.--Extraordinary Art
Activity of Italy at this Period.--Antonius Stradiuarius and Joseph
Guarnerius.--Something about the Lives of the Two Greatest Violin-Makers
of the World.--Corelli, the First Great Violinist.--His Contemporaries
and Associates.--Anecdotes of his Career.--Corelli's
Pupil, Geminiani.--Philidor, the Composer, Violinist, and
Chess-Player.--Giuseppe Tartini.--Becomes an Outcast from his Family
on Account of his Love of Music.--Anecdote of the Violinist
Veracini.--Tartini's Scientific Discoveries in Music.--His Account of
the Origin of the "Devil's Trill."--Tartini's Pupils.


I.

The ancestry of the violin, considering this as the type of stringed
instruments played with a bow, goes back to the earliest antiquity; and
innumerable passages might be quoted from the Oriental and classical
writers illustrating the important part taken by the forefathers of the
modern violin in feast, festival, and religious ceremonial, in the fiery
delights of battle, and the more dulcet enjoyments of peace. But it
was not till the fifteenth century, in Italy, that the art of making
instruments of the viol class began to reach toward that high perfection
which it speedily attained. The long list of honored names connected
with the development of art in the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth
centuries is a mighty roll-call, and among these the names of the great
violin-makers, beginning with Gaspard de Salo, of Brescia, who first
raised a rude craft to an art, are worthy of being included. From
Brescia came the masters who established the Cremona school, a name not
only immortal in the history of music, but full of vital significance;
for it was not till the violin was perfected, and a distinct school of
violin-playing founded, that the creation of the symphony, the highest
form of music, became possible.

The violin-makers of Cremona came, as we have said, from Brescia,
beginning with the Ama-tis. Though it does not lie within the province
of this work to discuss in any special or technical sense the history of
violin-making, something concerning the greatest of the Cremona masters
will be found both interesting and valuable as preliminary to the
sketches of the great players which make up the substance of the
volume. The Amatis, who established the violin-making art at Cremona,
successively improved, each member of the class stealing a march on
his predecessor, until the peerless masters of the art, Antonius
Stradiuarius and Joseph Guarnerius del Jesû, advanced far beyond the
rivalry of their contemporaries and successors. The pupils of the
Amatis, Stradiuarius, and Guarnerius settled in Milan, Florence, and
other cities, which also became centers of violin-making, but never to
an extent which lessened the preeminence of the great Cremona makers.
There was one significant peculiarity of all the leading artists of this
violin-making epoch: each one as a pupil never contented himself with
making copies of his master's work, but strove incessantly to strike
out something in his work which should be an outcome of his own genius,
knowledge, and investigation. It was essentially a creative age.

Let us glance briefly at the artistic activity of the times when the
violin-making craft leaped so swiftly and surely to perfection. If we
turn to the days of Gaspard di Salo, Morelli, Magini, and the Amatis, we
find that when they were sending forth their fiddles, Raphael, Leonardo
da Vinci, Titian, and Tintoretto were busily painting their great
canvases. While Antonius Stradiuarius and Joseph Guarnerius were
occupied with the noble instruments which have immortalized their names,
Canaletto was painting his Venetian squares and canals, Giorgio was
superintending the manufacture of his inimitable maiolica, and the
Venetians were blowing glass of marvelous beauty and form. In the
musical world, Corelli was writing his gigues and sarabandes, Geminiani
composing his first instruction book for the violin, and Tartini
dreaming out his "Devil's Trill"; and while Guadognini (a pupil of
Antonius Stradiuarius), with the stars of lesser magnitude, were
exercising their calling, Viotti, the originator of the school of modern
violin-playing, was beginning to write his concertos, and Boccherini
laying the foundation of chamber music.

Such was the flourishing state of Italian art during the great Cremona
period, which opened up a mine of artistic wealth for succeeding
generations. It is a curious fact that not only the violin but violin
music was the creature of the most luxurious period of art; for, in that
golden age of the creative imagination, musicians contemporary with the
great violin-makers were writing music destined to be better understood
and appreciated when the violins then made should have reached their
maturity.

There can be no doubt that the conditions were all highly favorable
to the manufacture of great instruments. There were many composers
of genius and numerous orchestras scattered over Italy, Germany, and
France, and there must have been a demand for bow instruments of a high
order. In the sixteenth century, Palestrina and Zarlino were writing
grand church music, in which violins bore an important part. In the
seventeenth, lived Stradella, Lotti, Buononcini, Lulli, and Corelli. In
the eighteenth, when violin-making Avas at its zenith, there were such
names among the Italians as Scarlatti, Geminiani, Vivaldi, Locatelli,
Boccherini, Tartini, Piccini, Viotti, and Nardini; while in France it
was the epoch of Lecler and Gravinies, composers of violin music of
the highest class. Under the stimulus of such a general art culture the
makers of the violin must have enjoyed large patronage, and the more
eminent artists have received highly remunerative prices for their
labors, and, correlative to this practical success, a powerful stimulus
toward perfecting the design and workmanship of their instruments. These
plain artisans lived quiet and simple lives, but they bent their whole
souls to the work, and belonged to the class of minds of which Carlyle
speaks: "In a word, they willed one thing to which all other things were
made subordinate and subservient, and therefore they accomplished it.
The wedge will rend rocks, but its edge must be sharp and single; if it
be double, the wedge is bruised in pieces and will rend nothing."


II.

So much said concerning the general conditions under which the craft
of violin-making reached such splendid excellence, the attention of the
reader is invited to the greatest masters of the Cremona school.


     "The instrument on which he played
     Was in Cremona's workshops made,
     By a great master of the past,
     Ere yet was lost the art divine;
     Fashioned of maple and of pine,
     That in Tyrolean forests vast
     Had rooked and wrestled with the blast.

     "Exquisite was it in design,
     A marvel of the lutist's art,
     Perfect in each minutest part;
     And in its hollow chamber thus
     The maker from whose hand it came
     Had written his unrivaled name,
     'Antonius Stradivarius.'"


The great artist whose work is thus made the subject of Longfellow's
verse was born at Cremona in 1644. His renown is beyond that of all
others, and his praise has been sounded by poet, artist, and musician.
He has received the homage of two centuries, and his name is as little
likely to be dethroned from its special place as that of Shakespeare
or Homer. Though many interesting particulars are known concerning
his life, all attempt has failed to obtain any connected record of the
principal events of his career. Perhaps there is no need, for there
is ample reason to believe that Antonius Stradiuarius lived a quiet,
uncheckered, monotonous existence, absorbed in his labor of making
violins, and caring for nothing in the outside world which did not touch
his all-beloved art. Without haste and without rest, he labored for
the perfection of the violin. To him the world was a mere workshop. The
fierce Italian sun beat down and made Cremona like an oven, but it was
good to dry the wood for violins. On the slopes of the hills grew grand
forests of maple, pine, and willow, but he cared nothing for forest
or hillside except as they grew good wood for violins. The vineyards
yielded rich wine, but, after all, the main use of the grape was that it
furnished the spirit wherewith to compound varnish. The sheep, ox, and
horse were good for food, but still more important because from them
came the hair of the bow, the violin strings, and the glue which held
the pieces together. It was through this single-eyed devotion to
his life-work that one great maker was enabled to gather up all the
perfections of his predecessors, and stand out for all time as the
flower of the Cremonese school and the master of the world. George
Eliot, in her poem, "The Stradivari," probably pictures his life
accurately:


     "That plain white-aproned man, who stood at work,
     Patient and accurate full fourscore years,
     Cherished his sight and touch by temperance;
     And since keen sense is love of perfectness,
     Made perfect violins, the needed paths
     For inspiration and high mastery."


M. Fetis, in his notice of the greatest of violin-makers, summarizes his
life very briefly. He tells us the life of Antonius Stradiuarius was
as tranquil as his calling was peaceful. The year 1702 alone must have
caused him some disquiet, when during the war the city of Cremona was
taken by Marshal Villeroy, on the Imperialist side, retaken by Prince
Eugene, and finally taken a third time by the French. That must have
been a parlous time for the master of that wonderful workshop whence
proceeded the world's masterpieces, though we may almost fancy the
absorbed master, like Archimedes when the Romans took Syracuse, so
intent on his labor that he hardly heard the din and roar of battle,
till some rude soldier disturbed the serene atmosphere of the room
littered with shavings and strewn with the tools of a peaceful craft.

Polledro, not many years ago first violin at the Chapel Royal of Turin,
who died at a very advanced age, declared that his master had known
Stradiuarius, and that he was fond of talking about him. He was, he
said, tall and thin, with a bald head fringed with silvery hair, covered
with a cap of white wool in the winter and of cotton in the summer. He
wore over his clothes an apron of white leather when he worked, and, as
he was always working, his costume never varied. He had acquired what
was regarded as wealth in those days, for the people of Cremona were
accustomed to say "As rich as Stradiuarius." The house he occupied is
still standing in the Piazza Roma, and is probably the principal place
of interest in the old city to the tourists who drift thitherward.
The simple-minded Cremonese have scarcely a conception to-day of the
veneration with which their ancient townsman is regarded by the musical
connoisseurs of the world. It was with the greatest difficulty that they
were persuaded a few years ago, by the efforts of Italian and French
musicians, to name one street Stradiuarius, and another Amati. Nicholas
Amati, the greatest maker of his family, was the instructor of Antonius
Stradiuarius, and during the early period of the latter artist the
instruments could hardly be distinguished from those of Amati. But, in
after-years, he struck out boldly in an original line of his own, and
made violins which, without losing the exquisite sweetness of the Amati
instruments, possessed far more robustness and volume of tone, reaching,
indeed, a combination of excellences which have placed his name high
above all others. It may be remarked of all the Cremona violins of the
best period, whether Amati, Stradiuarius, Guarnerius, or Steiner,
that they are marked no less by their perfect beauty and delicacy of
workmanship than by their charm of tone. These zealous artisans were not
content to imprison the soul of Ariel in other form than the lines
and curves of ideal grace, exquisitely marked woods, and varnish as of
liquid gold. This external beauty is uniformly characteristic of the
Cremona violins, though shape varies in some degree with each maker.
Of the Stradiuarius violins it may be said, before quitting the
consideration of this maker, that they have fetched in latter years
from one thousand to five thousand dollars. The sons and grandsons of
Antonius were also violin-makers of high repute, though inferior to the
chief of the family.

The name of Joseph Guarnerius del Jesû is only less in estimation than
that of Antonius Stradiuarius, of whom it is believed by many he was a
pupil or apprentice, though of this there is no proof. Both his uncle
Andreas and his cousin Joseph were distinguished violin-makers, but the
Guarnerius patronymic has now its chiefest glory from that member known
as "del Jesû." This great artist in fiddle-making was born at Cremona in
the year 1683, and died in 1745. He worked in his native place till
the day of his death, but in his latter years Joseph del Jesû became
dissipated, and his instruments fell off somewhat in excellence of
quality and workmanship. But his _chef d'oeuvres_ yield only to those
of the great Stradiuarius in the estimation of connoisseurs. Many of the
Guarnerius violins, it is said, were made in prison, where the artist
was confined for debt, with inferior tools and material surreptitiously
obtained for him by the jailer's daughter, who was in love with the
handsome captive. These fruits of his skill were less beautiful in
workmanship, though marked by wonderful sweetness and power of tone.
Mr. Charles Reade, a great violin amateur as well as a novelist, says of
these "prison" fiddles, referring to the comical grotesqueness of their
form: "Such is the force of genius, that I believe in our secret hearts
we love these impudent fiddles best, they are so full of _chic_."
Paganini's favorite was a Guarnerius del Jesû, though he had no less
than seven instruments of the greatest Cremona masters. Spohr, the
celebrated violinist and composer, offered to exchange his Strad, one
of the finest in the world, for a Guarnerius, in the possession of Mr.
Mawkes, an English musician.

Carlo Bergonzi, the pupil of Antonius Stradiuarius, was another of the
great Cremona makers, and his best violins have commanded extraordinary
prices. He followed the model of his master closely, and some of his
instruments can hardly be distinguished in workmanship and tone from
genuine Strads. Something might be said, too, of Jacob Steiner,
who, though a German (born about 1620), got the inspiration for his
instruments of the best period so directly from Cremona that he ought
perhaps to be classified with the violin-makers of this school. His
famous violins, known as the Elector Steiners, were made under peculiar
circumstances. Almost heartbroken by the death of his wife, he retired
to a Benedictine monastery with the purpose of taking holy orders.
But the art-passion of his life was too strong, and he made in his
cloister-prison twelve instruments, on which he lavished the most
jealous care and attention. These were presented to the twelve Electors
of Germany, and their extraordinary merit has caused them to rank high
among the great violins of the world. A volume might be easily compiled
of anecdotes concerning violins and violin-makers. The vicissitudes
and changes of ownership through which many celebrated instruments have
passed are full of romantic interest. Each instrument of the greatest
makers has a pedigree, as well authenticated as those of the great
masterpieces of painting, though there have been instances where a Strad
or a Guarnerius has been picked up by some strange accident for a mere
trifle at an auction. There have been many imitations of the genuine
Cremonas palmed off, too, on the unwary at a high price, but the
connoisseur rarely fails to identify the great violins almost instantly.
For, aside from their magical beauty of tone, they are made with the
greatest beauty of form, color, and general detail. So much has been
said concerning the greatest violin-makers, in view of the fact that
coincident with the growth of a great school of art-manufacture in
violins there also sprang up a grand school of violin-playing; for,
indeed, the one could hardly have existed without the other.


III.

The first great performer on the violin whose career had any special
significance, in its connection with the modern world of musical art,
was Archangelo Corelli, who was born at Fusignano, in the territory of
Bologna, in the year 1653. Corelli's compositions are recognized to-day
as types of musical purity and freshness, and the great number of
distinguished pupils who graduated from his teaching relate him closely
with all the distinguished violinists even down to the present day. In
Corelli's younger days the church had a stronger claim on musicians
than the theatre or concert-room. So we find him getting his earliest
instruction from the Capuchin Simonelli, who devoted himself to the
ecclesiastical style. The pupil, however, yielded to an irresistible
instinct, and soon put himself under the care of a clever and skillful
teacher, the well-known Bassani. Under this tuition the young musician
made rapid advancement, for he labored incessantly in the practice of
his instrument. At the age of twenty Corelli followed that natural bent
which carried him to Paris, then, as now, a great art capital; and we
are told, on the authority of Fetis, that the composer Lulli became
so jealous of his extraordinary skill that he obtained a royal mandate
ordering Corelli to quit Paris, on pain of the Bastille.

In 1680 he paid a visit to Germany, and was specially well received,
and was so universally admired, that he with difficulty escaped the
importunate invitations to settle at various courts as chief musician.
After a three years' absence from his native land he returned and
published his first sonatas. The result of his assiduous labor was that
his fame as a violinist had spread all over Europe, and pupils came from
distant lands to profit by his instruction. We are told of his style as
a solo player that it was learned and elegant, the tone firm and even,
that his playing was frequently impressed with feeling, but that during
performance "his countenance was distorted, his eyes red as fire, and
his eyeballs rolled as if he were in agony." For about eighteen years
Corelli was domiciled at Rome, under the patronage of Cardinal Ottoboni.
As leader of the orchestra at the opera, he introduced many reforms,
among them that of perfect uniformity of bowing. By the violin sonatas
composed during this period, it is claimed that Corelli laid the
foundation for the art of violin-playing, though it is probable that he
profited largely by those that went before him. It was at the house of
Cardinal Ottoboni that Corelli met Handel, when the violent temper
of the latter did not hesitate to show itself. Corelli was playing a
sonata, when the imperious young German snatched the violin from his
hand, to show the greatest virtuoso of the age how to play the music.
Corelli, though very amiable in temper, knew how to make himself
respected. At one of the private concerts at Cardinal Ottoboni's, he
observed his host and others talking during his playing. He laid his
violin down and joined the audience, saying he feared his music might
interrupt the conversation.

In 1708, according to Dubourg, Corelli accepted a royal invitation
from Naples, and took with him his second violin, Matteo, and a
violoncellist, in case he should not be well accompanied by the
Neapolitan orchestra. He had no sooner arrived than he was asked to play
some of his concertos before the king. This he refused, as the whole of
his orchestra was not with him, and there was no time for a rehearsal.
However, he soon found that the Neapolitan musicians played the
orchestral parts of his concertos as well as his own accompanists did
after some practice; for, having at length consented to play the first
of his concertos before the court, the accompaniment was so good
that Corelli is said to have exclaimed to Matteo: "_Si suona a
Napoli!_"--"They _do_ play at Naples!" This performance being quite
successful, he was presented to the king, who afterward requested him
to perform one of his sonatas; but his Majesty found the adagio "so
long and so dry that he got up and _left the room_ (!), to the great
mortification of the eminent virtuoso." As the king had commanded the
piece, the least he could have done would have been to have waited
till it was finished. "If they play at Naples, they are not very polite
there," poor Corelli must have thought! Another unfortunate mishap also
occurred to him there, if we are to believe the dictum of Geminiani,
one of Corelli's pupils, who had preceded him at Naples. It would appear
that he was appointed to lead a composition of Scarlatti's, and on
arriving at an air in C minor he led off in C major, which mistake he
twice repeated, till Scarlatti came on the stage and showed him the
difference. This anecdote, however, is so intrinsically improbable
that it must be taken with several "grains of salt." In 1712 Corelli's
concertos were beautifully engraved at Amsterdam, but the composer only
survived the publication a few weeks. A beautiful statue, bearing the
inscription "_Corelli princeps musicorum_," was erected to his memory,
adjacent that honoring the memory of Raffaelle in the Pantheon. He
accumulated a considerable fortune, and left a valuable collection of
pictures. The solos of Corelli have been adopted as valuable studies by
the most eminent modern players and teachers.

Francesco Geminiani was the most remarkable of Corelli's pupils. Born at
Lucca in 1680, he finished his studies under Corelli at Rome, and spent
several years with great musical _éclat_ at Naples. In 1714 he went
to England, in which country he spent many years. His execution was of
great excellence, but his compositions only achieved temporary favor.
His life is said to have been full of romance and incident. Geminiani's
connection with Handel has a special musical interest. The king, who
arrived in England in September, 1714, and was crowned at Westminster a
month later, was irritated with Handel for having left Germany, where he
held the position of chapel-master to George, when Elector of Brunswick,
and still more so by his having composed a _Te Deum_ on the Peace of
Utrecht, which was not favorably regarded by the Protestant princes of
Germany. Baron Kilmanseck, a Hanoverian, and a great admirer of Handel,
undertook to bring them together again. Being informed that the king
intended to picnic on the Thames, he requested the composer to write
something for the occasion. Thereupon Handel wrote the twenty-five
little concerted pieces known under the title of "Water Music." They
were executed in a barge which followed the royal boat. The orchestra
consisted of four violins, one tenor, one violoncello, one double-bass,
two hautboys, two bassoons, two French horns, two flageolets, one flute,
and one trumpet. The king soon recognized the author of the music,
and his resentment against Handel began to soften. Shortly after this
Geminiani was requested to play some sonatas of his own composition in
the king's private cabinet; but, fearing that they would lose much
of their effect if they were accompanied in an inferior manner, he
expressed the desire that Handel should play the accompaniments. Baron
Kilmanseck carried the request to the king, and supported it strongly.
The result was that peace was made, and an extra pension of two hundred
pounds per annum settled upon Handel. Geminiani, after thirty-five
years spent in England, went to Paris for five years, where he was most
heartily welcomed by the musical world, but returned across the Channel
again to spend his latter years in Dublin. It was here that Matthew
Dubourg, whose book on "The Violin and Violinists" is a perfect
treasure-trove of anecdote, became his pupil.

Another remarkable violinist was an intimate friend of Geminiani, a
name distinguished alike in the annals of chess-playing and music, André
Danican Philidor. This musician was born near Paris in 1726, and was the
grandson of the hautboy-player to the court of Louis XIII. His father
and several of his relations were also eminent players in the royal
orchestras of Louis XIV and Louis XV. Young Philidor was received into
the Chapel Royal at Versailles in 1732, being then six years old, and
when eleven he composed a motette which extorted much admiration. In
the Chapel Royal there were about eighty musicians daily in attendance,
violins, hautboys, violas, double-basses, choristers, etc.; and,
cards not being allowed, they had a long table inlaid with a number of
chess-boards, with which they amused their leisure time. When fourteen
years old Philidor was the best chess-player in the band. Four years
later he played at Paris two games of chess at the same time, without
seeing the boards, and afterward extended this feat to playing five
games simultaneously, which, though far inferior to the wonderful
feats of Morphy, Paulsen, and others in more recent years, very much
astonished his own generation. Philidor was an admirable violinist, and
the composer of numerous operas which delighted the French public for
many years. He died in London in 1759.

There were several other pupils of Corelli who achieved rank in their
art and exerted a recognizable influence on music. Locatelli displayed
originality and genius in his compositions, and his studies, "Arte di
Nuova Modulazione," was studied by Paganini. Another pupil, Lorenzo
Somis, became noted as the teacher of Lecler, Pugnani (the professor of
Viotti), and Giardini. Visconti, of Cremona, who was taught by Corelli,
is said to have greatly assisted by his counsels the constructive genius
of Antonius Stradiuarius in making his magnificent instruments.


IV.

The name of Giuseppe Tartini will recur to the musical reader more
familiarly than those previously mentioned. He was the scion of a noble
stock, and was born in Istria in 1692. Originally intended for the law,
he was entered at the University of Padua at the age of eighteen for
this profession, but his time was mostly given to the study of music and
fencing, in both of which he soon became remarkably proficient, so
that he surpassed the masters who taught him. It may be that accident
determined the future career of Tartini, for, had he remained at the
university, the whole bent of his life might have been different. Eros
exerted his potent sway over the young student, and he entered into a
secret marriage, that being the lowest price at which he could win his
_bourgeois_ sweetheart. Tartini became an outcast from his family, and
was compelled to fly and labor for his own living. After many hardships,
he found shelter in a convent at Assisi, the prior of which was a family
connection, who took compassion on the friendless youth. Here Tartini
set to work vigorously on his violin, and prosecuted a series of
studies which resulted in the "Sonata del Diavolo" and other remarkable
compositions. At last he was reconciled to his family through the
intercession of his monastic friend, and took his abode in Venice that
he might have the benefit of hearing the playing of Veracini, a great
but eccentric musician, then at the head of the Conservatario of that
city. Veracini was nicknamed "Capo Pazzo," or "mad-head," on account of
his eccentricity. Dubourg tells a curious story of this musician: Being
at Lucca at the time of the annual festival called "Festa della Croce,"
on which occasion it was customary for the leading artists of Italy to
meet, Veracini put his name down for a solo. When he entered the choir,
he found the principal place occupied by a musician of some rank named
Laurenti. In reply to the latter's question, "Where are you going?"
Veracini haughtily answered, "To the place of the first violinist." It
was explained by Laurenti that he himself had been engaged to fill that
post, but, if his interlocutor wished to play a solo, he could have
the privilege either at high mass or at vespers. Evidently he did not
recognize Veracini, who turned away in a rage, and took his position
in the lowest place in the orchestra. When his turn came to play his
concerto, he begged that instead of it he might play a solo where he
was, accompanied on the violoncello by Lanzetti. This he did in so
brilliant and unexpected a manner that the applause was loud and
continued, in spite of the sacred nature of the place; and whenever he
was about to make a close, he turned toward Laurenti and called out:
"Cost se suona per fare il primo violino"--"This is the way to play
first violin."

Veracini played upon a fine Steiner violin. The only master he ever had
was his uncle Antonio, of Florence; and it was by traveling all over
Europe, and by numerous performances in public, that he formed a
style of playing peculiar to himself, very similar to what occurred
to Pa-ganini and the celebrated De Bériot in later years. It does not
appear certain that Tartini ever took lessons from Veracini; but hearing
the latter play in public had no doubt a very great effect upon him, and
caused him to devote many years to the careful study of his instrument.
Some say that Veracini's performance awakened a vivid emulation in
Tartini, who was already acknowledged to be a very masterly player. Up
to the time, however, that Tartini first heard Veracini, he had
never attempted any of the more intricate and difficult feats of
violin-playing, as effected by the management of the bow. An intimate
friendship sprang up between the two artists and another clever
musician named Marcello, and they devoted much time to the study of the
principles of violin-playing, particularly to style and the varied kinds
of bowing. Veracini's mind afterward gave way, and Tartini withdrew
himself to Ancona, where in utter solitude he applied himself to working
out the fundamental principles of the bow in the technique of the
violin--principles which no succeeding violinist has improved or
altered. Tartini, even while absorbed in music, did not neglect the
study of science and mathematics, of which he was passionately fond,
and in the pursuit of which he might have made a name not less than his
reputation as a musician. It was at this time that Tartini made a very
curious discovery, known as the _phenomenon of the third sound_, which
created some sensation at the time, and has since given rise to numerous
learned discourses, but does not appear to have led to any great
practical result. Various memoirs or treatises were written by him, and
that in which he develops the nature of the _third sound_ is his "Tratto
di Musica se-condo la vera scienza de l'Armonia." In this and others of
his works, he appears much devoted to _theory_, and endeavors to place
all his practical facts upon a thoroughly scientific basis. The effect
known as the _third sound_ consists in the sympathetic resonance of a
third note when the two upper notes of a chord are played in perfect
tune. "If you do not hear the bass," Tartini would say to his pupils,
"the thirds or sixths which you are playing are not perfect in
intonation."

At Ancona, Tartini attained such reputation as a player and musician
that he was appointed, in 1721, to the directorship of the orchestra of
the church of St. Anthony at Padua. Here, according to Fetis, he spent
the remaining forty-nine years of his life in peace and comfort, solely
occupied with the labors connected with the art he loved.

His great fame brought him repeated offers from the principal cities of
Europe, even London and Paris, hat nothing could induce him to leave his
beloved Italy. Though Tartini could not have been heard out of Italy,
his violin school at Padua graduated many excellent players, who were
widely known throughout the musical world. Tartini's compositions
reached no less than one hundred and fifty works, distinguished not only
by beauty of melody and knowledge of the violin, but by soundness
of musical science. Some of his sonatas are still favorites in the
concert-room. Among these, the most celebrated is the "Trille
del Dia-volo," or "Devil's Sonata," composed under the following
circumstances, as related by Tartini himself to his pupil Lalande:

"One night in 1713," he says, "I dreamed that I had made a compact with
the devil, who promised to be at my service on all occasions. Everything
succeeded according to my mind; my wishes were anticipated and desires
always surpassed by the assistance of my new servant. At last I thought
I would offer my violin to the devil, in order to discover what kind of
a musician he was, when, to my great astonishment, I heard him play
a solo, so singularly beautiful and with such superior taste and
precision, that it surpassed all the music I had ever heard or conceived
in the whole course of my life. I was so overcome with surprise and
delight that I lost my power of breathing, and the violence of this
sensation awoke me. Instantly I seized my violin in the hopes of
remembering some portion of what I had just heard, but in vain! The work
which this dream suggested, and which I wrote at the time, is doubtless
the best of all my compositions, and I still call it the 'Sonata del
Diavolo'; but it sinks so much into insignificance compared with what
I heard, that I would have broken my instrument and abandoned music
altogether, had I possessed any other means of subsistence."

Tartini died at Padua in 1770, and so much was he revered and admired
in the city where he had spent nearly fifty years of his life, that his
death was regarded as a public calamity. He used to say of himself that
he never made any real progress in music till he was more than thirty
years old; and it is curious that he should have made a great change
in the nature of his performance at the age of fifty-two. Instead of
displaying his skill in difficulties of execution, he learned to prefer
grace and expression. His method of playing an adagio was regarded as
inimitable by his contemporaries; and he transmitted this gift to his
pupil Nardini, who was afterward called the greatest adagio player in
the world. Another of Tartini's great _élevés_ was Pugnani, who before
coming to him had been instructed by Lorenzo Somis, the pupil of
Corelli. So it may be said that Pugnani united in himself the schools of
Corelli and Tartini, and was thus admirably fitted to be the instructor
of that grand player, who was the first in date of the violin virtuosos
of modern times, Viotti.

Both as composer and performer, Pugnani was held in great esteem
throughout Europe. His first meeting with Tartini was an incident of
considerable interest. He made the journey from Paris to Padua expressly
to see Tartini, and on reaching his destination he proceeded to the
house of the great violinist.

Tartini received him kindly, and evinced some curiosity to hear him
play. Pugnani took up his instrument and commenced a well-known solo,
but he had not played many bars before Tartini suddenly seized his arm,
saying, "Too loud, my friend, too loud!" The Piedmontese began again,
but at the same passage Tartini stopped him again, exclaiming this time,
"Too soft, my good friend, too soft!" Pugnani therefore laid down the
violin, and begged of Tartini to give him some lessons. He was at
once received among Tartini's pupils, and, though already an excellent
artist, began his musical education almost entirely anew. Many anecdotes
have been foisted upon Pugnani, some evidently the creation of rivals,
and not worth repeating. Others, on the contrary, tend to enlighten us
upon the character of the man. Thus, when playing, he was so completely
absorbed in the music, that he has been known, at a public concert, to
walk about the platform during the performance of a favorite cadenza,
imagining himself alone in the room. Again, at the house of Madame
Denis, when requested to play before Voltaire, who had little or no
music in his soul, Pugnani stopped short, when the latter had the bad
taste to continue his conversation, remarking in a loud, clear voice,
"M. de Voltaire is very clever in making verses, but as regards music
he is devilishly ignorant." Pugnani's style of play is said to have been
very broad and noble, "characterized by that commanding sweep of the
bow, which afterward formed so grand a feature in the performance of
Viotti." He was distinguished as a composer as well as a player, and
among his numerous works are some seven or eight operas, which were very
successful for the time being on the Italian stage.




VIOTTI.


Viotti, the Connecting Link between the Early and Modern Violin
Schools.--His Immense Superiority over his Contemporaries and
Predecessors.--Other Violinists of his Time, Giornowick and
Boccherini.--Viotti's Early Years--His Arrival in Paris, and the
Sensation he made--His Reception by the Court.--Viotti's Personal Pride
and Dignity.--His Rebuke to Princely Impertinence.--The Musical Circles
of Paris.--Viotti's Last Publie Concert in Paris.--He suddenly departs
for London.--Becomes Director of the King's Theatre.--Is compelled to
leave the Country as a Suspected Revolutionist.--His Return to England,
and Metamorphosis into a Vintner.--The French Singer, Garat, finds him
out in his London Obscurity.--Anecdote of Viotti's Dinner Party.--He
quits the Wine Trade for his own Profession.--Is made Director of the
Paris Grand Opéra.--Letter from Rossini.--Viotti's Account of the
"Ranz des Vaches."--Anecdotes of the Great Violinist.--Dies in London in
1824.--Viotti's Place as a Violinist, and Style of Playing.--The Tourté
Bow first invented during his Time.--An Indispensable Factor in Great
Playing on the Violin.--Viotti's Pupils, and his Influence on the
Musical Art.


I.

In the person of the celebrated Viotti we recognize the link connecting
the modern school of violin-playing with the schools of the past. He
was generally hailed as the leading violinist of his time, and his
influence, not merely on violin music but music in general, was of a
very palpable order. In him were united the accomplishments of the great
virtuoso and the gifts of the composer. At the time that Viotti's star
shot into such splendor in the musical horizon, there were not a few
clever violinists, and only a genius of the finest type could have
attained and perpetuated such a regal sway among his contemporaries. At
the time when Viotti appeared in Paris the popular heart was completely
captivated by Giornowick, whose eccentric and quarrelsome character as
a man cooperated with his artistic excellence to keep him constantly
in the public eye. Giornowick was a Palermitan, born in 1745, and his
career was thoroughly artistic and full of romantic vicissitudes. His
style was very graceful and elegant, his tone singularly pure. One of
the most popular and seductive tricks in his art was the treating of
well-known airs as rondos, returning ever and anon to his theme after
a variety of brilliant excursions in a way that used to fascinate his
hearers, thus anticipating some of his brilliant successors.

Michael Kelly heard him at Vienna. "He was a man of a certain age," he
tells us, "but in the full vigor of talent. His tone was very powerful,
his execution most rapid, and his taste, above all, alluring. No
performer in my remembrance played such pleasing music." Dubourg relates
that on one occasion, when Giornowick had announced a concert at Lyons,
he found the people rather retentive of their money, so he postponed the
concert to the following evening, reducing the price of the tickets to
one half. A crowded company was the result. But the bird had flown! The
artist had left Lyons without ceremony, together with the receipts from
sales of tickets.

In London, where he was frequently heard between 1792 and 1796, he once
gave a concert which was fully attended, but annoying to the player
on account of the indifference of the audience and the clatter of
the tea-cups; for it was then the custom to serve tea during the
performance, as well as during the intervals. Giornowick turned to the
orchestra and ordered them to cease playing. "These people," said he,
"know nothing about music; anything is good enough for drinkers of warm
water. I will give them something suited to their taste." Whereupon he
played a very trivial and commonplace French air, which he disguised
with all manner of meretricious flourishes, and achieved a great
success. When Viotti arrived in Paris in 1779, Giornowick started on
his travels after having heard this new rival once.

A distinguished virtuoso and composer, with whom Viotti had already been
thrown into contact, though in a friendly rather than a competitive way,
was Boccherini, who was one of the most successful early composers of
trios, quartets, and quintets for string instruments. During the latter
part of Boccherini's life he basked in the sunlight of Spanish royalty,
and composed nine works annually for the Royal Academy of Madrid, in
which town he died in 1806, aged sixty-six. A very clever saying is
attributed to him. The King of Spain, Charles IV, was fond of playing
with the great composer, and was very ambitious of shining as a great
violinist; his cousin, the Emperor of Austria, was also fond of the
violin, and played tolerably well. One day the latter asked Boccherini,
in a rather straightforward manner, what difference there was between
his playing and that of his cousin Charles IV. "Sire," replied
Boccherini, without hesitating for a moment, "Charles IV plays like a
king, and your Majesty plays like an emperor."

Giovanni Battista Viotti was born in a little Piedmontese village called
Fontaneto, in the year 1755. The accounts of his early life are
too confused and fragmentary to be trustworthy. It is pretty well
established, however, that he studied under Pugnani at Turin, and that
at the age of twenty he was made first violin at the Chapel Royal of
that capital. After remaining three years, he began his career as a
solo player, and, after meeting with the greatest success at Berlin and
Vienna, directed his course to Paris, where he made his _debut_ at the
"Concerts Spirituels."


II.

Fetis tells us that the arrival of Viotti in Paris produced a sensation
difficult to describe. No performer had yet been heard who had attained
so high a degree of perfection, no artist had possessed so fine a tone,
such sustained elegance, such fire, and so varied a style. The fancy
which was developed in his concertos increased the delight he produced
in the minds of his auditory. His compositions for the violin were
as superior to those which had previously been heard as his execution
surpassed that of all his predecessors and contemporaries. Giornowick's
style was full of grace and suave elegance; Viotti was characterized
by a remarkable beauty, breadth, and dignity. Lavish attentions were
bestowed on him from the court circle. Marie Antoinette, who was an
ardent lover and most judicious patron of music, sent him her commands
to play at Versailles. The haughty artistic pride of Viotti was signally
displayed at one of these concerts before royalty. A large number of
eminent musicians had been engaged for the occasion, and the audience
was a most brilliant one. Viotti had just begun a concerto of his own
composition, when the arrogant Comte d'Artois made a great bustle in
the room, and interrupted the music by his loud whispers and utter
indifference to the comfort of any one but himself. Viotti's dark eyes
flashed fire as he stared sternly at this rude scion of the blood royal.
At last, unable to restrain his indignation, he deliberately placed his
violin in the case, gathered up his music from the stand, and withdrew
from the concert-room without ceremony, leaving the concert, her
Majesty, and his Royal Highness to the reproaches of the audience.
This scene is an exact parallel of one which occurred at the house
of Cardinal Ottoboni, when Corelli resented in similar fashion the
impertinence of some of his auditors.

Everywhere in artistic and aristocratic circles at the French capital
Viotti's presence was eagerly sought. Private concerts were so much the
vogue in Paris that musicians of high rank found more profit in these
than in such as were given to the miscellaneous public. A delightful
artistic rendezvous was the hôtel of the Comte de Balck, an enthusiastic
patron and friend of musicians. Here Viotti's friend, Garat, whose voice
had so great a range as to cover both the tenor and barytone registers,
was wont to sing; and here young Orfila, the brilliant chemist,
displayed his magnificent tenor voice in such a manner as to attract the
most tempting offers from managers that he should desert the laboratory
for the stage. But the young Portuguese was fascinated with science,
and was already far advanced in the career which made him in his day
the greatest of all authorities on toxicological chemistry. The most
brilliant and gifted men and women of Paris haunted these reunions,
and Viotti always appeared at his best amid such surroundings.
Another favorite resort of his was the house of Mme. Montegerault at
Montmorency, a lady who was a brilliant pianist. Sometimes she would
seat herself at her instrument and begin an improvisation, and Viotti,
seizing his violin, would join in the performance, and in a series of
extemporaneous passages display his great powers to the delight of all
present.

He evinced the greatest distaste for solo playing at public concerts,
and, aside from charity performances, only consented once to such an
exhibition of his talents. A singular concert was arranged to take place
on the fifth story of a house in Paris, the apartment being occupied
by a friend of Viotti, who was also a member of the Government. "I will
play," he said, on being urged, "but only on one condition, and that
is, that the audience shall come up here to us--we have long enough
descended to them; but times are changed, and now we may compel them to
rise to our level"; or something to that effect. It took place in due
course, and was a very brilliant concert indeed. The only ornament was a
bust of Jean Jacques Rousseau. A large number of distinguished artists,
both instrumental and vocal, were present, and a most aristocratic
audience. A good deal of Boccherini's music was performed that evening,
and though many of the titled personages had mounted to the fifth floor
for the first time in their lives, so complete was the success of the
concert that not one descended without regret, and all were warm in
their praise of the performances of the distinguished violinist.

What the cause of Viotti's sudden departure from Paris in 1790 was,
it is difficult to tell. Perhaps he had offended the court by the
independence of his bearing; perhaps he had expressed his political
opinions too bluntly, for he was strongly democratic in his views;
perhaps he foresaw the terrible storm which was gathering and was soon
to break in a wrack of ruin, chaos, and blood. Whatever the cause, our
violinist vanished from Paris with hardly a word of farewell to his most
intimate friends, and appeared in London at Salomon's concerts with the
same success which had signalized his Parisian _début_. Every one
was delighted with the originality and power of his playing, and the
exquisite taste that modified the robustness and passion which entered
into the substance of his musical conceptions.

Viotti was one of the artistic celebrities of London for several years,
but his eccentric and resolute nature did not fail to involve him in
several difficulties with powerful personages. He became connected with
the management of the King's Theatre, and led the music for two years
with signal ability. But he suddenly received an order from the
British Government to leave England without delay. His sharp tongue and
outspoken language were never consistent with courtly subserviency. We
can fancy our musician shrugging his shoulders with disdain on receiving
his order of banishment, for he was too much of a cosmopolite to be
disturbed by change of country. He took up his residence at Schönfeld,
Holland, in a beautiful and splendid villa, and produced there several
of his most celebrated compositions, as well as a series of studies of
the violin school.


III.

The edict which had sent Viotti from England was revoked in 1801, and
he returned with commercial aspirations, for he entered into the wine
trade. It could not be said of him, as of another well-known composer,
who attempted to conduct a business in the vending of sweet sounds and
the juice of the grape simultaneously, that he composed his wines and
imported his music; for Viotti seems to have laid music entirely aside
for the nonce, and we have no reason to suspect that his port and sherry
were not of the best. Attention to business did not keep him from losing
a large share of his fortune, however, in this mercantile venture, and
for a while he was so completely lost in the London Babel as to have
passed out of sight and mind of his old admirers. The French singer,
Garat, tells an amusing story of his discovery of Viotti in London, when
none of his Continental friends knew what had become of him.

In the very zenith of his powers and height of his reputation, the
founder of a violin school which remains celebrated to this day, Viotti
had quitted Paris suddenly, and since his departure no one had received,
either directly or indirectly, any news of him. According to Garat, some
vague indications led him to believe that the celebrated violinist
had taken up his residence in London, but, for a long time after his
(Garat's) arrival in the metropolis, all his attempts to find him were
fruitless. At last, one morning he went to a large export house for
wine. It had a spacious courtyard, filled with numbers of large barrels,
among which it was not easy to move toward the office or counting-house.
On entering the latter, the first person who met his gaze was Viotti
himself. Viotti was surrounded by a legion of employees, and so absorbed
in business that he did not notice Garat. At last he raised his head,
and, recognizing his old friend, seized him by the hand, and led him
into an adjoining room, where he gave him a hearty welcome. Garat could
not believe his senses, and stood motionless with surprise.

"I see you are astonished at the metamorphosis," said Viotti; "it is
certainly _drôle_--unexpected; but what _could_ you expect? At Paris
I was looked upon as a ruined man, lost to all my friends; it was
necessary to do something to get a living, and here I am, making my
fortune!"

"But," interrupted Garat, "have you taken into consideration all the
drawbacks and annoyances of a profession to which you were not brought
up, and which must be opposed to your tastes?"

"I perceive," continued Viotti, "that you share the error which so many
indulge in. Commercial enterprise is generally considered a most prosaic
undertaking, but it has, nevertheless, its seductions, its prestige, its
poetical side. I assure you no musician, no poet, ever had an existence
more full of interesting and exciting incidents than those which cause
the heart of the merchant to throb. His imagination, stimulated by
success, carries him forward to new conquests; his clients increase, his
fortune augments, the finest dreams of ambition are ever before him."

"But art!" again interrupted his friend; "the art of which you are one
of the finest representatives--you can not have entirely abandoned it?"

"Art will lose nothing," rejoined Viotti, "and you will find that I
can conciliate two things without interfering with either, though you
doubtless consider them irreconcilable. We will continue this subject
another time; at present I must leave you; I have some pressing business
to transact this afternoon. But come and dine with me at six o'clock,
and be sure you do not disappoint me."

Garat, who relates this conversation, tells us that at the appointed
time he returned to the house. All the barrels and wagons that had
encumbered the courtyard were cleared away, and in their place were
coroneted carriages, with footmen and servants. A lackey in brilliant
livery conducted the visitor to the drawing-room on the first floor.
The apartments were magnificently furnished, and glittered with
mirrors, candelabra, gilt ornaments, and the most quaint and costly
_bric-à-brac_. Viotti received his guests at the head of the staircase,
no longer the plodding man of business, but the courtly, high-bred
gentleman. Garat's amazement was still further increased when he heard
the names of the other guests, all distinguished men. After an admirably
cooked dinner, there was still more admirable music, and Viotti proved
to the satisfaction of his French friend that he was still the same
great artist who had formerly delighted his listeners in Paris.

The wine business turned out so badly for our violinist that he was fain
to return to his old and legitimate profession. Through the intervention
of powerful friends in Paris, he was appointed director of the Grand
Opéra, but he became discontented in a very onerous and irritating
position, and was retired at his own request with a pension. An
interesting letter from the great Italian composer Rossini, who was then
first trying his fortune in the French metropolis, written to Viotti
in 1821, is pleasant proof of the estimate placed on his talents and
influence:

"Most esteemed Sir: You will be surprised at receiving a letter from an
individual who has not the honor of your personal acquaintance, but I
profit by the liberality of feeling existing among artists to address
these lines to you through my friend Hérold, from whom I have learned
with the greatest satisfaction the high, and, I fear, somewhat
undeserved opinion you have of me. The oratorio of 'Moïse,' composed by
me three years ago, appears to our mutual friend susceptible of dramatic
adaptation to French words; and I, who have the greatest reliance on
Hérold's taste and on his friendship for me, desire nothing more than to
render the entire work as perfect as possible, by composing new airs in
a more religious style than those which it at present contains, and
by endeavoring to the best of my power that the result shall neither
disgrace the composer of the partition, nor you, its patron and
protector. If M. Viotti, with his great celebrity, will consent to
be the Mecænas of my name, he may be assured of the gratitude of his
devoted servant,

"Gioacchino Rossini.

"P.S.--In a month's time I will forward you the alterations of the drama
'Moïse,' in order that you may judge if they are conformable to the
operatic style. Should they not be so, you will have the kindness to
suggest any others better adapted to the purpose."


IV.

Viotti, though in many respects proud, resolute, and haughty in
temperament, was simple-hearted and enthusiastic, and a passionate lover
of nature. M. Eymar, one of his intimate friends, said of him, "Never
did a man attach so much value to the simplest gifts of nature, and
never did a child enjoy them more passionately." A modest flower growing
in the grass of the meadow, a charming bit of landscape, a rustic
_fête_, in short, all the sights and sounds of the country, filled him
with delight. All nature spoke to his heart, and his finest compositions
were suggested and inspired by this sympathy. He has left the world a
charming musical picture of the feelings experienced in the mountains
of Switzerland. It was there he heard, under peculiar circumstances,
and probably for the first time, the plaintive sound of a mountain-horn,
breathing forth the few notes of a kind of "Ranz des Vaches."

"The 'Ranz des Vaches' which I send you," he says in one of his letters,
"is neither that with which our friend Jean Jacques has presented us,
nor that of which M. De la Bord speaks in his work on music. I can
not say whether it is known or not; all I know is, that I heard it
in Switzerland, and, once heard, I have never forgotten it. I was
sauntering along, toward the decline of day, in one of those sequestered
spots.... Flowers, verdure, streamlets, all united to form a picture
of perfect harmony. There, without being fatigued, I seated myself
mechanically on a fragment of rock, and fell into so profound a reverie
that I seemed to forget that I was upon earth. While sitting thus,
sounds broke on my ear which were sometimes of a hurried, sometimes of
a prolonged and sustained character, and were repeated in softened tones
by the echoes around. I found they proceeded from a mountain-horn; and
their effect was heightened by a plaintive female voice. Struck as if
by enchantment, I started from my dreams, listened with breathless
attention, and learned, or rather engraved upon my memory, the 'Ranz des
Vaches' which I send you. In order to understand all its beauties, you
ought to be transplanted to the scene in which I heard it, and to
feel all the enthusiasm that such a moment inspired." It was a similar
delightful experience which, according to Rossini's statement, first
suggested to that great composer his immortal opera, "Guillaume Tell."

Among many interesting anecdotes current of Viotti, and one which
admirably shows his goodness of heart and quickness of resource, is one
narrated by Ferdinand Langlé to Adolph Adam, the French composer. The
father of the former, Marie Langlé, a professor of harmony in the French
Conservatoire, was an intimate friend of Viotti, and one charming summer
evening the twain were strolling on the Champs Élysées. They sat down on
a retired bench to enjoy the calmness of the night, and became buried
in reverie. But they were brought back to prosaic matters harshly by a
babel of discordant noises that grated on the sensitive ears of the two
musicians. They started from their seats, and Viotti said:

"It can't be a violin, and yet there is some resemblance to one."

"Nor a clarionet," suggested Langlé, "though it is something like it."

The easiest manner of solving the problem was to go and see what it was.
They approached the spot whence the extraordinary tones issued, and saw
a poor blind man standing near a miserable-looking candle and playing
upon a violin--but the latter was an instrument made of tin-plate.

"Fancy!" exclaimed Viotti, "it is a violin, but a violin of tin-plate!
Did you ever dream of such a curiosity?" and, after listening a while,
he added, "I say, Langlé, I must possess that instrument. Go and ask the
old blind man what he will sell it for."

Langlé approached and asked the question, but the old man was
disinclined to part with it.

"But we will give you enough for it to enable you to purchase a better,"
he added; "and why is not your violin like others?"

The aged fiddler explained that, when he got old and found himself
poor, not being able to work, but still able to scrape a few airs upon a
violin, he had endeavored to procure one, but in vain. At last his good,
kind nephew Eustache, who was apprenticed to a tinker, had made him one
out of a tin-plate. "And an excellent one, too," he added; "and my poor
boy Eustache brings me here in the morning when he goes to work, and
fetches me away in the evening when he returns, and the receipts are
not so bad sometimes--as, when he was out of work, it was I who kept the
house going."

"Well," said Viotti, "I will give you twenty francs for your violin. You
can buy a much better one for that price; but let me try it a little."

He took the violin in his hands, and produced some extraordinary
effects from it. A considerable crowd gathered around, and listened
with curiosity and astonishment to the performance. Langlé seized on
the opportunity, and passed around the hat, gathering a goodly amount of
chink from the bystanders, which, with the twenty francs, was handed to
the astonished old beggar.

"Stay a moment," said the blind man, recovering a little from his
surprise; "just now I said I would sell the violin for twenty francs,
but I did not know it was so good. I ought to have at least double for
it."

Viotti had never received a more genuine compliment, and he did not
hesitate to give the old man two pieces of gold instead of one, and then
immediately retired from the spot, passing through the crowd with the
tin-plate instrument under his arm. He had scarcely gone forty yards
when he felt some one pulling at his sleeve; it was a workman, who
politely took off his cap, and said:

"Sir, you have paid too dear for that violin; and if you are an amateur,
as it was I who made it, I can supply you with as many as you like at
six francs each."

This was Eustache; he had just come in time to hear the conclusion of
the bargain, and, little dreaming that he was so clever a violin-maker,
wished to continue a trade that had begun so successfully. However,
Viotti was quite satisfied with the one sample he had bought. He never
parted with that instrument; and, when the effects of Viotti were sold
in London after his death, though the tin fiddle only brought a few
shillings, an amateur of curiosities sought out the purchaser, and
offered him a large sum if he could explain how the strange instrument
came into the possession of the great violinist.

After resigning his position as director of the Grand Opéra, Viotti
returned to London, which had become a second home to him, and spent his
remaining days there. He died on the 24th of March, 1824.


V.

Viotti established and settled for ever the fundamental principles of
violin-playing. He did not attain the marvelous skill of technique, the
varied subtile and dazzling effects, with which his successor, Paganini,
was to amaze the world, but, from the accounts transmitted to us, his
performance must have been characterized by great nobility, breadth, and
beauty of tone, united with a fire and agility unknown before his time.
Viotti was one of the first to use the Tourté bow, that indispensable
adjunct to the perfect manipulation of the violin. The value of this
advantage over his predecessors cannot be too highly estimated.

The bows used before the time of François Tourté, who lived in the
latter years of the last century in Paris, were of imperfect shape and
make. The Tourté model leaves nothing to be desired in all the qualities
required to enable the player to follow out every conceivable manner of
tone and movement--lightness, firmness, and elasticity. Tartini had made
the stick of his bow elastic, an innovation from the time of Corelli,
and had thus attained a certain flexibility and brilliancy in his bowing
superior to his predecessors. But the full development of all the powers
of the violin, or the practice of what we now call virtuosoism on this
instrument, was only possible with the modern bow as designed by Tourté,
of Paris. The thin, bent, elastic stick of the bow, with its greater
length of sweep, gives the modern player incalculable advantages over
those of an earlier age, enabling him to follow out the slightest
gradations of tone from the fullest _forte_ to the softest _piano_,
to mark all kinds of strong and gentle accents, to execute staccato,
legato, saltato, and arpeggio passages with the greatest ease and
certainty. The French school of violin-playing did not at first avail
itself of these advantages, and even Viotti and Spohr did not fully
grasp the new resources of execution. It was left for Paganini to open
a new era in the art. His daring and subtile genius perceived and seized
the wonderful resources of the modern bow at one bound. He used freely
every imaginable movement of the bow, and developed the movement of the
wrist to that high perfection which enabled him to practice all kinds
of bowing with celerity. Without the Tourté bow, Paganini and the modern
school of virtuosos, which has followed so splendidly from his example,
would have been impossible. To many of our readers an amplification of
this topic may be of interest. While the left hand of the violin-player
fixes the tone, and thereby does that which for the pianist is already
done by the mechanism of the instrument, and while the correctness of
his intonation depends on the proficiency of the left hand, it is the
action of the right hand, the bowing, which, analogous to the pianist's
touch, makes the sound spring into life. It is through the medium of
the bow that the player embodies his ideas and feelings. It is therefore
evident that herein rests one of the most important and difficult
elements of the art of violin-playing, and that the excellence of a
player, or even of a whole school of playing, depends to a great extent
on its method of bowing. It would have been even better for the art
of violin-playing as practiced to-day that the perfect instruments of
Stradiuarius and Guarnerius should not have been, than that the Tourté
bow should have been uninvented.

The long, effective sweep of the bow was one of the characteristics
of Viotti's playing, and was alike the admiration and despair of his
rivals. His compositions for the violin are classics, and Spohr was
wont to say that there could be no better test of a fine player than
his execution of one of the Viotti sonatas or concertos. Spohr regretted
deeply that he could not finish his violin training under this
great master, and was wont to speak of him in terms of the greatest
admiration. Viotti had but few pupils, but among them were a number of
highly gifted artists. Rode, Robrechts, Cartier, Mdlle. Gerbini, Alday,
La-barre, Pixis, Mari, Mme. Paravicini, and Vacher are well-known names
to all those interested in the literature of the violin. The influence
of Viotti on violin music was a very deep one, not only in virtue of his
compositions, but in the fact that he molded the style not only of many
of the best violinists of his own day, but of those that came after him.




LUDWIG SPOHR.

Birth and Early Life of the Violinist Spohr.--He is presented with his
First Violin at six.--The French _Emigré_ Dufour uses his Influence with
Dr. Spohr, Sr., to have the Boy devoted to a Musical Career.--Goes
to Brunswick for fuller Musical Instruction.--Spohr is appointed
_Kammer-musicus_ at the Ducal Court.--He enters under the Tuition of
and makes a Tour with the Violin Virtuoso Eck.--Incidents of the Russian
Journey and his Return.--Concert Tour in Germany.--Loses his Fine
Guarnerius Violin.--Is appointed Director of the Orchestra at Gotha.--He
marries Dorette Schiedler, the Brilliant Harpist.--Spohr's Stratagem to
be present at the Erfurt Musical Celebration given by Napoleon in
Honor of the Allied Sovereigns.--Becomes Director of Opera in
Vienna.--Incidents of his Life and Production of Various Works.--First
Visit to England.--He is made Director of the Cassel Court
Oratorios.--He is retired with a Pension.--Closing Years of his
Life.--His Place as Composer and Executant.


I.

"The first singer on the violin that ever appeared!" Such was the
verdict of the enthusiastic Italians when they heard one of the greatest
of the world's violinists, who was also a great composer. The modern
world thinks of Spohr rather as the composer of symphony, opera, and
oratorio than as a wonderful executant on the violin; but it was in
the latter capacity that he enjoyed the greatest reputation during the
earlier part of his lifetime, which was a long one, extending from the
year 1784 to 1859. The latter half of Spohr's life was mostly devoted
to the higher musical ambition of creating, but not until he had
established himself as one of the greatest of virtuosos, and founded
a school of violin-playing which is, beyond all others, the most
scientific, exhaustive, and satisfactory. All of the great contemporary
violinists are disciples of the Spohr school of execution. Great as a
composer, still greater as a player, and widely beloved as a man--there
are only a few names in musical art held in greater esteem than his,
though many have evoked a deeper enthusiasm.

Ludwig Spohr was born at Brunswick, April 5, 1784, of parents both of
whom possessed no little musical talent. His father, a physician
of considerable eminence, was an excellent flutist, and his mother
possessed remarkable talent both as a pianist and singer. To the family
concerts which he heard at home was the rapid development of the boy's
talents largely due. Nature had given him a very sensitive ear and a
fine clear voice, and at the age of four or five he joined his mother
in duets at the evening gatherings. From the very first he manifested
a taste for the instrument for which he was destined to become
distinguished. He so teased his father that, at the age of six, he was
presented with his first violin, and his joy on receiving his treasure
was overpowering. The violin was never out of his hand, and he
continually wandered about the house trying to play his favorite
melodies. Spohr tells us in his "Autobiography": "I still recollect
that, after my first lesson, in which I had learned to play the G-sharp
chord upon all four strings, in my rapture at the harmony, I hurried to
my mother, who was in the kitchen, and played the chord so incessantly
that she was obliged to order me out."

Young Spohr was placed under the tuition of Dufour, a French _emigré_ of
the days of '91, who was an excellent player, though not a professional,
then living at the town of Seesen, the home of the Spohr family; and
under him the boy made very rapid progress. It was Dufour who, by
his enthusiastic representations, overcame the opposition of Ludwig's
parents to the boy's devoting himself to a life of music, for the notion
of the senior Spohr was that the name musician was synonymous with that
of a tavern fiddler, who played for dancers. In Germany, the land _par
excellence_ of music, there was a general contempt among the educated
classes, during the latter years of the eighteenth century, for the
musical profession. Spohr remained under the care of Dufour until he was
twelve years old, and devoted himself to his work with great sedulity.
Though he as yet knew but little of counterpoint and composition, his
creative talent already began to assert itself, and he produced several
duos and trios, as well as solo compositions, which evinced great
promise, though crude and faulty in the extreme. He was then sent
to Brunswick, that he might have the advantage of more scientific
instruction, and to this end was placed under the care of Kunisch,
an excellent violin teacher, and under Hartung for harmony and
counterpoint. The latter was a sort of Dr. Dryasdust, learned, barren,
acrid, but an efficient instructor. When young Spohr showed him one of
his compositions, he growled out, "There's time enough for that; you
must learn something first." It may be said of Spohr, however, that his
studies in theory were for the most part self-taught, for he was a most
diligent student of the great masters, and was gifted with a keenly
analytic mind.

At the age of fourteen young Spohr was an effective soloist, and, as his
father began to complain of the heavy expense of his musical education,
the boy determined to make an effort for self-support. After revolving
many schemes, he conceived the notion of applying to the duke, who was
known as an ardent patron of music. He managed to place himself in the
way of his Serene Highness, while the latter was walking in his garden,
and boldly preferred his request for an appointment in the court
orchestra. The duke was pleased to favor the application, and young
Spohr was permitted to display his skill at a court concert, in which he
acquitted himself so admirably as to secure the cordial patronage of the
sovereign. Said the duke: "Be industrious and well behaved, and, if you
make good progress, I will put you under the tuition of a great master."
So Louis Spohr was installed as a _Kammer-musicus_, and his patron
fulfilled his promise in 1802 by placing his _protégé_ under the charge
of Francis Eck, one of the finest violinists then living. Under the
tuition of this accomplished instructor, the young virtuoso made such
rapid advance in the excellence of his technique, that he was soon
regarded as worthy of accompanying his master on a grand concert tour
through the principal cities of Germany and Russia.


II.

This concert expedition of the two violinists, as narrated in Spohr's
"Autobiography," was full of interesting and romantic episodes. Both
master and pupil were of amorous and susceptible temperaments, and
their affairs were rarely regulated by a common sense of prudence. Spohr
relates with delightful _naivete_ the circumstances under which he fell
successively in love, and the rapidity with which he recovered from
these fitful spasms of the tender passion. Herr Eck, in addition to his
tendency to intrigues with the fairer half of creation, was also of
a quarrelsome and exacting disposition, and the general result was
ceaseless squabbling with authorities and musical societies in nearly
every city they visited. In spite of these drawbacks, however, the
two violinists gained both in fame and purse, and were everywhere well
received. If Herr Eck carried off the palm over the boyish Spohr as a
mere executant, the impression everywhere gained ground that the latter
was by far the superior in real depth of musical science, and many of
his own violin concertos were received with the heartiest applause. The
concert tour came to an end at St. Petersburg in a singular way. Eck
fell in love with a daughter of a member of the imperial orchestra, but
the idea of marriage did not enter into his project. As the young lady
soon felt the unfortunate results of her indiscretion, her parents
complained to the Empress, at whose instance Eck was given the choice of
marrying the girl or taking an enforced journey to Siberia. He chose the
former, and determined to remain in St. Petersburg, where he was offered
the first violin of the imperial orchestra. Poor Eck found he had
married a shrew, and, between matrimonial discords and ill health
brought on by years of excess, he became the victim of a nervous fever,
which resulted in lunacy and confinement in a mad-house.

Spohr returned to his native town in July, 1803, and his first meeting
with his family was a curious one. "I arrived," he says, "at two o'clock
in the morning. I landed at the Petri gate, crossed the Ocker in a boat,
and hastened to my grandmother's garden, but found that the house
and garden doors were locked. As my knocking didn't arouse any one, I
climbed over the garden wall and laid myself down in a summer-house at
the end of the garden. Wearied by the long journey, I soon fell asleep,
and, notwithstanding my hard couch, would probably have slept for a
long while had not my aunts in their morning walk discovered me. Much
alarmed, they ran and told my grandmother that a man was asleep in the
summer-house. Returning together, the three approached nearer, and,
recognizing me, I was awakened amid joyous expressions, embraces, and
kisses. At first, I did not recollect where I was, but soon recognized
my dear relations, and rejoiced at being once again in the home and
scenes of my childhood."

Spohr was most graciously received by the duke, who was satisfied
with the proofs of industry and ambition shown by his _protege_. The
celebrated Rode, Viotti's most brilliant pupil, was at that time in
Brunswick, and Spohr, who conceived the most enthusiastic admiration
of his style, set himself assiduously to the study and imitation of
the effects peculiar to Rode. On Rode's departure, Spohr appeared in a
concert arranged for him, in which he played a new concerto dedicated to
his ducal patron, and created an enthusiasm hardly less than that made
by Rode himself. He was warmly congratulated by the duke and the court,
and appointed first court-violinist, with a salary more than sufficient
for the musician's moderate wants. Shortly after this he undertook
another concert tour in conjunction with the violoncellist, Benike,
through the principal German cities, which added materially to
his reputation. But no amount of world's talk or money could fully
compensate him for the loss of his magnificent violin, one of the
_chefs-d'ouvre_ of Guarnerius del Gesù when that great maker was at his
best. This instrument he had brought from Russia, and it was an imperial
gift. A concert was announced for Gôttingen, and Spohr, with his
companion, was about to enter the town by coach, when he asked one of
the soldiers at the guard-house if the trunk, which had been strapped to
the back of the carriage, and which contained his precious instrument,
was in its place. "There is no trunk there," was the reply.

"With one bound," says Spohr, "I was out of the carriage, and rushed
out through the gate with a drawn hunting-knife. Had I, with more
reflection, listened a while, I might have heard the thieves running out
through a side path. But in my blind rage I had far overshot the place
where I had last seen the trunk, and only discovered my overhaste when I
found myself in the open field. Inconsolable for my loss, I turned
back. While my fellow-traveler looked for the inn, I hastened to the
post-office, and requested that an immediate search might be made in the
garden houses outside the gate. With astonishment and vexation, I was
informed that the jurisdiction outside the gate belonged to Weende, and
that I must prefer my request there. As Weende was half a league from
Gottingen, I was compelled to abandon for that evening all further steps
for the recovery of my things. That these would prove fruitless on the
following morning I was well assured, and I passed a sleepless night in
a state of mind such as in my hitherto fortunate career had been unknown
to me. Had I not lost my splendid Guarneri violin, the exponent of all
the artistic success I had so far attained, I could have lightly borne
the loss of clothes and money." The police recovered an empty trunk
and the violin-case despoiled of its treasure, but still containing a
magnificent Tourté bow, which the thieves had left behind. Spohr managed
to borrow a Steiner violin, with which he gave his concert, but he did
not for years cease to lament the loss of his grand Guarneri fiddle.

In 1805 Spohr was quietly settled in his avocation at Brunswick as
composer and chief _Kam-mer-musicus_ of the ducal court, when he
received an offer to compete for the direction of the orchestra at
Gotha, then one of the most magnificent organizations in Europe, to be
at the head of which would give him an international fame. The offer
was too tempting to be refused, and Spohr was easily victorious. His
new duties were not onerous, consisting of a concert once a week, and
in practicing and rehearsing the orchestra. The annual salary was five
hundred thalers.

One of the most interesting incidents of Spohr's life now occurred. The
susceptible heart, which had often been touched, was firmly enslaved
by the charms of Dorette Schiedler, the daughter of the principal court
singer, and herself a fine virtuoso on the harp. Dorette was a woman
whose personal loveliness was an harmonious expression of her beauty
of character and artistic talent, and Spohr accepted his fate with
joy. This girl of eighteen was irresistible, for she was accomplished,
beautiful, tender, as good as an angel, and with the finest talent for
music, for she played admirably, not only on the harp, but on the piano
and violin. Spohr had reason to hope that the attachment was mutual, and
was eager to declare his love. One night they were playing together at a
court concert, and Spohr after the performance noticed the duchess, with
an arch look at him, whispering some words to Dorette which covered her
cheeks with blushes. That night, as the lovers were returning home in
the carriage, Spohr said to her, "Shall we thus play together for life?"
Dorette burst into tears, and sank into her lover's arms. The compact
was sealed by the joyous assent of the mother, and the young couple were
united in the ducal chapel, in the presence of the duchess and a large
assemblage of friends, on the 2d of February, 1806.


III.

In the following year Spohr and his young wife set out on a musical
tour, "by which," he says, "we not only reaped a rich harvest of
applause, but saved a considerable sum of money." On his return to Gotha
he was met by a band of pupils, who unharnessed the horses from the
coach and drew him through the streets in triumph. He now devoted
himself to composition largely, and produced his first opera, "Alruna,"
which is said to have been very warmly received, both at Gotha and
Weimar, in which latter city it was produced under the superintendence
of the poet Goethe, who was intendant of the theatre. Spohr, however,
allowed it to disappear, as his riper judgment condemned its faults more
than it favored its excellences. Among his amusing adventures, one which
he relates in his "Autobiography" as having occurred in 1808 is worth
repeating. He tells us: "In the year 1808 took place the celebrated
Congress of Sovereigns at Erfurt, on which occasion Napoleon entertained
his friend Alexander of Russia and the various kings and princes of
Germany. The lovers of sights and the curious of the whole country round
poured in to see the magnificence displayed. In the company of some
of my pupils, I made a pedestrian excursion to Erfurt, less to see the
great ones of the earth than to see and admire the great ones of the
French stage, Talma and Mars. The Emperor had sent to Paris for his
tragic performers, who played every evening in the classic works of
Corneille and Racine. I and my companions had hoped to have seen one
such representation, but unfortunately I was informed that they took
place for the sovereigns and their suites alone, and that everybody
else was excluded from them." In this dilemma Spohr had recourse to
stratagem. He persuaded four musicians of the orchestra to vacate their
places for a handsome consideration, and he and his pupils engaged to
fill the duties. But one of the substitutes must needs be a horn-player,
and the four new players could only perform on violin and 'cello. So
there was nothing to be done but for Spohr to master the French horn at
a day's notice. At the expense of swollen and painful lips, he managed
this sufficiently to play the music required with ease and precision.
"Thus prepared," he writes, "I and my pupils joined the other musicians,
and, as each carried his instrument under his arm, we reached our place
without opposition. We found the saloon in which the theatre had been
erected already brilliantly lit up and filled with the numerous suites
of the sovereigns. The seats for Napoleon and his guests were right
behind the orchestra. Shortly after, the most able of my pupils, to whom
I had assigned the direction of the music, and under whose leadership I
had placed myself as a new-fledged hornist, had tuned up the orchestra,
the high personages made their appearance, and the overture began. The
orchestra, with their faces turned to the stage, stood in a long row,
and each was strictly forbidden to turn around and look with curiosity
at the sovereigns. As I had received notice of this beforehand, I had
provided myself secretly with a small looking-glass, by the help of
which, as soon as the music was ended, I was enabled to obtain in
succession a good view of those who directed the destinies of Europe.
Nevertheless, I was soon so engrossed with the magnificent acting of the
tragic artists that I abandoned my mirror to my pupils, and directed my
whole attention to the stage. But at every succeeding _entr'acte_ the
pain of my lips increased, and at the close of the performance they
had become so much swollen and blistered that in the evening I could
scarcely eat any supper. Even the next day, on my return to Gotha,
my lips had a very negro-like appearance, and my young wife was not a
little alarmed when she saw me. But she was yet more nettled when I told
her that it was from kissing to such excess the pretty Erfurt women.
When I had related, however, the history of my lessons on the horn, she
laughed heartily at my expense."

In October, 1809, Spohr and his wife started on an art journey to
Russia, but they were recalled by the court chamberlain, who said that
the duchess could not spare them from the court concerts, but would
liberally indemnify them for the loss. Spohr returned and remained at
home for nearly three years, during which time he composed a number of
important works for orchestra and for the violin. In 1812 a visit to
Vienna, during which he gave a series of concerts, so delighted the
Viennese that Spohr was offered the direction of the Ander Wien theatre
at a salary three times that received at Gotha, besides valuable
emoluments. This, and the assurance of Count Palffy, the imperial
intendant, that he meant to make the orchestra the finest in Europe,
induced Spohr to accept the offer.

When it became necessary for our musician to search for a domicile
in Vienna, he met with another piece of good fortune. One morning
a gentleman waited on him, introducing himself as a wealthy clock
manufacturer and a passionate lover of music. The stranger made an
eccentric proposition. Spohr should hand over to him all that he should
compose or had composed for Vienna during the term of three years, the
original scores to be his sole property during that time, and Spohr not
even to retain a copy. "But are they not to be performed during that
time?" "Oh, yes! as often as possible; but each time on my lending them
for that purpose, and when I can be present myself." The bargain was
struck, and the ardent connoisseur agreed to pay thirty ducats for a
string quartet, five and thirty for a quintet, forty for a sextet, etc.,
according to the style of composition. Two works were sold on the spot,
and Spohr said he should devote the money to house-furnishing. Herr Von
Tost undertook to provide the furniture complete, and the two made a
tour among the most fashionable shops. When Spohr protested against
purchasing articles of extreme beauty and luxury, Von Tost said, "Make
yourself easy, I shall require no cash settlement. You will soon
square all accounts with your manuscripts." So the Spohr domicile
was magnificently furnished from kitchen to attic, more fitly, as the
musician said, for a royal dignitary or a rich merchant than for a poor
artist. Von Tost claimed he would gain two results: "First, I wish to be
invited to all the concerts and musical circles in which you will
play your compositions, and to do this I must have your scores in my
possession; secondly, in possessing such treasures of art, I hope upon
my business journeys to make a large acquaintance among the lovers of
music, which I may turn to account in my manufacturing interests." Let
us hope that this commercial enthusiast found his calculations verified
by results.

Spohr soon gave two important new works to the musical world, the opera
of "Faust," and the cantata, "The Liberation of Germany," neither of
which, however, was immediately produced. Weber brought out "Faust" at
Prague in 1816, and the cantata was first performed at Franken-hausen in
1815, at a musical festival on the anniversary of the battle of Leipsic,
a battle which turned the scale of Napoleon's career. The same year
(1815) also witnessed the quarrel between Spohr and Count Palffy, which
resulted in the rupture of the former's engagement. Spohr determined to
make a long tour through Germany, Switzerland, and Italy. Before shaking
the dust of Vienna from his feet, he sold the Von Tost household at
auction, and the sum realized was even larger than what had been paid
for it, so vivid were the public curiosity and interest in view of the
strange bargain under which the furniture had been bought. On the 18th
of March, 1815, Louis Spohr, with his beloved Dorette and young family,
which had increased with truly German fecundity, bade farewell to
Vienna.

Two years of concert-giving and sight-seeing swiftly passed, to the
great augmentation of the German violinist's fame. On Spohr's return
home he was invited to become the opera and music director of the
Frankfort Theatre, and for two years more he labored arduously at this
post. He produced the opera of "Zemire and Azar" (founded on the fairy
fable of "Beauty and the Beast" ) during this period among other works,
and it was very enthusiastically received by the public. This opera was
afterward given in London, in English, with great success, though the
opinion of the critics was that it was too scientific for the English
taste.


IV.

Louis Spohr's first visit to England was in 1820, whither he went on
invitation of the Philharmonic Society. He gives an amusing account of
his first day in London, on the streets of which city he appeared in
a most brilliantly colored shawl waistcoat, and narrowly escaped being
pelted by the enraged mob, for the English people were then in mourning
for the death of George III, which had recently occurred, and Spohr's
gay attire was construed as a public insult. He played several of his
own works at the opening Philharmonic concert, and the brilliant veteran
of the violin, Viotti, to become whose pupil had once been Spohr's
darling but ungratified dream, expressed the greatest admiration of the
German virtuoso's magnificent playing. The "Autobiography" relates an
amusing interview of Spohr with the head of the Rothschild's banking
establishment, to whom he had brought a letter of introduction from the
Frankfort Rothschild, as well as a letter of credit. "After Rothschild
had taken both letters from me and glanced hastily over them, he said
to me, in a subdued tone of voice, 'I have just read (pointing to
the "Times") that you manage your business very efficiently; but I
understand nothing of music. This is my music (slapping his purse); they
understand that on the exchange.' Upon which with a nod of the head he
terminated the audience. But just as I had reached the door he called
after me, 'You can come out and dine with me at my country house.' A few
days afterward Mme. Rothschild also invited me to dinner, but I did not
go, though she repeated the invitation."

While in London on this visit Spohr composed his B flat Symphony,
which was given by the Philharmonic Society under the direction of the
composer himself, and, as he tells us in his "Autobiography," it was
played better than he ever heard it afterward. His English reception, on
the whole, was a very cordial one, and he secured a very high place
in public estimation, both as a violinist and orchestral composer. On
returning to Germany, Spohr gave a series of concerts, during which time
he produced his great D minor violin concerto, making a great sensation
with it. He had not yet visited Paris in a professional way, and in the
winter of 1821 he turned his steps thitherward, in answer to a pressing
invitation from the musicians of that great capital. On January 20th he
made his _début_ before a French audience, and gave a programme mostly
of his own compositions. Spohr asserts that the satisfaction of the
audience was enthusiastically expressed, but the fact that he did not
repeat the entertainment would suggest a suspicion that the impression
he made was not fully to his liking. It may be he did not dare take
the risk in a city so full of musical attractions of every description.
Certainly he did not like the French, though his reception from the
artists and literati was of the most friendly sort. He was disgusted
"with the ridiculous vanity of the Parisians." He writes: "When one or
other of their musicians plays anything, they say, 'Well! can you
boast of that in Germany?' Or when they introduce to you one of their
distinguished artists, they do not call him the first in Paris, but at
once the first in the world, although no nation knows less what other
countries possess than they do, in their--for their vanity's sake most
fortunate--ignorance."

Spohr's appointment to the directorship of the court theatre at Cassel
occurred in the winter of 1822, and he confesses his pleasure in the
post, as he believed he could make its fine orchestra one of the most
celebrated in Germany. He remained in this position for about thirty
years, and during that time Cassel became one of the greatest musical
centers of the country. His labors were assiduous, for he had the
true tireless German industry, and he soon gave the world his opera
of "Jessonda," which was first produced on July 28, 1823, with marked
success. "Jessonda" has always kept its hold on the German stage, though
it was not received with much favor elsewhere. Another opera, "Der Berg
Geist" ("The Mountain Spirit"), quickly followed, the work having been
written to celebrate the marriage of the Princess of Hesse with the Duke
of Saxe-Meiningen. One of his most celebrated compositions, the oratorio
"Die Letzten Dinge" ("The Last Judgment"), which is more familiar
to English-speaking peoples than any other work of Spohr, was first
performed on Good Friday, 1826, and was recognized from the first as
a production of masterly excellence. Spohr's ability as a composer of
sacred music would have been more distinctly accepted, had it not been
that Handel, Haydn, and, in more recent years, Mendelssohn, raised the
ideal of the oratorio so high that only the very loftiest musical genius
is considered fit to reign in this sphere. The director of the Cassel
theatre continued indefatigable in producing works of greater or less
excellence, chamber-music, symphonies, and operas. Among the latter,
attention may be called to "Pietro Albano" and the "Alchemist," clever
but in no sense brilliant works, though, as it became the fashion in
Germany to indulge in enthusiasm over Spohr, they were warmly praised
at home. The best known of his orchestral works, "Die Weihe der Tone
" ("The Power of Sound"), a symphony of unquestionable greatness, was
produced in 1832. We are told that Spohr had been reading a volume of
poems which his deceased friend Pfeiffer had left behind him, when he
alighted on "Die Weihe der Tone," and the words delighted him so much
that he thought of using them as the basis of a cantata. But he changed
his purpose, and finally decided to delineate the subject of the poem
in orchestral composition. The finest of all Spohr's symphonies was the
outcome, a work which ranks high among compositions of this class. His
toil on the new oratorio of "Calvary" was sadly interrupted by the death
of his beloved wife Dorette, who had borne him a large family, and had
been his most sympathetic and devoted companion. Spohr was so broken
down by this calamity that it was several months before he could resume
his labors, and it was because Dorette during her illness had felt such
a deep interest in the progress of the work that the desolate husband
so soon plucked heart to begin again. When the oratorio was produced on
Good Friday, 1835, Spohr records in his diary: "The thought that my wife
did not live to listen to its first performance sensibly lessened the
satisfaction I felt at this my most successful work." This oratorio was
not given in England till 1839, at the Norwich festival, Spohr being
present to conduct it. The zealous and narrow-minded clergy of the day
preached bitterly against it as a desecration, and one fierce bigot
hurled his diatribes against the composer, when the latter was present
in the cathedral. A journal of the day describes the scene: "We now see
the fanatical zealot in the pulpit, and sitting right opposite to him
the great composer, with ears happily deaf to the English tongue, but
with a demeanor so becoming, with a look so full of pure good-will, and
with so much humility and mildness in the features, that his countenance
alone spoke to the heart like a good sermon. Without intending it, we
make a comparison, and can not for a moment doubt in which of the two
dwelt the spirit of religion which denoted the true Christian."

Spohr had been two years a widower when he became enamored of one of
the daughters of Court Councilor Pfeiffer. He tells us he had long been
acquainted "with the high and varied intellectual culture of the two
sisters, and so I became fully resolved to sue for the hand of the
elder, Marianne, whose knowledge of music and skill in pianoforte
playing I had already observed when she sometimes gave her assistance
at the concerts of the St. Cecilia Society. As I had not the courage
to propose to her by word of mouth, there being more than twenty years
difference in our ages, I put the question to her in writing, and added,
in excuse for my courtship, the assurance that I was as yet perfectly
free from the infirmities of age." The proposition was accepted, and
they were married without delay on January 3, 1836. The bridal couple
made a long journey through the principal German cities, and were
universally received with great rejoicings. Musical parties and banquets
were everywhere arranged for them, at which Spohr and his young
wife delighted every one by their splendid playing. The "Historical"
symphony, descriptive of the music and characteristics of different
periods, was finished in 1839, and made a very favorable impression both
in Germany and England. Spohr had now become quite at home in England,
where his music was much liked, and during different years went to the
country, where oratorio music is more appreciated than anywhere else
in the musical world, to conduct the Norwich festival. One of his most
successful compositions of this description, "The Fall of Babylon," was
written expressly for the festival of 1842. When it was given the next
year in London under Spohr's own direction, the president of the Sacred
Harmonic Society presented the composer at the close of the performance
with a superb silver testimonial in the name of the society.


V.

Louis Spohr had now become one of the patriarchs of music, for his life
spanned a longer arch in the history of the art than any contemporary
except Cherubini. He was seven years old when Mozart died, and before
Haydn had departed from this life Spohr had already begun to acquire
a name as a violinist and composer. He lived to be the friend of
Mendelssohn, Meyerbeer, Liszt, and Wagner. Everywhere he was held in
veneration, even by those who did not fully sympathize with his musical
works, for his career had been one of great fecundity in art. In
addition to his rank as one of the few very great violin virtuosos, he
had been indefatigable in the production of compositions in nearly all
styles, and every country of Europe recognized his place as a musician
of supereminent talent, if not of genius, one who had profoundly
influenced contemporary music, even if he should not mold the art of
succeeding ages. Testimonials of admiration and respect poured in on him
from every quarter.

He composed the opera of "The Crusaders" in 1845, and he was invited
to conduct the first performance in Berlin. He relates two pleasing
incidents in his "Autobiography." He had been invited to a select dinner
party given at the royal palace, and between the king and Spohr, who
was seated opposite, there intervened an ornamental centerpiece
of considerable height in the shape of a flower vase. This greatly
interfered with the enjoyment by the king of Spohr's conversation. At
last his Majesty, growing impatient, removed the impediment with his own
hands, so that he had a full view of Spohr.

The other incident was a pleasing surprise from his colleagues in art.
He was a guest of the Wickmann family, and they were all gathered in the
illuminated garden saloon, when there entered through the gloom of the
garden a number of dark figures swiftly following each other, who proved
to be the members of the royal orchestra, with Meyerbeer and Taubert at
their head. The senior member then presented Spohr with a beautifully
executed gold laurel-wreath, while Meyerbeer made a speech full of
feeling, in which he thanked him for his enthusiastic love of German
art, and for all the grand and beautiful works which he had created,
specially "The Crusaders." The twenty-fifth anniversary of Spohr's
connection with the court theatre of Cassel occurred in 1847, and was
to have been celebrated with a great festival. The death of Felix
Bartholdy Mendelssohn cast a great gloom over musical Germany that
year, so the festival was held not in honor of Spohr, but as a solemn
memorial of the departed genius whose name is a household word among all
those who love the art he so splendidly illustrated.

Spohr's next production was the fine symphony known as "The Seasons,"
one of the most picturesque and expressive of his orchestral works, in
which he depicts with rich musical color the vicissitudes of the year
and the associations clustering around them. This symphony was followed
by his seventh quintet, in G minor, another string quartet, the
thirty-second, and a series of pieces for the violin and piano, and in
1852 we find the indefatigable composer busy in remodeling his opera of
"Faust" for production by Mr. Gye, in London. It was produced with great
splendor in the English capital, and conducted by Spohr himself; but
it did not prove a great success, a deep disappointment to Spohr, who
fondly believed this work to be his masterpiece. "On this occasion,"
writes a very competent critic, _à propos_ of the first performance,
"there was a certain amount of heaviness about the performance which
told very much against the probability of that opera ever becoming
a favorite with the Royal Italian Opera subscribers. Nothing could
possibly exceed the poetical grace of Eonconi in the title rôle, or
surpass the propriety and expression of his singing. Mme. Castellan's
_Cunegonda_ was also exceedingly well sung, and Tamberlik outdid himself
by his thorough comprehension of the music, the splendor of his voice,
and the refinement of his vocalization in the character of _Ugo_....
The _Mephistopheles_ of Herr Formes was a remarkable personation, being
truly demoniacal in the play of his countenance, and as characteristic
as any one of Retsch's drawings of Goethe's fiend-tempter. His singing
being specially German was in every way well suited to the occasion." In
spite of the excellence of the interpretation, Spohr's "Faust" did not
take any hold on the lovers of music in England, and even in Germany,
where Spohr is held in great reverence, it presents but little
attraction. The closing years of Spohr's active life as a musician were
devoted to that species of composition where he showed indubitable
title to be considered a man of genius, works for the violin and chamber
music. He himself did not recognize his decadence of energy and musical
vigor; but the veteran was more than seventy years old, and his royal
master resolved to put his baton in younger and fresher hands. So he was
retired from service with an annual pension of fifteen hundred thalers.
Spohr felt this deeply, but he had scarcely reconciled himself to the
change when a more serious casualty befell him. He fell and broke his
left arm, which never gained enough strength for him to hold the beloved
instrument again. It had been the great joy and solace of his life to
play, and, now that in his old age he was deprived of this comfort, he
was ready to die. Only once more did he make a public appearance. In the
spring of 1859 he journeyed to Meiningen to direct a concert on behalf
of a charitable fund. An ovation was given to the aged master. A
colossal bust of himself was placed on the stage, arched with festoons
of palm and laurel, and the conductor's stand was almost buried in
flowers. He was received with thunders of welcome, which were again and
again reiterated, and at the close of the performance he could hardly
escape for the eager throng who wished to press his hand. Spohr died on
October 22, 1859, after a few days' illness, and in his death Germany at
least recognized the loss of one of its most accomplished and versatile
if not greatest composers.


VI.

Dr. Ludwig Spohr's fame as a composer has far overshadowed his
reputation as a violin virtuoso, but the most capable musical critics
unite in the opinion that that rare quality, which we denominate genius,
was principally shown in his wonderful power as a player, and his works
written for the violin. Spohr was a man of immense self-assertion, and
believed in the greatness of his own musical genius as a composer in the
higher domain of his art. His "Autobiography," one of the most fresh,
racy, and interesting works of the kind ever written, is full of varied
illustrations of what Chorley stigmatizes his "bovine self-conceit." His
fecund production of symphony, oratorio, and opera, as well as of the
more elaborate forms of chamber music, for a period of forty years or
more, proves how deep was his conviction of his own powers. Indeed, he
half confesses himself that he is only willing to be rated a little
less than Beethoven. Spohr was singularly meager, for the most part, in
musical ideas and freshness of melody, but he was a profound master of
the orchestra; and in that variety and richness of resources which
give to tone-creations the splendor of color, which is one of the great
charms of instrumental music, Spohr is inferior only to Wagner among
modern symphonists. Spohr's more pretentious works are a singular union
of meagerness of idea with the most polished richness of manner; but, in
imagination and thought, he is far the inferior of those whose knowledge
of treating the orchestra and contrapuntal skill could not compare with
his. There are more vigor and originality in one of Schubert's greater
symphonies than in all the multitudinous works of the same class ever
written by Spohr. In Spohr's compositions for the violin as a solo
instrument, however, he stands unrivaled, for here his true _genre_ as a
man of creative genius stamps itself unmistakably.

Before the coming of Spohr violin music had been illustrated by a
succession of virtuosos, French and Italian, who, though melodiously
charming, planned in their works and execution to exhibit the effects
and graces of the players themselves instead of the instrument. Paganini
carried this tendency to its most remarkable and fascinating extreme,
but Spohr founded a new style of violin playing, on which the greatest
modern performers who have grown up since his prime have assiduously
modeled themselves. Mozart had written solid and simple concertos in
which the performer was expected to embroider and finish the composer's
sketch. This required genius and skill under instant command, instead
of merely phenomenal execution. Again, Beethoven's concertos were so
written as to make the solo player merely one of the orchestra, chaining
him in bonds only to set him free to deliver the cadenza. This species
of self-effacement does not consort with the purpose of solo playing,
which is display, though under that display there should be power,
mastery, and resource of thought, and not the trickery of the
accomplished juggler. Spohr in his violin music most felicitously
accomplished this, and he is simply incomparable in his compromise
between what is severe and classical, and what is suave and delightful,
or passionately exciting. In these works the musician finds nerve,
sparkle, _elan_, and brightness combined with technical charm and
richness of thought. Spohr's unconscious and spontaneous force in this
direction was the direct outcome of his remarkable power as a solo
player, or, more properly, gathered its life-like play and strength from
the latter fact. It may be said of Spohr that, as Mozart raised opera to
a higher standard, as Beethoven uplifted the ideal of the orchestra, as
Clementi laid a solid foundation for piano-playing, so Spohr's creative
force as a violinist and writer for the violin has established
the grandest school for this instrument, to which all the foremost
contemporary artists acknowledge their obligations.

Dr. Spohr's style as a player, while remarkable for its display of
technique and command of resource, always subordinated mere display to
the purpose of the music. The Italians called him "the first singer on
the violin," and his profound musical knowledge enabled him to produce
effects in a perfectly legitimate manner, where other players had
recourse to meretricious and dazzling exhibition of skill. His title to
recollection in the history of music will not be so much that of a great
general composer, but that of the greatest of composers for the violin,
and the one who taught violinists that height of excellence as an
excutant should go hand in hand with good taste and self-restraint, to
produce its most permanent effects and exert its most vital influence.




NICOLO PAGANINI.


The Birth of the Greatest of Violinists.--His Mother's
Dream--Extraordinary Character and Genius.--Heine's Description of his
Playing.--Leigh Hunt on Paganini.--Superstitious Rumors current
during his Life.--He is believed to be a Demoniac.--His Strange
Appearance.--Early Training and Surroundings.--Anecdotes of his
Youth.--Paganini's Youthful Dissipations.--His Passion for Gambling.--He
acquires his Wonderful Guarnerius Violin.--His Reform from
the Gaming-table.--Indefatigable Practice and Work as a Young
Artist.--Paganini as a _Preux Chevalier_.--His Powerful Attraction for
Women.--Episode with a Lady of Rank.--Anecdotes of his Early Italian
Concertizing.--The Imbroglio at Ferrant.--The Frail Health of
Paganini.--Wonderful Success at Milan, where he first plays One of
the Greatest of his Compositions, "Le Streghe."--Duel with
Lafont.--Incidents and Anecdotes.--His First Visit to Germany.--Great
Enthusiasm of his Audiences.--Experiences at Vienna, Berlin, and other
German Cities.--Description of Paganini, in Paris, by Castil-Blaze and
Fetis.--His English Reception and the Impression made.--Opinions of the
Critics.--Paganini not pleased with England.--Settles in Paris for Two
Years, and becomes the Great Musical Lion.--Simplicity and Amiability
of Nature.--Magnificent Generosity to Hector Berlioz.--The Great
Fortune made by Paganini.--His Beautiful Country Seat near Parma.--An
Unfortunate Speculation in Paris.--The Utter Failure of his
Health.--His Death at Nice.--Characteristics and Anecdotes.--Interesting
Circumstances of his Last Moments.--The Peculiar Genius of Paganini, and
his Influence on Art.


I.

In the latter part of the last century an Italian woman of Genoa had a
dream which she thus related to her little son: "My son, you will be a
great musician. An angel radiant with beauty appeared to me during the
night and promised to accomplish any wish that I might make. I asked
that you should become the greatest of all violinists, and the angel
granted that my desire should be fulfilled." The child who was thus
addressed became that incomparable artist, Paganini, whose name now,
a glorious tradition, is used as a standard by which to estimate the
excellence of those who have succeeded him.

No artist ever lived who so piqued public curiosity, and invested
himself with a species of weird romance, which compassed him as with a
cloud. The personality of the individual so unique and extraordinary,
the genius of the artist so transcendant in its way, the mystery which
surrounded all the movements of the man, conspired to make him an
object of such interest that the announcement of a concert by him in
any European city made as much stir as some great public event. Crowds
followed his strange figure in the streets wherever he went, and, had
the time been the mediaeval ages, he himself a celebrated magician or
sorcerer, credited with power over the spirits of earth and air, his
appearance could not have aroused a thrill of attention more absorbing.
Over men of genius, as well as the commonplace herd, he cast the same
spell, stamping himself as a personage who could be compared with no
other.

The German poet Heine thus describes his first acquaintance with this
paragon of violinists:

"It was in the theatre at Hamburg that I first heard Paganini's violin.
Although it was fast-day, all the commercial magnates of the town were
present in the front boxes, the goddesses Juno of Wandrahm, and the
goddesses Aphrodite of Dreckwall. A religious hush pervaded the whole
assembly; every eye was directed toward the stage, every ear was
strained for hearing. At last a dark figure, which seemed to ascend from
the under world, appeared on the stage. It was Paganini in full evening
dress, black coat and waistcoat cut after a most villainous pattern,
such as is perhaps in accordance with the infernal etiquette of the
court of Proserpine, and black trousers fitting awkwardly to his thin
legs. His long arms appeared still longer as he advanced, holding in one
hand his violin, and in the other the bow, hanging down so as almost
to touch the ground--all the while making a series of extraordinary
reverences. In the angular contortions of his body there was something
so painfully wooden, and also something so like the movements of a droll
animal, that a strange disposition to laughter overcame the audience;
but his face, which the glaring footlights caused to assume an even
more corpse-like aspect than was natural to it, had in it something so
appealing, something so imbecile and meek, that a strange feeling
of compassion removed all tendency to laughter. Had he learned these
reverences from an automaton or a performing dog? Is this beseeching
look the look of one who is sick unto death, or does there lurk behind
it the mocking cunning of a miser? Is that a mortal who in the agony
of death stands before the public in the art arena, and, like a dying
gladiator, bids for their applause in his last convulsions? or is it
some phantom arisen from the grave, a vampire with a violin, who comes
to suck, if not the blood from our hearts, at least the money from our
pockets? Questions such as these kept chasing each other through the
brain while Paganini continued his apparently interminable series of
complimentary bows; but all such questionings instantly take flight the
moment the great master puts his violin to his chin and began to play.

"Then were heard melodies such as the nightingale pours forth in the
gloaming when the perfume of the rose intoxicates her heart with sweet
forebodings of spring! What melting, sensuously languishing notes of
bliss! Tones that kissed, then poutingly fled from another, and at last
embraced and became one, and died away in the ecstasy of union! Again,
there were heard sounds like the song of the fallen angels, who,
banished from the realms of bliss, sink with shame-red countenance to
the lower world. These were sounds out of whose bottomless depth gleamed
no ray of hope or comfort; when the blessed in heaven hear them, the
praises of God die away upon their pallid lips, and, sighing, they veil
their holy faces." Leigh Hunt, in one of his essays, thus describes the
playing of this greatest of all virtuosos: "Paganini, the first time
I saw and heard him, and the first moment he struck a note, seemed
literally to strike it, to _give_ it a blow. The house was so crammed
that, being among the squeezers in the standing room at the side of the
pit, I happened to catch the first glance of his face through the arms
akimbo of a man who was perched up before me, which made a kind of
frame for it; and there on the stage through that frame, as through a
perspective glass, were the face, the bust, and the raised hand of
the wonderful musician, with the instrument at his chin, just going to
begin, and looking exactly as I describe him in the following lines:

    "His hand, Loading the air with dumb expectancy,
     Suspended, ere it fell, a nation's breath.
     He _smote_; and clinging to the serious chords
     With Godlike ravishment drew forth a breath,
     So deep, so strong, so fervid, thick with love--
     Blissful, yet laden as with twenty prayers--
     That Juno yearned with no diviner soul
     To the first burthen of the lips of Jove.
     The exceeding mystery of the loveliness
     Sadden'd delight; and, with his mournful look,
     Dreary and gaunt, hanging his pallid face
     Twixt his dark flowing locks, he almost seemed
     Too feeble, or to melancholy eyes
     One that has parted from his soul for pride,
     And in the sable secret lived forlorn.

"To show the depth and identicalness of the impression which he made
on everybody, foreign or native, an Italian who stood near me said to
himself, with a long sigh, 'O Dio!' and this had not been said long,
when another person in the same tone uttered 'Oh Christ!' Musicians
pressed forward from behind the scenes to get as close to him as
possible, and they could not sleep at night for thinking of him."

The impression made by Paganini was something more than that of a great,
even the greatest, violinist. It was as if some demoniac power lay
behind the human, prisoned and dumb except through the agencies of
music, but able to fill expression with faint, far-away cries of
passion, anguish, love, and aspiration--echoes from the supernatural
and invisible. His hearers forgot the admiration due to the wonderful
virtuoso, and seemed to listen to voices from another world. The strange
rumors that were current about him, Paganini seems to have been not
disinclined to encourage, for, mingled with his extraordinary genius,
there was an element of charlatanism. It was commonly reported that
his wonderful execution on the G-string was due to a long imprisonment,
inflicted on him for the assassination of a rival in love, during which
he had a violin with one string only. Paganini himself writes that, "At
Vienna one of the audience affirmed publicly that my performance was
not surprising, for he had distinctly seen, while I was playing my
variations, the devil at my elbow, directing my arm and guiding my bow.
My resemblance to the devil was a proof of my origin." Even sensible
people believed that Paganini had some uncanny and unlawful secret which
enabled him to do what was impossible for other players. At Prague he
actually printed a letter from his mother to prove that he was not the
son of the devil. It was not only the perfectly novel and astonishing
character of his playing, but to a large extent his ghostlike
appearance, which caused such absurd rumors. The tall, skeleton-like
figure, the pale, narrow, wax-colored face, the long, dark, disheveled
hair, the mysterious expression of the heavy eye, made a weirdly strange
_ensemble_. Heine tells us in "The Florentine Nights" that only one
artist had succeeded in delineating the real physiognomy of Paganini: "A
deaf and crazy painter, called Lyser, has in a sort of spiritual frenzy
so admirably portrayed by a few touches of his pencil the head of
Paganini that one is dismayed and moved to laughter at the faithfulness
of the sketch! 'The devil guided my hand,' said the deaf painter to me,
with mysterious gesticulations and a satirical yet good-natured wag of
the head, such as he was wont to indulge in when in the midst of his
genial tomfoolery."


II.

Nicolo Paganini was born at Genoa on the night of February 18, 1784,
of parents in humbly prosperous circumstances, his father being a
ship-broker, and, though illiterate in a general way, a passionate lover
of music and an amateur of some skill. The father soon perceived the
child's talent, and caused him to study so severely that it not only
affected his constitution, but actually made him a tolerable player at
the age of six years. The elder Paganini's knowledge of music was not
sufficient to carry the lad far in mastering the instrument, but the
extraordinary precocity shown so interested Signor Corvetto, the leader
at the Genoese theatre, that he undertook to instruct the gifted child.
Two years later the young Paganini was transferred to the charge of
Signor Giacomo Costa, an excellent violinist, and director of church
music at one of the cathedrals, under whom he made rapid progress in
executive skill, while he studied harmony and counterpoint under the
composer Gnecco. It was at this time, Paganini not yet being nine years
of age, that he composed his first piece, a sonata now lost. In 1793 he
made his first appearance in public at Genoa, and played variations
on the air "La Carmagnole," then so popular, with immense effect. This
_début_ was followed by several subsequent appearances, in which he
created much enthusiasm. He also played a violin concerto every Sunday
in church, an attraction which drew great throngs. This practice was
of great use to Paganini, as it forced him continually to study fresh
music. About the year 1795 it was deemed best to place the boy under
the charge of an eminent professor, and Alessandro Rolla, of Parma, was
pitched on. When the Paganinis arrived, they found the learned professor
ill, and rather surly at the disturbance. Young Paganini, however,
speedily silenced the complaints of the querulous invalid. The great
player himself relates the anecdote: "His wife showed us into a room
adjoining the bedroom, till she had spoken to the sick man. Finding on
the table a violin and the music of Rolla's latest concerto, I took
up the instrument and played the piece at sight. Astonished at what
he heard, the composer asked for the name of the player, and could not
believe it was only a young boy till he had seen for himself. He then
told me that he had nothing to teach me, and advised me to go to Paër
for study in composition." But, as Paër was at this time in Germany,
Paganini studied under Ghiretti and Rolla himself while he remained in
Parma, according to the monograph of Fetis.

The youthful player had already begun to search out new effects on the
violin, and to create for himself characteristics of tone and treatment
hitherto unknown to players. After his return to Genoa he composed his
first "Études," which were of such unheard-of difficulty that he was
sometimes obliged to practice a single passage ten hours running. His
intense study resulted not only in his acquirement of an unlimited
execution, but in breaking down his health. His father was a harsh and
inexorable taskmaster, and up to this time Paganini (now being fourteen)
had remained quiescent under this tyrant's control. But the desire of
liberty was breeding projects in his breast, which opportunity soon
favored. He managed to get permission to travel alone for the first
time to Lucca, where he had engaged to play at the musical festival
in November, 1798. He was received with so much enthusiasm that he
determined not to return to the paternal roof, and at once set off
to fulfill engagements at Pisa and other towns. In vain the angry and
mortified father sought to reclaim the young rebel who had slipped
through his fingers. Nicolo found the sweets of freedom too precious
to go back again to bondage, though he continued to send his father a
portion of the proceeds of his playing.

The youth, intoxicated with the license of his life, plunged into all
kinds of dissipation, specially into gambling, at this time a universal
vice in Italy, as indeed it was throughout Europe. Alternate fits of
study and gaming, both of which he pursued with equal zeal, and the
exhaustion of the life he led, operated dangerously on his enfeebled
frame, and fits of illness frequently prevented his fulfillment of
concert engagements. More than once he wasted in one evening the
proceeds of several concerts, and was obliged to borrow money on his
violin, the source of his livelihood, in order to obtain funds wherewith
to pay his gambling debts. Anything more wild, debilitating, and ruinous
than the life led by this boy, who had barely emerged from childhood,
can hardly be imagined. On one occasion he was announced for a concert
at Leghorn, but he had gambled away his money and pawned his violin, so
that he was compelled to get the loan of an instrument in order to play
in the evening. In this emergency he applied to M. Livron, a French
gentleman, a merchant of Leghorn, and an excellent amateur performer,
who possessed a Guarneri del Gesù violin, reputed among connoisseurs one
of the finest instruments in the world. The generous Frenchman instantly
acceded to the boy's wish, and the precious violin was put in his hands.
After the concert, when Paganini returned the instrument to M. Livron,
the latter, who had been to hear him, exclaimed, "Never will I profane
the strings which your fingers have touched! That instrument is yours."
The astonishment and delight of the young artist may be more easily
imagined than described. It was upon this violin that Paganini afterward
performed in all his concerts, and the great virtuoso left it to the
town of Genoa, where it is now preserved in a glass case in the Museum.
An excellent engraving of it, from a photograph, was published in 1875
in George Hart's book on "The Violin."

At this period of his life, between the ages of seventeen and twenty,
Nicolo Paganini was surrounded by numerous admirers, and led into
all kinds of dissipation. He was naturally amiable and witty in
conversation, though he has been reproached with selfishness. There can
be no doubt that he was, at this period, constantly under the combined
influences of flattery and unbounded ambition; nevertheless, in spite
of all his successful performances at concerts, the style of life he was
leading kept him so poor that he frequently took in hand all kinds
of musical work to supply the wants of the moment. It is a curious
coincidence that the fine violin which was presented to him by M.
Livron, as we have just seen, was the cause of his abandoning, after a
while, the allurements of the gaming-tables. Paganini tells us himself
that a certain nobleman was anxious to possess this instrument, and had
offered for it a sum equivalent to about four hundred dollars; but the
artist would not sell it even if one thousand had been offered for it,
although he was, at this juncture, in great need of funds to pay off a
debt of honor, and sorely tempted to accept the proffered amount. Just
at this point Paganini received an invitation to a friend's house where
gambling was the order of the day. "All my capital," he says, "consisted
of thirty francs, as I had disposed of my jewels, watch, rings, etc.;
I nevertheless resolved on risking this last resource, and, if fortune
proved fickle, to sell my violin and proceed to St. Petersburg, without
instrument or baggage, with the view of reestablishing my affairs. My
thirty francs were soon reduced to three, and I already fancied myself
on the road to Russia, when luck took a sudden turn, and I won one
hundred and sixty francs. This saved my violin and completely set me up.
From that day forward I gradually gave up gaming, becoming more and more
convinced that a gambler is an object of contempt to all well-regulated
minds."


III.

Love-making was also among the diversions which Paganini began early
to practice. Like nearly all great musicians, he was an object of great
fascination to the fair sex, and his life had its full share of amorous
romances. A strange episode was his retirement in the country château of
a beautiful Bolognese lady for three years, between the years 1801
and 1804. Here, in the society of a lovely woman, who was passionately
devoted to him, and amid beautiful scenery, he devoted himself to
practicing and composition, also giving much study to the guitar (the
favorite instrument of his inamorata), on which he became a wonderful
proficient. This charming idyl in Paganini's life reminds one of the
retirement of the pianist Chopin to the island of Majorca in the company
of Mme. George Sand. It was during this period of his life that Paganini
composed twelve of his finest sonatas for violin and guitar.

When our musician returned again to Genoa and active life in 1804, he
devoted much time also to composition. He was twenty years of age,
and wrote here four grand quartets for violin, tenor, violoncello,
and guitar, and also some bravura variations for violin with guitar
accompaniment. At this period he gave lessons to a young girl of Genoa,
Catherine Calcagno, about seven years of age; eight years later, when
only fifteen years old, this young lady astonished Italian audiences by
the boldness of her style. She continued her artistic career till the
year 1816, when she had attained the age of twenty-one, and all traces
of her in the musical world appear to be lost; doubtless, at this period
she found a husband, and retired completely from public life.

In 1805 Paganini accepted the position of director of music and
conductor of the opera orchestra at Lucca, under the immediate patronage
of the Princess Eliza, sister of Napoleon and wife of Bacciochi. The
prince took lessons from him on the violin, and gave him whole charge of
the court music. It was at the numerous concerts given at Lucca during
this period of Paganini's early career that he first elaborated many of
those curious effects, such as performances on one string, harmonic
and pizzicato passages, which afterward became so characteristic of his
style.

But the demon of unrest would not permit Paganini to remain very long
in one place. In 1808 he began his wandering career of concert-giving
afresh, performing throughout northern Italy, and amassing considerable
money, for his fame had now become so widespread that engagements poured
on him thick and fast. The lessons of his inconsiderate past had already
made a deep impression on his mind, and Paganini became very economical,
a tendency which afterward developed into an almost miserly passion for
money-getting and -saving, though, through his whole life, he performed
many acts of magnificent generosity. He had numerous curious adventures,
some of which are worth recording. At a concert in Leghorn he came on
the stage, limping, from the effects of a nail which had run into his
foot. This made a great laugh. Just as he began to play, the candles
fell out of his music desk, and again there was an uproar. Suddenly the
first string broke, and there was more hilarity; but, says Paganini,
naively, "I played the piece on three strings, and the sneers quickly
changed into boisterous applause." At Ferrara he narrowly escaped an
enraged audience with his life. It had been arranged that a certain
Signora Marcolini should take part in his concert, but illness prevented
her singing, and at the last moment Paganini secured the services of
Signora Pallerini, who, though a danseuse, possessed an agreeable voice.
The lady was very nervous and diffident, but sang exceedingly well,
though there were a few in the audience who were inconsiderate enough to
hiss. Paganini was furious at this insult, and vowed to be avenged. At
the end of the concert he proposed to amuse the audience by imitating
the noises of various animals on his violin. After he had reproduced the
mewing of a cat, the barking of a dog, the crowing of a cock, etc., he
advanced to the footlights and called out, "Questo è per quelli che
han fischiato" ("This is for those who hissed"), and imitated in an
unmistakable way the braying of the jackass. At this the pit rose to
a man, and charged through the orchestra, climbed the stage, and would
have killed Paganini, had he not fled incontinently, "standing not on
the order of his going, but going at once." The explanation of this
sensitiveness of the audience is found in the fact that the people of
Ferrara had a general reputation for stupidity, and the appearance of
a Ferrarese outside of the town walls was the signal for a significant
hee-haw. Paganini never gave any more concerts in that town.

As he approached his thirtieth year his delicate and highly strung
organization, already undermined by the excesses of his early
youth, began to give way. He was frequently troubled with internal
inflammation, and he was obliged to regulate his habits in the strictest
fashion as to diet and hours of sleep. Even while comparatively well,
his health always continued to be very frail.

Paganini composed his remarkable variations called "Le Streghe" ("The
Witches") at Milan in 1813. In this composition, the air of which was
taken from a ballet by Sussmayer, called "Il Noce de Benevento," at the
part where the witches appear in the piece as performed on the stage,
the violinist introduced many of his most remarkable effects. He played
this piece for the first time at La Scala theatre, and he was honored
with the most tumultuous enthusiasm, which for a long time prevented the
progress of the programme. Paganini always had a predilection for Milan
afterward, and said he enjoyed giving concerts there more than at any
other city in Europe. He gave no less than thirty-seven concerts here
in 1813. In this city, three years afterward, occurred his interesting
musical duel with Lafont, the well-known French violinist. Paganini
was then at Genoa, and, hearing of Lafont's presence at Milan, at
once hastened to that city to hear him play. "His performance," said
Pagani-ni, "pleased me exceedingly." When the Italian violinist, a week
later, gave a concert at La Scala, Lafont was in the audience, and the
very next day he proposed that Paganini and himself should play together
at the same concert. "I excused myself," said Paganini, "alleging that
such experiments were impolitic, as the public invariably looked upon
these matters as duels, in which there must be a victim, and that it
would be so in this case; for, as he was acknowledged to be the best of
the French violinists, so the public indulgently considered me to be
the best player in Italy. Lafont not looking at it in this light, I was
obliged to accept the challenge. I allowed him to arrange the programme.
We each played a concerto of our own composition, after which we played
together a duo concertante by Kreutzer. In this I did not deviate in the
least from the composer's text while we played together, but in the solo
parts I yielded freely to my own imagination, and introduced several
novelties, which seemed to annoy my adversary. Then followed a 'Russian
Air,' with variations, by Lafont, and I finished the concert with my
variations called 'Le Streghe.' Lafont probably surpassed me in tone;
but the applause which followed my efforts convinced me that I did not
suffer by comparison." There seems to be no question that the victory
remained with Paganini. A few years later Paganini played in a similar
contest with the Polish violinist Lipinski, at Placentia. The two
artists, however, were intimate friends, and there was not a spark
of rivalry or jealousy in their generous emulation. In fact,
Paganini appears to have been utterly without that conceit in his own
extraordinary powers which is so common in musical artists. Heine gives
an amusing illustration of this. He writes: "Once, after listening to a
concert by Paganini, as I was addressing him with the most impassioned
eulogies on his violin-playing, he interrupted me with the words, 'But
how were you pleased to-day with my compliments and reverences?'" The
musician thought more of his genuflexions than of his musical talent.


IV.

In the year 1817 Rossini, Meyerbeer, and Paganini were at Rome during
Carnival time, and the trio determined on a grand frolic. Rossini had
composed a very clever part-song, "Carnavale, Carnavale," known in
English as "We are Poor Beggars," and the three great musicians, having
disguised themselves as beggars, sang it with great effect through the
streets. Rossini during this Carnival produced his "Cenerentola," and
Paganini gave a series of concerts which excited great enthusiasm.
Shortly after this, Paganini's health gave way completely at Naples, and
the landlord of the hotel where he was stopping got the impression that
his sickness was infectious. In the most brutal manner he turned the
sick musician into the street. Fortunately, at this moment a violoncello
player, Ciandelli, who knew Paga-nini well, was passing by, and came to
the rescue, and his anger was so great, when he saw what had happened
to the great violinist, that he belabored the barbarous landlord
unmercifully with a stick, and conveyed the invalid to a comfortable
lodging where he was carefully attended to. Some time subsequently
Paganini had an opportunity of repaying this kindness, for he gave
Ciandelli some valuable instruction, which enabled him in the course of
a few years to become transformed from a very indifferent performer into
an artist of considerable eminence.

At the age of thirty-six Paganini again found himself at Milan, and
there organized a society of musical amateurs, called "Gli Orfei." He
conducted several of their concerts. But either the love of a roving
life or the necessity of wandering in order to fill his exchequer kept
him constantly on the move; and, though during these travels he is said
to have met with many extraordinary adventures, very little reliance can
be placed upon the accounts that have come down to us, the more so
when we consider that Paga-nini's mode of life was, as we shall see
presently, become by this time extremely sober. It was not until he
was forty-four years old that he finally quitted Italy to make himself
better known in foreign countries. He had been encouraged to visit
Vienna by Prince Metternich, who had heard and admired his playing at
Rome in 1817, and had repeatedly made plans to visit Germany, but his
health had been so wretched as to prevent his departure from his native
country. But a sojourn in the balmy climate of Sicily for a few months
had done him so much good that in 1828 he put his long-deferred
plans into execution. The first concert in March of that year made an
unparalleled sensation. He gave a great number of concerts in Vienna,
among them several for the poor. A fever seized all classes of society.
The shop windows were crowded with goods _à la Paganini_; a good stroke
at billiards was called _un coup à la Paganini_; dishes Avere named
after him; his portrait was enameled on snuff-boxes, and the Viennese
dandies carried his bust on the head of their walking-sticks. A cabman
wheedled out of the reluctant violinist permission to print on his cab,
_Cabriolet de Paganini_. By this cunning device, Jehu so augmented his
profits that he was able to rent a large house and establish a hotel, in
which capacity Paganini found him when he returned again to Vienna.

Among the pleasant stories told of him is one similar to an incident
previously related of Viotti. One day, as he was walking in Vienna,
Paganini saw poor little Italian boy scraping some Neapolitan songs
before the windows of a large house. A celebrated composer who
accompanied the artist remarked to him, "There is one of your
compatriots." Upon which Paganini evinced a desire to speak to the lad,
and went across the street to him for that purpose. After ascertaining
that he was a poor beggar-boy from the other side of the Alps, and that
he supported his sick mother, his only relative, by his playing, the
great violinist appeared touched. He literally emptied his pockets into
the boy's hand, and, taking the violin and bow from him, began the
most grotesque and extraordinary performance possible. A crowd soon
collected, the great virtuoso was at once recognized by the bystanders,
and when he brought the performance to an end, amid the cheers and
shouts of all assembled, he handed round the boy's hat, and made a
considerable collection of coin, in which silver pieces were very
conspicuous. He then handed the sum to the young Italian, saying, "Take
that to your mother," and, rejoining his companion, walked off with him,
saying, "I hope I've done a good turn to that little animal." At
Berlin, where he soon afterward astonished his crowded audiences by his
marvelous playing, the same fanatical enthusiasm ensued; and, with
the exception of Palermo, Naples (where he seems to have had many
detractors), and Prague, his visits to the various cities of Europe were
one continued triumph. People tried in vain to explain his method of
playing, professors criticised him, and pamphlets were published which
endeavored to make him out a quack or a charlatan. It was all to no
purpose. Nothing could arrest his onward course; triumph succeeded
triumph wherever he appeared; and, though no one could understand him,
every one admired him, and he had only to touch his violin to enchant
thousands. A curious scene occurred at Berlin, at a musical evening
party to which Paganini was invited. A young and presumptuous professor
of the violin performed there several pieces with very little effect; he
was not aware of the presence of the Genoese giant, whom he did not know
even by sight. Others, however, quickly recognized him, and he was asked
to play, which he at first declined, but finally consented to do after
urgent solicitation. Purposely he played a few variations in wretchedly
bad style, which caused a suppressed laugh from those ignorant of his
identity. The young professor came forward again and played another
selection in a most pretentious and pointed way, as if to crush the
daring wretch who had ventured to compete with him. Paganini again took
up the instrument, and played a short piece with such touching pathos
and astonishing execution, that the audience sat breathless till the
last dying cadence wakened them into thunders of applause, and hearts
thrilled as the name "Paganini" crept from mouth to mouth. The young
professor had already vanished from the room, and was never again seen
in the house where he had received so severe a lesson.

Paganini repeated his triumphs again the following year, performing
in Vienna and the principal cities of Germany, and everywhere arousing
similar feelings of admiration. Orders and medals were bestowed on him,
and his progress was almost one of royalty. His first concert in Paris
was given on March 9, 1831, at the opera-house. He was then forty-seven
years old, and Castil-Blaze described him as being nearly six feet
in height, with a long, pallid face, brilliant eyes, like those of an
eagle, long curling black hair, which fell down over the collar of his
coat, a thin and cadaverous figure--altogether a personality so gaunt
and delicate as to be more like a shadow than a man. The eyes sparkled
with a strange phosphorescent gleam, and the long bony fingers were so
flexible as to be likened only to "a handkerchief tied to the end of a
stick." Petis describes the impression he created at his first concert
as amounting to a "positive and universal frenzy." Being questioned as
to why he always performed his own compositions, he replied "that, if he
played other compositions than his own, he was obliged to arrange them
to suit his own peculiar style, and it was less trouble to write a piece
of his own." Indeed, whenever he attempted to interpret the works of
other composers, he failed to produce the effects which might have been
expected of him. This was especially the case in the works of Beethoven.


V.

When Paganini appeared in England, of course there was a prodigious
curiosity to see and hear the great player. All kinds of rumors were
in the public mouth about him, and many of the lower classes really
believed that he had sold himself to the evil one. The capacious area
of the opera-house was densely packed, and the prices of admission were
doubled on the opening night. The enthusiasm awakened by the performance
can best be indicated by quoting from some of the contemporary accounts.
The concert opened with Beethoven's Second Symphony, performed by
the Philharmonic Society, and it was followed by Lablache, who sang
Rossini's "Largo al factotum." "A breathless silence then ensued,"
writes Mr. Gardiner, an amateur of Leicester, who at the peril of his
ribs had been struggling in the crowd for two hours to get admission,
"and every eye watched the action of this extraordinary violinist as he
glided from the side scenes to the front of the stage. An involuntary
cheering burst from every part of the house, many persons rising from
their seats to view the specter during the thunder of this unprecedented
applause, his gaunt and extraordinary appearance being more like that
of a devotee about to suffer martyrdom than one to delight you with
his art. With the tip of his bow he set off the orchestra in a grand
military movement with a force and vivacity as surprising as it was
new. At the termination of this introduction, he commenced with a soft,
streamy note of celestial quality, and with three or four whips of his
bow elicited points of sound that mounted to the third heaven, and as
bright as stars.... Immediately an execution followed which was equally
indescribable. A scream of astonishment and delight burst from the
audience at the novelty of this effect.... etc." This _naive_ account
may serve to show the impression created on the minds of those not
trained to guard their words with moderation.

"Nothing can be more intense in feeling," said a contemporary critic,
"than his conception and delivery of an adagio passage. His tone is,
perhaps, not quite so full and round as that of a De Bériot or Baillot,
for example; it is delicate rather than strong, but this delicacy was
probably never possessed equally by another player." "There is no trick
in his playing," writes another critic; "it is all fair scientific
execution, opening to us a new order of sounds.... All his passages
seem free and unpremeditated, as if conceived on the instant. One has no
impression of their having cost him either forethought or labor....
The word difficulty has no place in his vocabulary.... etc." Paganini's
lengthened tour through London and the provinces was everywhere attended
with the same success, and brought him in a golden harvest, for his
reputation had now grown so portentous that he could exact the greatest
terms from managers.

Paganini avowed himself as not altogether pleased with England, but,
under the surface of such complaints as the following, one detects the
ring of gratified vanity. He writes in a MS. letter, dated from London
in 1831, of the excessive and noisy admiration to which he was subjected
in the London streets, which left him no peace, and actually blocked his
passage to and from the theatre. "Although the public curiosity to see
me," says he, "is long since satisfied; though I have played in public
at least thirty times, and my likeness has been reproduced in all
possible styles and forms, yet I can never leave my home without being
mobbed by people who are not content with following and jostling me, but
actually get in front of me, and prevent my going either way, address me
in English of which I don't know a word, and even feel me as if to find
out if I am made of flesh and blood. And this is not only among the
common people, but among the upper classes." Paganini repeated his visit
to England during the next season, playing his final farewell concert at
the Victoria Theatre, London, June 17, 1832. The two following years
our artist lived in Paris, and was the great lion of musical and
social circles. People professed to be as much charmed with his lack of
pretension, his _naive_ and simple manners, as with his musical genius.
Yet no man was more exacting of his rights as an artist. One day a court
concert was announced at the Tuilleries, at which Paganini was asked
to play. He consented, and went to examine the room the day before. He
objected to the numerous curtains, so hung as to deaden the sound,
and requested the superintendent to see that they were changed. The
supercilious official ignored the artist's wish, and the offended
Paganini determined not to play. When the hour of the concert arrived,
there was no violinist. The royalties and their attendants were all
seated; murmurs arose, but still no Paganini. At last an official was
sent to the hotel of the artist, only to be informed that _the great
violinist had not gone out, but that he went to bed very early_. It was
during his residence in Paris in the winter of 1834 that he proposed
to Berlioz, for whom he had the most cordial esteem and admiration,
to write a concerto for his Stradiuarius violin, which resulted in the
famous symphony "Harold en Italie." Four years after this he bestowed
the sum of twenty thousand francs on Berlioz, who was then in pressing
need, delicately disguising the donation as a testimonial of his
admiration for the "Symphonie Fantastique." Though the eagerness of
Paganini to make money urged him to labor for years while his health was
exceedingly frail, and though he was justly stigmatized as penurious
in many ways, he was capable of princely generosity on occasions which
appealed strongly to the ardent sympathies which lay at the bottom of
his nature.

Paganini made a great fortune by the exercise of his art, and in 1834
purchased, among other property in his native country, a charming
country seat called Villa Gajona, near Parma. Here he spent two years
in comparative quiet, though still continuing to give concerts. At this
period and for some time previous many music-sellers had striven to buy
the copyright of his works. But Paganini put a price on it which
was prescriptive, the probability being that he did not wish his
compositions to pass out of his hands till he had given up his career on
the concert stage. He was willing that they should be arranged for the
piano, but not published as violin music.

After his return to Italy Paganini gave several most successful
concerts, among others, one for the poor at Placentia, on the 14th of
November, 1834, and another at the court of the Duchess of Parma, in the
December following. But his health was already giving way most visibly.
Phthisis of the larynx, which rendered him a mere shadow of his former
self, and sometimes almost deprived him of speech, had been gaining
ground since his return to his native climate. In 1836, however, he was
better, and some unscrupulous Parisian speculators induced him to lend
his name to a joint-stock undertaking, a sort of gambling-room and
concert-hall, which they called the Casino Paganini. This was duly
opened in a fashionable part of Paris in 1837; but, as the Government
would not allow the establishment to be used as a gambling-house, and
the concerts did not pay the expenses, it became a great failure, and
the illustrious artist actually suffered loss by it to the extent of
forty thousand francs.

One of his last, if not his very last, concert was given with the
guitar-player, Signor Legnani, at Turin, on the 9th of June, 1837,
for the benefit of the poor. He was then on his way to fulfill his
engagements at the fatal Parisian casino, which opened with much
splendor in the November following. But his health had again broken
down, and the fatigue of the journey had told upon him so much that he
was unable to appear at the casino. When the enterprise was found to
be a failure, a pettifogging lawsuit was carried on against him, and,
according to Fetis, who is very explicit on this subject, the French
judges condemned him to pay the aforesaid forty thousand francs, and to
be deprived of his liberty until that amount was paid--all this without
hearing his defense!

The career of Paganini was at this critical period fast drawing to a
close. His medical advisers recommended him to return at once to the
South, fearing that the winter would kill him in Paris. He died at Nice
on May 27, 1840, aged fifty-six years. He left to his legitimized son
Achille, the offspring of his _liaison_ with the singer Antonia Bianchi,
a fortune of eighty thousand pounds, and the title of baron, of which he
had received the patent in Germany. His beautiful Guarnerius violin, the
vehicle of so many splendid artistic triumphs, he bequeathed to the town
of Genoa, where he was born. Though Paganini was superstitious, and died
a son of Holy Church, he did not leave any money in religious bequests,
nor did he even receive the last sacraments. The authorities of Rome
raised many difficulties about the funeral, and it was only after an
enormous amount of trouble and expense that Achille was able to have a
solemn service to the memory of his father performed at Parma. It was
five years after Paganini's death that this occurred, and permission
was obtained to have the body removed to holy ground in the village
churchyard near the Villa Gajona. During this long period the dishonored
remains of the illustrious musician were at the hospital of Nice, where
the body had been embalmed, and afterward at a country place near Genoa,
belonging to the family. The superstitious peasantry believed that
strange noises were heard about the grave at night--the wailings of
the unsatisfied spirit of Paganini over the unsanctified burial of its
earthly shell. It was to end these painful stories that the young
baron made a final determined effort to placate the ecclesiastical
authorities.


VI.

The singular personality of Paganini displayed itself in his private no
less than in his artistic life, and a few out of the many anecdotes told
of him will be of interest, as throwing fresh light on the man. Paganini
was accused of being selfish and miserly, of caring little even for his
art, except as a means of accumulating money. While there is much in his
life to justify such an indictment, it is no less true that he on many
occasions displayed great generosity. He was always willing to give
concerts for the benefit of his fellow-artists and for other charitable
purposes, and on more than one occasion bestowed large sums of money for
the relief of distress. We may assume that he was niggardly by habit
and generous by impulse. Utterly ignorant of everything except the art
of music, bred under the most unfortunate and demoralizing conditions,
the fact that his character was, on the whole, so _naive_ and upright,
speaks eloquently for the native qualities of his disposition. His
eccentricities, perhaps, justified the unreasoning vulgar in believing
that he was slightly crazed. His appearance and manner on the platform
were fantastic in the extreme, and rarely failed to provoke ridicule,
till his magic bow turned all other emotions into one of breathless
admiration. He talked to himself continually when alone, a habit
which was partly responsible for the popular belief that he was always
attended by a familiar demon. When a stranger was introduced to him, his
corpse-like face became galvanized into a ghastly smile, which produced
a singular impression, half fascinating, half repulsive. He was taciturn
in society, except among his intimates, when his buoyant spirits bubbled
out in the most amusing jokes and anecdotes expressed in a polyglot
tongue, for he never knew any language well except his own. Naturally
irritable, his quick temper was inflamed by intestinal disease, which
racked him with a suffering that was aggravated by a nostrum, in the use
of which he indulged freely. Indeed, it was said by his friends that his
death was accelerated by his devotion to medical quackery, from a belief
in which no arguments could wean him.

To his fellow-artists he was always polite and attentive, though they
annoyed him by their persistent curiosity as to the means by which he
produced his unrivaled effects--effects which the established technique
of violin-playing could not explain. An Englishman named George Harris,
who was an _attache_ of the Hanoverian court, attended Paganini for a
year as his private secretary, and he asserts that Paganini was never
seen to practice a single note of music in private. His astonishing
dexterity was kept up to its pitch by the numerous concerts which he
gave, and by his exquisitely delicate organization. He was accustomed to
say that his whole early life had been one of prodigious and continual
study, and that he could afford to repose in after years. Paganini's
knowledge of music was profound and exact, and the most difficult music
was mere child's play to him. Pasini, a well-known painter, living at
Parma, did not believe the stories told of Paganini's ability to play
the most difficult music at sight. Being the possessor of a valuable
Stradiuarius violin, he challenged our artist to play, at first hand, a
manuscript concerto which he placed before him. "This instrument
shall be yours," he said, "if you can play, in a masterly manner, that
concerto at first sight." The Genoese took the violin in his hand,
saying, "In that case, my friend, you may bid adieu to it at once," and
he immediately threw Pasini into ecstatic admiration by his performance
of the piece. There is little doubt that this is the Stradiuarius
instrument left by Paganini to his son, and valued at about six hundred
pounds sterling.

Of Antonia Bianchi, the mother of his son Achille, Paganini tells us
that, after many years of a most devoted life, the lady's temper became
so violent that a separation was necessary. "Antonia was constantly
tormented," he says, "by the most fearful jealousy. One day she happened
to be behind my chair when I was writing some lines in the album of a
great pianiste, and, when she read the few amiable words I had composed
in honor of the artist to whom the book belonged, she tore it from my
hands, demolished it on the spot, and, so fearful was her rage, would
have assassinated me."

He was very fond of his little son Achille. A French gentleman tells
us that he called once to take Paganini to dine with him. He found the
artist's room in great disorder. A violin on the table with manuscript
music, another upon a chair, a snuff-box on the bed along with his
child's toys, music, money, letters, articles of dress--all _pêle-mêle_;
nor were the tables and chairs in their proper places. Everything was in
the most conspicuous confusion. The child was out of temper; something
had vexed him; he had been told to wash his hands; and, while the little
one gave vent to the most violent bursts of temper, the father stood
as calm and quiet as the most accomplished of nurses. He merely turned
quietly to his visitor, and said, in melancholy accents: "The poor child
is cross; I do not know what to do to amuse him; I have played with him
ever since morning, and I can not stand it any longer."

"It was rather amusing," says the same writer, "to see Paganini in his
slippers doing battle with his child, who came about up to his knees.
The little one advanced boldly with his wooden sword, while the father
retired, crying out, 'Enough, enough! I am already wounded.' But it was
not enough; the young Achilles was never satisfied until his father,
completely vanquished, fell heavily on the bed."

In the early part of the present century the facilities for travel
were far less convenient than at the present time, and it was always an
arduous undertaking to one in Paganini's frail condition of health. He
was, however, generally cheerful while jolting along in the post-chaise,
and chatted incessantly as long as his voice held out. Harris tells us
that the artist was in the habit of getting out when the horses
were changed, to stretch his long limbs after the confinement of the
carriage. Often he extended his promenades when he became interested in
the town through which he was passing, and would not return till
long after the fresh horses had been harnessed, thereby causing much
annoyance to the driver. On one occasion Jehu swore, if it occurred
again, he would drive on, and leave his passenger behind, to get along
as best he could. The secretary, Harris, was enjoying a nap, and the
driver was true to his resolution at the next stopping-place, leaving
Paganini behind. This made much trouble, and a special coach had to be
sent for the enraged artist, who was found sputtering oaths in half a
dozen languages. Paganini refused to pay for the carriage, and it was
only by force of law that he reluctantly settled the bill.

His baggage was always of the plainest description; in fact, ludicrously
simple. A shabby box contained his precious Guarnerius fiddle, and
served also as a portmanteau wherein to pack his jewelry, his linen, and
sundry trifles. In addition to this he carried a small traveling-bag and
a hat-box. Mr. Harris tolls us that Paganini was in eating and drinking
exceedingly frugal. Table indulgence was forbidden him by the condition
of his health, as any deviation from the strictest diet resulted in
great suffering. He was a thorough Italian in all his habits and ideas.
Among other traits was a great disdain for the lower classes, though
he was by no means subservient to people of rank and wealth. It was
his habit, when an inferior addressed him, to inquire of his companion,
"What does this animal want with me?" If he was pleased with his
coachman, he would say, "That animal drives well." This seemed not so
much the vulgar arrogance of a small nature, elevated above the class in
life from which it sprang, as that pride of great gifts which made the
freemasonry of genius the measure by which he judged all others, noble
and simple. Like all men of highly nervous constitution, he was keenly
susceptible to both enjoyment and suffering. He was so sensitive
to atmospheric changes that his irritability was excessive during a
thunderstorm. He would then remain silent for hours together, while his
eyes rolled and his limbs twitched convulsively. Such fragile, nervous,
highly sensitive organizations are not unfrequently characteristic of
men of great genius, and in the great Italian violinist it was developed
in an abnormal degree.

The circumstances accompanying the last scenes of Paganini's life are
very interesting. He had been intimate with most of the great people
of Europe, among them Lord Byron, Sir Clifford Constable, Lord Holland,
Rossini, Ugo Fascolo, Monti, Prince Jerome, the Princess Eliza, and most
of the great painters, poets, and musicians of his age. For Lord Byron
he had a most ardent and exaggerated admiration. Paganini had stopped at
Nice on his way from Paris, detained by extreme debility, for his
last hours were drawing near. Under the blue sky and balmy air of
this Mediterranean paradise the great musician somewhat recovered his
strength at first. One night he sat by his bedroom window, surrounded by
a circle of intimate friends, watching the glories of the Italian sunset
that emblazoned earth, air, and sky, with the richest dyes of nature's
palette. A soft breeze swept into the room, heavy with the perfumes of
flowers, and the twittering of the birds in the green foliage mingled
with the hum of talk from the throngs of gay promenaders sauntering on
the beach. For a while Paganini sat silently absorbed in watching the
joyous scene, when suddenly his eyes turned on the picture of Lord Byron
that hung on the wall. A flash of enthusiasm lightened his face, as if
a great thought were struggling to the surface, and he seized his violin
to improvise. The listeners declared that this "swan song" was the
most remarkable production of his life. He illustrated the stormy and
romantic career of the English poet in music. The accents of doubt,
irony, and despair mingled with the cry of liberty and the tumult of
triumph. Paganini had scarcely finished this wonderful musical picture
when the bow fell from the icy fingers that refused any longer to
perform their function, and the player sank into a dead swoon.

The shock had been too great, and Paganini never quitted his bed
afterward. The day before his death he seemed a little better, and
directed his servant to buy a pigeon for him, as he had a slight return
of appetite. On the last evening of his life he seemed very tranquil,
and ordered the curtains to be drawn that he might look out of the
window at the beautiful night. The full moon was sailing through the
skies, flooding everything with splendor. Paganini gazed eagerly, gave a
long sigh of pleasure, and fell back on his pillow dead.


VII.

Paganini was the first to develop the full resources of the violin as
a solo instrument. He departed entirely from the traditions of
violin-playing as practiced by earlier masters, as he believed that
great fame could never be acquired in pursuing their methods. A work of
Locatelli, one of the cleverest pupils of Corelli, and a great master
of technique, first seems to have inspired him with a conception of
the more brilliant possibilities of the violin. What further favored
Paganini's new departure was that he lived in an age when the artistic
mind, as well as thought in other directions, felt the desire of
innovation. The French Revolution stirred Europe to its deepest roots,
intellectually as well as politically. At a very early date in his
career Paganini seems to have begun experimenting with the new effects
for which he became famous, though these did not reach their full
fruitage until just before he left Italy on his first general tour.
Fetis says: "In adopting the ideas of his predecessors, in resuscitating
forgotten effects, in superadding what his genius and perseverance gave
birth to, he arrived at that distinctive character of performance which
contributed to his ultimate greatness. The diversity of sounds, the
different methods of tuning his instrument, the frequent employment
of harmonics, single and double, the simultaneous pizzicato and bow
passages, the various staccato effects, the use of double and even
triple notes, a prodigious facility in executing wide intervals with
unerring precision, together with an extraordinary knowledge of all
styles of bowing--such were the principal features of Paganini's talent,
rendered all the more perfect by his great execution, exquisitely
nervous sensibility, and his deep musical feeling." In a word, Paganini
possessed the most remarkable creative power in the technical treatment
of an instrument ever given to a player. Franz Liszt as a pianist
approaches him more nearly in this respect than any other virtuoso,
but the field open to the violinist was far greater and wider than
that offered to the great Hungarian pianist. It was not, however, mere
perfection of technical power that threw Europe into such paroxysms of
admiration; it was the irresistible power of a genius which has never
been matched, and which almost justified the vulgar conclusion that none
but one possessed with a demon could do such things. Paganini possessed
the oft-quoted attribute of genius, "the power of taking infinite
pains," but behind this there lay superlative gifts of mind, physique,
and temperament. He completely dazzled the greatest musical artists as
well as the masses. "His constant and daring flights," writes
Moscheles, "his newly discovered flageolet tones, his gift of fusing
and beautifying objects of the most diverse kinds--all these phases
of genius so completely bewilder my musical perceptions that for days
afterward my head is on fire and my brain reels." His tone lacked
roundness and volume. His use of very thin strings, made necessary by
his double harmonics and other specialties, necessarily prevented a
broad, rich tone. But he more than compensated for this defect by the
intense expression, "soft and melting as that of an Italian singer," to
use the language of Moscheles again, which characterized the quality of
sound he drew from his instrument. Spohr, a very great player, but,
with all his polish, precision, and classical beauty of style, somewhat
phlegmatic and conventional withal, critcised Paganini as lacking
in good taste. He could never get in sympathy with the bent of
individuality, the Southern passion and fire, and the exceptional gifts
of temperament which made Paganini's idiosyncrasies of style as a player
consummate beauties, where imitations of these effects on the part of
others would be gross exaggeration. Spohr developed the school of Viotti
and Rode, and in his attachment to that school could see no artistic
beauty in any deviation. Paganini's peculiar method of treating the
violin has never been regarded as a safe school for any other violinist
to follow. Without Paganini's genius to give it vitality, his technique
would justly be charged with exaggeration and charlatanism. Some of the
modern French players, who have been strongly influenced by the great
Italian, have failed to satisfy serious musical taste from this cause.
On the German violinists he has had but little influence, owing to the
powerful example of Spohr and the musical spirit of the great composers,
which have tended to keep players within the strictly legitimate lines
of art. Some of the principal compositions of Paganini are marked by
great originality and beauty, and are violin classics. Schumann and
Liszt have transcribed several of them for the piano, and Brahms for the
orchestra. But the great glory of Paganini was as a virtuoso, not as a
composer, and it has been generally agreed to place him on the highest
pedestal which has yet been reached in the executive art of the violin.




DE BÉRIOT


De Bériot's High Place in the Art of the Violin and Violin Music.--The
Scion of an Impoverished Noble Family.--Early Education and Musical
Training.--He seeks the Advice of Viotti in Paris.--Becomes a Pupil of
Kobrechts and Baillot successively.--De Bériot finishes and perfects his
Style on his Own Model.--Great Success in England.--Artistic Travels
in Europe.--Becomes Soloist to the King of the Netherlands.--He meets
Malibran, the Great Cantatrice, in Paris.--Peculiar Circumstances which
drew the Couple toward Each Other.--They form a Connection which only
ends with Malibran's Life.--Sketch of Malibran and her Family.--The
Various Artistic Journeys of Malibran and De Bériot.--Their Marriage
and Mme. de Bériot's Death.--De Bériot becomes Professor in the Brussels
Conservatoire.--His Later Life in Brussels.--His Son Charles Malibran de
Bériot.--The Character of De Bériot as Composer and Player.


I.

Among the great players contemporary with Paganini, the name of Charles
Auguste de Bériot shines in the musical horizon with the luster of a
star of the first magnitude. His influence on music has been one of
unmistakable import, for he has perpetuated his great talents through
the number of gifted pupils who graduated from his teachings and
gathered an inspiration from an artist-master, in whom were united
splendid gifts as a player, an earnest musical spirit, depth and
precision of science, the chivalry of high birth and breeding, and
a width of intellectual culture which would have dignified the
_litterateur_ or scholar. De Bériot was for many years the chief of the
violin department at the Brussels Conservatoire, where, even before the
revolution of 1830, there was one of the finest schools of instruction
for stringed instruments to be found in Europe. When in the full
ripeness of his fame as a virtuoso and composer, De Bériot was called on
to take charge of the violin section of this great institution, and his
influence has thus been transmitted in the world of art in a degree by
no means limited to his direct greatness as an executant.

De Bériot was born at Louvain, in 1802, of a noble family, which
had been impoverished through the crash and turmoil of the French
Revolution. Left an orphan at the age of nine years, without inheritance
except that of a high spirit and family pride, he would have fared badly
in these early years, had it not been for the kindness of M. Tiby, a
professor of music, who perceived the child's latent talent, and he
acquired skill in playing so rapidly that he was able to play one of
Viotti's concertos at the age of nine. His hearers, many of whom were
connoisseurs, were delighted, and prophesied for him the great career
which made the name of De Bériot famous. Naturally of a contemplative
and thoughtful mind, he lost no time in studying not only the art of
violin-playing but also acquiring proficiency in general branches of
knowledge. His theories of an art ideal even at that early age were far
more lofty and earnest than that which generally guides the aspirations
of musicians. De Bériot, in after years, attributed many of the elevated
ideas which from this time guided his life to the influence of the
well-known scholar and philosopher Jacotot, who, though a poor musician
himself, had very clear ideas as to the aesthetic and moral foundations
on which art success must be built. The text-book, Jacotot's "Method,"
fell early into the young musician's hand, and imbued him with the
principles of self-reliance, earnestness, and patience which helped to
model his life, and contributed to the remarkable proficiency in his
art on which his fame rests. Two golden principles were impressed on De
Bériot's mind from these teachings: "All obstacles yield to unwearied
pursuit," and "We are not ordinarily willing to do all that we are
really able to accomplish." In after years De Bériot met Jacotot, and
had the pleasure of acknowledging the deep obligation under which he
felt himself bound.

In 1821 young Charles de Bériot had attained the age of nineteen, and
it was determined that he should leave his native town and go to Paris,
where he could receive the teachings of the great masters of the violin.
At this time he was a handsome youth with a strongly knit figure,
somewhat above the middle height, with fine, dark eyes and hair, a
florid complexion, and very gentlemanly appearance. Good blood and
breeding displayed themselves in every movement, and ardent hope shone
in his face. He resided for several months in Brussels, which was
afterward to be his home, and associated with the scenes of his greatest
usefulness, and then pursued his eager way to Paris with a letter of
introduction to Viotti, then director of music at the Grand Opéra. De
Bériot's ambition was to play before the veteran violinist of
Europe, and to feed his own hopes on the great master's praise and
encouragement.

"You have a fine style," said Viotti; "give yourself up to the business
of perfecting it; hear all men of talent; profit by everything, but
imitate nothing." There was at this time in Brussels a violinist named
Robrechts, a former pupil of Viotti, and one of the last artists who
derived instruction directly from the celebrated Italian. Andreas
Robrechts was born at Brussels on the 18th of December, 1797, and made
rapid progress as a musician under Planken, a professor, who, like the
late M. Wéry, who succeeded him, formed many excellent pupils. He then
entered himself at the Conservatoire of Paris in 1814, where he received
some private lessons from Baillot, while the institution itself was
closed during the occupation by the allied armies.

Viotti, hearing the young Robrechts play, was so struck with his
magnificent tone and broad style that he undertook to give him finishing
lessons, with the approbation of Baillot. This was soon arranged, and
for many years the two violinists were inseparable. He even accompanied
Viotti in his journey to London, where they were heard more than once in
duets. The illustrious Italian had recognized in Robrechts the pupil
who most closely adhered to his style of playing, and one of the few who
were likely to diffuse it in after years.

In 1820 Robrechts returned to Brussels, where he was elected first
violin solo to the king, Wil-helm I. It was shortly after this that De
Bériot took lessons from him, and he it was who gave him the letter
of introduction to Viotti. The same excellent professor also gave
instructions to the young Artot. He died in 1860, the last direct
representative of the great Viotti school.

It will now be seen where De Bériot acquired the first principles of
that large, bold, and exquisitely charming style that in after life
characterized both his performances and his compositions.


II.

Arriving at Paris, and believing probably that the classical style of
Robrechts, from whom he had had instruction in Brussels, did not lead
him swiftly forward enough in the path he would travel, he sought
Viotti, as we have related above, and by his advice entered himself in
the violin class of the Conservatoire, which was directed by Baillot, an
eminent player of the Viotti school, though never a direct pupil of the
latter master. De Bériot, however, did not remain long in the class, but
applied himself most assiduously to the study of the violin in his own
way. This is what Paganini had done, and through this course had been
able to form a style so peculiarly his own. It is not probable that De
Bériot at this time knew much about Paganini; certainly he had
never heard him. Paganini was at first looked on as a mere comet of
extraordinary brilliancy, without much soundness or true genius, and
many who afterward became his most ardent admirers began with sneering
at his pretensions. De Bériot was in later years undoubtedly powerfully
influenced by Paganini, but at the time of which we speak the young
violinist appears to have been determined to evolve a style and
character in art out of his own resources purely. He was carrying out
Viot-ti's advice.

At this time our young artist was the possessor of a very fine
instrument by Giovanni Magini, a celebrated maker of the Brescian
school, and a pupil of Gaspar de Salo. Many of the violins of this make
are of an excellence hardly inferior to the Strads of the best period,
and De Bériot seems to have preferred this violin during the whole of
his career, though he afterward owned instruments of the most celebrated
makers.

Very soon De Bériot made his public appearance in concerts, and was
brilliantly successful from the outset. The range of his ambition may be
seen from the fact that he had enough confidence in his own genius from
the very first to play his own music, and it was conceded to possess
great freshness and originality. These early "Airs Varié" consisted of
an introduction, a theme, followed by three or four variations, and a
brilliant finale.

The young artist preceded Paganini in London several years, as he
made his first appearance before an English audience in 1826. It was
fortunate, perhaps, for De Bériot that such was the case, as it is more
than probable that, after the dazzling and electric displays of
the Geneose player, the more sedate and simple style which then
characterized De Bériot would have failed to please. As it was, he
was most cordially admired, and was generally recognized by English
connoisseurs, as well as by the general public, as one of the most
accomplished players who had ever visited England. The pecuniary results
of these concerts were large, and sufficient to relieve De Bériot, who
had formerly been rather straitened in his means, from the friction and
embarrassment which poverty so often imposes on struggling talent.
There was a peculiar charm in De Bériot's style which was permanently
characteristic of him, though his technical method did not always remain
the same. In addition to very facile execution and a rich, mellow tone,
he possessed the most refined taste. His playing impressed people less
as that of a great professional violinist than that of the marvelously
accomplished amateur, the gentleman of leisure and culture, who
performed with the easy, sparkling grace of one who took no thought of
whether he played well or not, but did great feats on his instrument
because he could not help it. Such was also the characteristic of Mario
as a singer, and there seems to have been many features of resemblance
between these two fine artists, though moving in different fields of
art.

After traveling through Europe for several years, giving concerts with
great success, he was presented to King Wilhelm of the then united
kingdom of the Netherlands. This monarch, though quite ignorant of
music, was an enthusiastic patron of art, and, believing that De Bériot
was destined to be a great ornament of his native country (for he was
born in Belgium, though his parents were from France), bestowed on the
artist a pension of two thousand florins a year, and the title of first
violin solo to his majesty. But this honor was soon rudely snatched
from De Bériot's grasp. The revolution of 1830, which began with
the excitement inflamed in Brussels by the performance of Auber's
revolutionary opera, "La Muette di Portici," better known as
"Masaniello," dissolved the kingdom, and Belgium parted permanently
from Holland. It was, perhaps, owing to this apparent misfortune that
De Bériot made an acquaintance which culminated in the most interesting
episode of his life. He lost his official position at Brussels, but he
met Mme. Malibran.


III.

De Bériot returned to Paris, where Sontag and Malibran were engaged in
ardent artistic rivalry, about equally dividing the suffrages of the
French public. Mlle. Sontag was a beautiful, fair-haired, blue-eyed
woman, in the very flush of her youth, with an expression of exquisite
sweetness and mildness. De Bériot became madly enamored of her at once,
and pressed his suit with vehemence, but without success. Henrietta
Sontag was already the betrothed of Count Rossi, whom she soon afterward
married, though the engagement was then a secret. The lady's firm
refusal of the young Belgian artist's overtures filled him with a deep
melancholy, which he showed so unmistakably that he became an object of
solicitude to all his friends. Among those was Mme. Malibran, whose warm
sympathies went out to an artist whose talents she admired. Malibran,
living apart from her husband, was obliged to be careful in her conduct,
to avoid giving food for the scandal of a censorious world, but this
did not prevent her from exhibiting the utmost pity and kindness in her
demeanor toward De Bériot. The violinist was soothed by this gentle and
delightful companion, and it was not long before a fresh affection, even
stronger than the other, sprang up in his susceptible nature for the
woman whose ardent Spanish frankness found it difficult to conceal the
fact that she cherished sentiments different from mere friendship.

The splendid career of Mme. Malibran shines almost without a rival in
the records of the lyric stage, and her influence on De Bériot, first
her lover and afterward her husband, was most marked. Maria Garcia,
afterward Mme. Malibran, was one of a family of very eminent musicians.
She was trained by her father, Manuel Garcia, who, in addition to being
a tenor singer of world-wide reputation, was a composer of some repute,
and the greatest teacher of his time. Her sister, Pauline Garcia, in
after years became one of the greatest dramatic singers who ever lived,
and her brother Manuel also attained considerable eminence as singer,
song-composer, and teacher. The whole family were richly dowered with
musical gifts, and Maria was probably one of the most versatile and
accomplished musical artists of any age. At the age of thirteen she was
a professed musician, and at fifteen, when she came with her parents to
London, she obtained a complete triumph by accidentally performing in
Rossini's "Il Barbiere," to supply the place of 

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