Nicolo Paganini: His Life and Work
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Title: Nicolo Paganini: His Life and Work
Author: Stephen S. Stratton
Release date: April 29, 2012 [eBook #39571]
Language: English
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NICOLO PAGANINI:
HIS LIFE AND WORK.
PRINTED BY E. SHORE AND CO.,
3, GREEN TERRACE, ROSEBERY AVENUE, LONDON, E.C.
[Illustration: _Plate I.--See Appendix._
PORTRAIT OF NICOLO PAGANINI BY MAURIN.]
_"THE STRAD" LIBRARY, No. XVII._
NICOLO PAGANINI:
HIS LIFE AND WORK,
BY
STEPHEN S. STRATTON.
"_Natura il fece, e poi ruppe la stampa._"
ARIOSTO.
_WITH TWENTY-SEVEN ILLUSTRATIONS._
London:
"THE STRAD" OFFICE, 3, GREEN TERRACE, ROSEBERY AVENUE, E.C.
J. LENG & CO., 186, FLEET STREET, E.C.
New York:
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, 153-157, FIFTH AVENUE.
1907.
PREFACE.
The author of this work did not live to see the final sheets in print.
Although it has not received his revision, yet the book has had careful
editing. Mr. Stratton did not undertake the Life of Paganini without
adequate preparation. He had during many years thoughtfully studied the
artist and his attributes, and became an acknowledged authority on the
subject. He gathered from all available sources the most reliable
information. Almost his last journey was a pilgrimage to Paganini's
birthplace. This volume will exhibit his versatility, particularly the
chapter giving the analyses of Paganini's compositions. It is therefore
the most complete account of the greatest virtuoso recorded in the
annals of music. Those who peruse this most interesting biography of
Paganini, will naturally desire to learn something of the writer.
Stephen Samuel Stratton was born in London on December 19th, 1840. He
began his career as a chorister of St. Mary's Church, Ealing. He studied
harmony and composition under Charles Lucas. As an organist, he held
these appointments--St. Mary the Virgin, Soho; and St. James's Church,
Friern Barnet. On his removal to Birmingham in 1866, he was organist at
St. Barnabas Church; Edgbaston Old Parish Church; St. John's, Harborne;
and the Church of the Saviour (1878-1882). In 1879 he commenced a series
of chamber concerts in Birmingham.
From 1877 until the day of his death, Mr. Stratton was the musical
critic of the "Birmingham Daily Post." In that position his influence
was decidedly beneficial. He was also a contributor to the London
Musical Press. He will be remembered as the joint author (with Mr. James
D. Brown) of "British Musical Biography." His "Life of Mendelssohn" was
written for Messrs. Dent's "Master Musicians." Among other items may be
mentioned "Musical Curiosities," and valuable papers read before the
"Incorporated Society of Musicians."
In private life he was highly esteemed--an honorable citizen--a genial,
kind hearted man, with a genuine love of his profession. He died, after
a short illness, in Birmingham, on June 25th, 1906.
R. H.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
BOYHOOD 1
CHAPTER II.
EARLY TRIUMPHS 9
CHAPTER III.
ITALIAN TOURS 22
CHAPTER IV.
TOURS ON THE CONTINENT 35
CHAPTER V.
FIRST VISIT TO ENGLAND 50
CHAPTER VI.
FINAL TOUR 61
CHAPTER VII.
DEATH 73
CHAPTER VIII.
PAGANINI, THE MAN 85
CHAPTER IX.
THE ARTIST AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES 107
CHAPTER X.
HIS METHODS IN PLAYING 128
CHAPTER XI.
HIS COMPOSITIONS 148
CHAPTER XII.
MEMORIALS 191
APPENDIX.--NOTES ON THE ILLUSTRATIONS 195
BIBLIOGRAPHY 201
NICOLO PAGANINI:
HIS LIFE AND WORK.
CHAPTER I.
There are some names, the mere mention or thought of which conjure up
distinct personalities; such are Handel, Bach, Beethoven, Wagner; but
not one has the extraordinary individuality of that of Paganini. Though
few can be living who ever saw the man, though his portraits are not now
commonly to be met with, the name of Paganini at once calls up a
picture--weird, uncanny, demoniacal; brings back the faint echo of
performances long lost in the corridors of time; and excites the
imagination in a manner altogether unique. The last few years have
witnessed the appearance of an unprecedented number of wonderful young
violinists, whose achievements culminate in the marvellous playing of
the boy Franz von Vecsey. These manifestations are almost enough to
induce belief in the theory or doctrine of reincarnation, and to make
one fancy that the great Genoese is once again in the flesh. These
violinists, too, are all playing Paganini's music; they seem to glory in
it, and so do the audiences, although to many serious and worthy folk
it is mere clap-trap stuff. This revived interest in Paganini and his
music seems to render the present an appropriate time to restate the
case of the man and the artist, notwithstanding the extensive literature
already associated with his name.
It is a curious fact that nearly every distinguished musician, composer
or executant, has his namesakes. There was a constant succession of
Bachs in Thuringia for nearly two centuries; Beethoven's father and
grand-father were musicians; there were four Mozarts, musicians; and
more than twenty Wagners of some standing in the musical world. No one
seems to have traced the pedigree of Paganini, but he was preceded and
followed by others bearing the same name, and such particulars as can be
gleaned concerning these Paganinis may not be without interest, and at
least may serve by way of introduction to the greatest of them all.
Dr. Burney, in his account of Italian Opera in London during the last
half of the eighteenth century, names a Signor and Signora Paganini as
engaged for the season of 1760-61. They came from Berlin, and the Doctor
is ungallant enough to say that the lady, known as "The Paganini," was
not young. She made her _debut_ on November 22, 1760, in Galuppi's "Il
Mondo della Luna," in a _buffa_ part, and was very captivating. At her
benefit, when another opera by Galuppi was given--"Il Filosofo di
Campagna,"--such a crowd assembled as had never been seen on any other
occasion. Not one third of those who presented themselves at the
Opera-house were able to obtain admission. "Caps were lost, and gowns
torn to pieces, without number or mercy, in the struggle to get in.
Ladies in full dress, who had sent away their carriages, were obliged to
appear in the streets and walk home without caps or attendants."
"Luckily the weather was fine," adds the Doctor, who witnessed this
uncommon spectacle. "The Paganini" thus anticipated the extraordinary
triumphs of the more famous artist of half a century later. Signor
Paganini, the husband, was only "a coarse first man," and sang almost
without a voice. Next comes Ercole Paganini, born at Ferrara, about
1770, the composer of several operas, produced at La Scala, Milan, and
at Florence, from 1804 to 1810. A tenor singer named Paganini appeared
in opera at Florence in 1830, was decidedly successful and became highly
popular in Genoa in 1836. After Francesco Lamperti was appointed (in
1850) professor of singing at the Conservatorio, Milan, among the good
pupils he turned out was one named Paganini, of whom, however, no
particulars are forthcoming. In 1865, Cesare Paganini, a theoretical
writer, published a treatise at Florence; and in November, 1898,
Signora Franceschati-Paganini was the Bruennhilde in a performance of
"Goetterdaemmerung," at Bologna. Then there was Dr. Paganini, who was
perhaps the brother in whose charge young Nicolo was allowed to go to
Lucca in 1798. Whomsoever he may have been, this Dr. Paganini died in
1835, which event gave rise to a rumour that the great violinist
was dead--a rumour happily untrue. This Dr. Paganini was not a
fiddle-player, but a fiddle-fancier. He possessed a violin ornamented
with mother-o'-pearl and ebony, which had belonged to a Shah of Persia,
the favourite violin of Lord Byron (so it was said), one that had
belonged to Stanislaus of Poland, father-in-law of Louis XV., one that
had been played upon by Charles IV. of Spain (the enthusiast who had
quartet performances at six in the morning, and who scorned to "keep
time,") and another, once the property of that monarch's favourite, Don
Manuel de Godoy, Duke of Alcudia.
All the Paganinis mentioned above were eclipsed by _the_ Paganini
(_pace_ Dr. Burney), the artist who stood alone, whose life was full of
strange vicissitudes, who was worshipped and calumniated, who was
applauded as perhaps never artist was before nor since, yet who was
laughed at, hissed--only once--brought before the law-courts--threatened
with imprisonment and mobbed within an ace of being lynched. As a child
of four, Paganini narrowly escaped being buried alive; from youth up he
was a constant sufferer from physical disorders; he had no real home
till he was fifty-two; after death his remains were refused burial for
five years; and when his body had rested in the grave for half a century
it was exhumed, apparently in order that his features might once more be
gazed upon. Truly, Paganini's story is a romance, a drama, a tragedy. We
may not look upon his like again, nor is it desirable that we should;
for his life conveys a moral that few can fail to discern.
The artist is the child of his age. What kind of age was it that
produced Paganini? A few years before he was born there came into the
world one who was to set Europe aflame. The age was the age of
revolution. Thrones tottered; armies devastated the Continent, and Italy
became a mere appanage of the French Empire. The political upheaval was
accompanied by a revolution in art. The romantic school in music arose,
and Beethoven, Schubert, Berlioz, Chopin, Schumann, Liszt, and Wagner,
were the psychic results of the turmoil into which the world was thrown.
Into such a world, already feeling the premonitory tremors of the great
Revolution, was Nicolo Paganini born, at Genoa, on October 27th,
1782.[1]
[Illustration: _Plate II.--See Appendix._
THE BIRTHPLACE OF PAGANINI.]
The Genoese--thrifty and industrious--bore no very good moral character
at that time; but they were then perhaps not alone in that respect.
Little information is available concerning the family of Paganini. The
father, Antonio Paganini, kept a small shop in the vicinity of the port;
he is described as a man of extraordinarily avaricious character, hard
and brutal, but possessing the redeeming quality of a love for music,
and showing some skill in the art; his instrument was the mandoline,
though Laphaleque says he was a violinist. The mother must have been of
a lovable disposition, from what little has been recorded of her. The
family consisted of two sons and two daughters. Of the elder son,
mention is made but once; of the daughters, nothing seems to be known.
Little Nicolo must have given evidence of musical talent very early,
but ere he was put to his studies he was attacked by the measles, and
that so severely that he remained for a whole day in a state of
catalepsy. He was given up for dead and was wrapped in a shroud, and
only a slight movement at the last, showing symptoms of life, saved him
from the horror of premature burial. Scarcely had he recovered, when his
father began his lessons in violin playing. The child's evident
disposition for the art excited the father's avarice, which found little
scope for gratification in his small business undertakings. He indulged
in golden dreams of the future, and to hasten their realisation was
unremitting in his work of instruction. His method was cruel in the
extreme. The poor child was kept to his task from morn till night;
slight faults were punished with rigour, even blows and starvation being
resorted to in order to force the talent which nature had bestowed. This
unnatural treatment must have wrung the heart of the gentle mother, and
doubtless by way of encouragement she told the poor little fellow of her
wonderful dream. An Angel had appeared to her, and promised her the
fulfilment of any desire. She asked that her son might become the
greatest of violinists, and her prayer was to be granted. This
disclosure may have fired the ambition of the child, for he was the
hardest of workers, and needed no spur. Already, at six years of age, he
was a tolerable player, and was even beginning to find out new paths.
His performances excited the admiration and amazement of the neighbours,
and even the Maestro Francesco Gnecco visited the little house by the
harbour to listen to the wonder-child. He introduced the boy to the
circle of his own friends, and made the father understand that he had
long outgrown his training. In short, the germ of the _virtuoso_ of
later days was already manifesting itself. Nicolo was now placed under
Giovanni Servetto, leader of the theatre band--a man of slight
attainments, with whom the boy did not stay long. His next master was
Giacomo Costa, the foremost violinist in Genoa and maestro di capella of
the Cathedral, a genial man, who took a lively interest in the boy.
Under Costa, Nicolo made rapid progress, and was introduced to a new
world, though the pedantry of the master frequently came into collision
with the peculiarities of the pupil. Young Paganini now had to play a
new concerto each week at one of the churches: that was one of the
conditions Costa imposed when taking him as a pupil. Paganini's
extraordinary powers as a player at sight were in great measure due to
this early experience. The father still exercised stern oversight, and
there was little relaxation or youthful pleasure for Nicolo. His health
was already undermined, and, as Dubourg touchingly puts it:--"the sickly
child, incapable of attaining a healthy maturity, was merged into the
suffering man."
In his eighth year Nicolo composed a sonata for the violin--since, with
other works, lost. About that time a very vivid, almost shamefaced,
impression was made upon him by hearing that Mozart, at the age of six,
had composed a pianoforte concerto, with parts for orchestra, and so
difficult that only a _virtuoso_ could execute it. For long Nicolo
tormented himself with the thought of this musical superiority, and
strove day and night to remedy his own imperfection in the art.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] All biographical notices of Paganini, with the exception of that in
Riemann's "Dictionary of Music," give February 18th, 1784, as the date
of birth. The correct date seems to have been established when the
centenary celebration took place, in 1882.
CHAPTER II.
In 1793 Paganini made his _debut_ in the great Theatre of Genoa (the
Carlo Felice?). He was in his eleventh year, and his reputation must
have been considerable, for the occasion was of some importance, being
the benefit concert of two singers of repute, Luigi Marchesi and Teresa
Bertinotti.[2] Marchesi was second only to Pacchierotti among the male
_soprani_ of the time, and sang at the King's Theatre, London, during
the season of 1788; in the "Musical Reminiscences" of the Earl of Mount
Edgcumbe he is highly praised as the most brilliant singer of his day.
It was a great compliment to the talent of the young Nicolo that these
singers should apply for his assistance. Moreover, they promised to sing
for him when he should give a concert. Both functions duly took place,
and the boy-artist at each played a set of variations of his own
composition on "La Carmagnole"; an air then greatly in vogue. That old
melody "Malbrough s'en-va-t-en guerre," pressed into the service of the
French Revolution, was appropriately associated with the young artist,
himself a revolutionist. His success was phenomenal, performers and
audience being thrown into transports of admiration.
It would appear that young Paganini studied with Giacomo Costa for a
period of six months only. He must then have continued to work by
himself, for it was not until about 1795 that his father took him to
Parma, to place him under the "Pride of Italy," Alessandro Rolla, to
whom the boy had been recommended by Costa. There was an affecting
farewell between Nicolo and his mother, for they were tenderly attached
to each other. Paganini has himself related the story of his interview
with Rolla, which, for the sake of completeness, must be summarised
here.
When Nicolo with his father arrived at Rolla's house, the famous
violinist was ill in bed. His wife showed the visitors into an apartment
adjoining, and went to inform her husband of their arrival, but he was
disinclined to receive the strangers. On a table in the room where they
were waiting lay a violin, and a composition in manuscript--Rolla's
latest concerto. Paganini, prompted by his father, took up the violin,
and played the concerto through. Astonished at the performance, Rolla
asked what _virtuoso_ was in the next room, and on being told it was
only a boy he had heard, would not credit the statement without the
evidence of his own eyes. To the father's entreaty Rolla replied that he
could teach the boy nothing; it would waste his time to remain with
him. He must go to Ferdinando Paer, who would teach him composition.
There are several versions of this story, and much uncertainty
respecting some points. Rolla was chamber _virtuoso_, and director of
the concerts at the Court of Parma. Paer, whose first opera was produced
in 1789, was at this time in great request at Venice, where he brought
out a succession of operas. In 1796 he may have been in Parma, for his
"Griselda" was produced there that year. Paganini, at some time or
other, doubtless did profit by Paer's friendly assistance; but his real
teacher was Gasparo Ghiretti, chamber musician to Prince Ferdinand of
Parma, and the master of Paer. Ghiretti was a violinist, as were nearly
all the Italian composers of that period. Under Ghiretti, Paganini went
through a systematic course of study in counterpoint and composition,
devoting himself to the instrumental style. He must, about the same
time, have received violin lessons from Rolla, though he afterwards
refused to acknowledge that he had been his pupil. Fetis tells of
discussions between Rolla and Paganini concerning the innovations the
latter was attempting, for he was always striving after new effects. As
he could but imperfectly execute what he aimed at, these eccentric
flights did not commend themselves to Rolla, whose taste and style were
of a more severe order. Of Paganini's work in composition little appears
to be known. Anders states that Paer when in Parma devoted several hours
daily to Paganini; and at the end of the fourth month entrusted him with
a composition of a _duo_, in which Nicolo succeeded to the complete
satisfaction of his master. Paganini may also at that time have
sketched, if he did not complete, the Studies, or Caprices, Op. 1.
In 1797 the father took the boy from Parma, and set out with him on a
tour through Lombardy. Concerts were given in Milan, Bologna, Florence,
Pisa, and Leghorn.
The young artist achieved an extraordinary reputation; the father took
possession of the more material rewards of art. The "golden dreams" were
in process of realisation! Returning to Genoa, young Paganini finished
the composition of his Twenty-four Studies, which were of such excessive
difficulty that he could not play them. He would try a single passage
over in a hundred ways, working for ten or eleven hours at a stretch,
and then would come the inevitable collapse. He was still under the
stern domination of his father, and his spirit must have chafed under
the bondage. His own ardour was sufficient to carry his labours to the
verge of exhaustion, and he needed no spur as an incentive to exertion.
In all directions save that of music his education was utterly
neglected. The moral side of his nature was allowed to grow wild.
There was the restraining influence of a mother's love, but there was
little else. It might indeed be said that, musically, Paganini was
self-educated; but that one of the world's great geniuses should lack
the intellectual and moral training that go to make the complete man was
sad in the extreme. Paganini's was a nature warped; on the one side
phenomenal power, on the other bodily suffering, intellectual and
spiritual atrophy. But more of this when we turn from his career to the
man himself.
As the youth grew older the spirit of revolt arose. He must and would
escape from the tyranny of his avaricious father. But how? A way soon
offered itself. At Lucca, the festival of St. Martin, held each
November, was an event of such importance, musically, that it drew
visitors from all parts of Italy. As the November of 1798 drew near,
young Paganini besought his father's permission to attend the festival,
but his request was met by a point-blank refusal. The importunities of
the youth, aided by the prayers of the mother, at length prevailed, and
in care of the elder brother afterwards Dr. Paganini (?)--Nicolo was
allowed to leave home.
Free at last, the youth, now in his seventeenth year, went on his way,
his whole being thrilled with dreams of success and happiness. At Lucca
he was most enthusiastically received, and, elated by his good fortune,
Paganini extended his tour, playing in Pisa and other towns. Enabled now
to earn his own living, Paganini determined never to return to the home
where he had suffered so much. His father must have obtained information
as to the youth's whereabouts, for it has been stated that he managed to
obtain a large part of the young artist's earnings. The money was freely
yielded to a certain extent, and the residue was obtained by threats.
But no threat or entreaty could induce Nicolo to return to his paternal
home. The bird had escaped, and liberty was sweet. But young Paganini
was scarcely fitted for an independent, uncontrolled career. He had no
moral ballast, and much would depend upon what kind of company he kept.
One has to bear in mind that at the period now under
notice--1798--Europe was in a very unsettled state. The very pillars of
society were shaken, and there were many dangers in the path of the
young and inexperienced. But that is a very trite observation, for it
applies to all times and places. However, Paganini seems to have become
acquainted with what Fetis terms "artists of another kind," who
encouraged "play" of a more exciting, if less exalted order, than the
young musician had hitherto devoted himself to. With his ardent southern
temperament Paganini threw himself with the greatest zest into the
vortex of gambling, and frequently lost at a sitting the earnings of
several concerts and was reduced to the greatest embarrassment. Soon his
talent provided fresh resources, and his days ran on in alternations of
good and evil fortune. Tall, slight, delicate and handsome,[3] Paganini,
despite his frail constitution, was an object of attraction to the fair
sex. Incidents in his early manhood probably formed the foundation for
some of the stories told of him later. As Fetis puts it; the enthusiasm
for art, love and "play," reigned by turns in his soul. He ought to have
been careful of himself, but he went to excess in everything. Then came
a period of enforced repose, of absolute exhaustion, lasting sometimes
for weeks. This would be followed by a display of extraordinary
energy, when his marvellous talent took its highest flights, and he
plunged once more into the wildest bohemianism. Such a course of life
was enough to wreck the artist, and no friend seemed to be at hand to
save him from himself. Frequently he had to part with his violin in
order to raise money to pay his debts of honour, and it was upon one
such occasion that he met with the greatest good fortune he had yet
experienced, and acquired a violin which became the instrument of his
conversion from the fatal passion for gambling.
[Illustration: _Plate III.--See Appendix._
PAGANINI'S VIOLIN IN THE MUNICIPAL MUSEUM AT GENOA.]
Arriving at Leghorn, where he was to give a concert, Paganini yielded to
his weakness for the other kind of play and lost his money and his
violin. He was in a dilemma indeed, but was fortunate in meeting with an
enthusiastic musical amateur, M. Livron, a French merchant, the owner of
a superb Guarnerius violin. This instrument M. Livron lent to the young
artist, and attended the concert. When Paganini went to return the
violin to its owner, M. Livron at once exclaimed, "I shall take care
never to profane the strings your fingers have touched. It is to you now
that my violin belongs." A noble benefactor, that M. Livron. The
Guarnerius became Paganini's inseparable companion; he played upon it
throughout all his tours, and its subsequent history will be duly
related.
Paganini acquired another instrument on the same easy terms, but
attended by different circumstances. Signor Pasini, of Parma, a painter
of some distinction, and an amateur violinist, had heard of Paganini's
wonderful powers as a reader of music at sight, but refused to credit
the statements. Pasini one day placed before Paganini a manuscript
concerto, in which difficulties of all kinds were brought together, and
putting into the artist's hands a splendid Stradivari violin, said:
"This instrument is yours if you can play that at sight, like a master,
without studying its difficulties in advance." "If that is so," replied
Paganini, "You may bid farewell to it at once." His terrific[4]
execution made the music seem as if it played itself as his eye fell
upon it. Pasini was petrified with astonishment.
The abandonment of the vice of gambling came about in this way, his own
words being quoted. "I shall never forget," said he, "one day placing
myself in a position which was to decide my whole career. The Prince De
* * * * * had long desired to possess my excellent violin (the
Guarnerius), the only one I then had, and which I still possess. One day
he desired me to fix a price; but, unwilling to part from my instrument,
I declared I would not sell it for less than 250 gold Napoleons. A short
time after, the Prince remarked that I was probably indulging in banter
in asking so high a price, and added that he was disposed to give 2,000
francs for it. Precisely that very day I found myself in great want of
money, in consequence of a heavy loss at play, and I almost resolved to
yield my violin for the sum he had offered, when a friend came in to
invite me to a party that evening. My capital then consisted of thirty
francs, and I had already deprived myself of my jewels, watch, rings,
pins, etc. I instantly formed the resolve to risk this last resource,
and if fortune went against me, to sell the violin and to set out for
St. Petersburg, without instrument and without funds, with the object of
retrieving my position. Soon my thirty francs were reduced to three, and
I saw myself on the road to the great city, when fortune, changing in
the twinkling of an eye, gained me one hundred francs with the little
that yet remained. That moment saved my violin and set me up again. From
that day I withdrew from play, to which I had sacrificed a portion of my
youth: and convinced that a gambler is universally despised, I renounced
for ever that fatal passion."
It would be interesting to know when these things occurred, but dates
are wanting; it is sufficient to find the artist triumphant in one great
crisis in his life. Gambling, to which, however, he was not a party, was
destined to trouble the last years of his life, as will be seen further
on.
Paganini's career, gambling apart, was by no means of a conventional
character. His irregular habits, fits of extraordinary energy followed
by langour and depression, led to frequent disappearances from public
view. One such disappearance lasted for about four years, and only the
romantic aspect of it has been described; the prime cause may have been
overlooked. Here is one view of the matter. Enter Napoleon; exit
Paganini. In 1800 Napoleon crossed the Alps; in 1804, he proclaimed
himself Emperor. He parcelled out Europe, providing for his brothers and
sisters, creating sovereigns at his own sweet will. Italy, invaded by a
foreign foe, shaken with wars, "alarums and excursions," was not a happy
hunting ground for a travelling virtuoso. Paganini vanished from view.
In absolute retirement he lived for over three years at the chateau of a
Tuscan lady of rank, who was a performer upon the guitar. Paganini threw
himself with ardour into the study of that instrument, and became as
great a virtuoso upon it as upon the violin. He composed a number of
pieces for guitar and violin. According to Fetis, Paganini also devoted
himself to the study of agriculture.
But eventually he tired of a life of indolence and dalliance, and in
1804--the country settled now under French government--Paganini returned
to Genoa, but whether to the paternal roof is not clear. He was
doubtless invigorated by his long rest, and now resumed his arduous
course of study. It has been remarked that it was only after Paganini
had attained an almost perfect mastery over his instrument that he began
to investigate the methods of other virtuosi[5]; even so, he had formed
his own style of composition before studying the works of others. Now,
he busied himself with the studies of Locatelli, whose extravagances
almost equalled his own. It is said that he even gave lessons while in
Genoa, and mention is made of one pupil, Catarina Calcagno, who had a
brilliant, but brief career.
In 1805, Paganini resumed his artistic tours, and arriving at Lucca,
played a concerto at an evening festival in a convent church. So great
was the enthusiasm of the audience (or congregation), that the monks
had to leave their stalls to put a stop to the applause. At that time,
Maria Anna (Elise), sister of Napoleon, was Princess of Lucca, and the
Tuscan court was held in that Capital. The fame of Paganini could not
fail to have reached the ears of the Princess, and it was but natural
that the first _virtuoso_ of Italy should receive an official
appointment. So it happened that in the year 1805 he was offered, and
accepted, the post of leader of the Court orchestra, and solo violinist.
He also gave violin lessons to Prince Bacciochi, the husband of Maria
Anna. It was during this period that Paganini began his experiments of
employing less than the four strings of his violin. He gave an account
of the origin of the practice to a friend at Prague many years later.[6]
"It fell to my lot," he said, "to direct the opera whenever the reigning
family visited it, as well as to perform at Court three times a week,
and to get up a public concert for the higher circles every fortnight.
Whenever these were visited by the Princess, she never remained to the
close, because the flageolet tones of my violin were too much for her
nerves. On the other hand there was another fascinating creature ...
who, I flattered myself, felt a penchant for me, and was never absent
from my performances; on my own side, I had long been her admirer
(Paganini was now twenty-three years of age, susceptible, and possibly
himself fascinating.) Our mutual fondness became gradually stronger and
stronger; but we were forced to conceal it, and by this means its
strength and fervour were sensibly enhanced. One day I promised to
surprise her at the next concert, with a musical joke, which should
convey an allusion to our attachment; and I accordingly gave notice at
Court that I should bring forward a musical novelty, under the title of
'A Love Scene.' The whole world was on tiptoe at the tidings; and on the
evening appointed, I made my appearance, violin in hand; I had
previously robbed it of the two middle strings, so that none but E and G
remained. The first string being designed to play the maiden's part, and
the second (fourth) the youth's, I began with a species of dialogue, in
which I attempted to introduce movements analogous to transient
bickerings and reconciliations between the lovers. Now my strings
growled, and then sighed; and anon they lisped, hesitated, joked and
joyed, till at last they sported with merry jubilee. In the course of
time, both souls joined once more in harmony, and the appeased lovers'
quarrel led to a _pas de deux_, which terminated in a brilliant _coda_.
This musical fantasia of mine was greeted with loud applause. The lady,
to whom every scene referred, rewarded me by looks full of delight and
sweetness, and the Princess was charmed into such amiable condescension,
that she loaded me with encomiums--asking me, whether, since I could
produce so much with _two_ strings, it would not be possible for me to
gratify them by playing on _one_. I yielded instant assent--the idea
tickled my fancy--and, as the Emperor's birthday occurred some weeks
afterwards (August 15th,) I composed a sonata for the G string, which I
entitled 'Napoleon,' and played before the Court to so much effect, that
a cantata, by Cimarosa, given the same evening, fell through without
producing any impression on its hearers.[7] This is the genuine and
original cause of my prejudice in favour for the G string. People were
afterwards importunate to hear more of this performance, and in this way
I became day by day a greater adept at it, and acquired constantly
increasing confidence in this peculiar mystery of handling the bow."
More of the "Napoleon Sonata" later.
[Illustration: _Plate IV.--See Appendix._
CARICATURE PUBLISHED 1831.]
When the Princess became Grand Duchess of Tuscany, the Court removed to
Florence, and Paganini, as a matter of course, was in the retinue. His
official career, however, came to an abrupt termination in the early
part of 1813. When appointed Court Musical Director, Paganini was
accorded the rank of Captain in the Royal Guard, and, as such, was
permitted to wear a brilliant uniform. Appearing in this garb at a State
function at Florence, in 1813, the artist was "commanded" to change it
for the ordinary dress suit. This request Paganini construed as an
insult, and refused compliance; whereupon there was a sudden rupture,
and instant resignation of office. Paganini, at different times,
obtained leave of absence, and undertook various professional tours; and
as he met with some strange experiences, we will follow him in his
wanderings.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Anders, and others after him, give the name of the second singer as
Albertinotti. No such name can be traced, and it is probable that it was
the young Bertinotti, who was a juvenile prodigy, appearing in opera at
the age of twelve. She sang in London about the year 1812.
[3] William Gardiner many years later spoke of the transparent delicacy
of Paganini's complexion, and said of his little son Achille that he was
the handsomest boy he had ever seen.
[4] Fetis calls it "Foudroyante execution."
[5] Naumann, "History of Music," p. 1140 (English Edition.)
[6] Professor Julius Schottky.
[7] Cimarosa, who died in 1801, espoused the revolutionary cause when
the French army entered Italy, and was imprisoned and condemned to death
when the reaction came, but was restored to liberty on condition of
leaving Naples. He would, naturally, have been popular with the
Bonapartists, and it was rather ungenerous vanity on the part of
Paganini to have exulted over this particular success.
CHAPTER III.
In 1808 occurred the first of these excursions. Paganini went to
Leghorn, the scene of his early triumphs. He had not been there for
seven years, but his first concert, this visit, was attended with some
unpleasant mishaps. He had run a nail into his heel, and came limping on
the stage, whereupon the audience set up a titter--an incident quite
enough to upset a sensitive artist. Then, just as he was commencing his
concerto, the candles fell from his music-stand, and the laughter was
unrestrained; after a few bars of his solo, the first string of his
violin snapped, and the merriment became uproarious; but he finished the
performance upon the three strings, and the artist soon converted the
audience to a demonstration of a more grateful character. Thus his "one
string" experience served him in good stead.
At Ferrara something worse befell. For his concert there, Paganini had
engaged a vocalist, Signora Marietta Marcolini; but at the last moment,
the lady, either from indisposition or caprice, refused to sing.
Paganini went to his hostel boiling with rage, but was somewhat
mollified on being told there was a lady occupying an apartment in the
same house, who might perhaps take the place of the recalcitrant
singer. This was Signora Pallerini, the principal dancer at the theatre,
who had a very agreeable voice, but who made no pretension to being a
singer, although she was not without training and talent. Paganini lost
no time in seeking the young dancer, and by dint of perseverance
obtained her consent to his wish.
But when the Signora came on to sing she was seized with stage-fright.
Her voice failed her, and her song produced no effect. Paganini offered
his arm to conduct her behind the scenes, but just before they reached
the wing, a shrill whistle was heard--equivalent to a hiss in England.
This was too much; the poor _debutante_ lost consciousness, and fell
into the arms of her friend. Pale with rage, Paganini promised himself a
signal vengeance. The concert was drawing to a close when the angry
artist whispered to Signora Pallerini, "Come! Listen!" He rushed on the
stage, and announcing to the audience that he would conclude the concert
with a musical jest, proceeded to imitate the cries of various animals,
the chirping of birds, the howling of dogs, and the crowing of cocks;
then, with a stolen glance towards the wing, as if to make known the
carrying out of his revenge, he advanced to the footlights, rested his
bow on the "chanterelle," close to the bridge, and with a single stroke
brought it violently on the "G," producing distinctly the sound of the
donkey's hee-haw! "This is for the man who whistled," he exclaimed, with
an air of triumph, and for the second time gave his imitation--with
added energy. Then he awaited the shouts of laughter that should assail
the poor whistler, but something quite different happened. The pit rose
to a man, and howling, whistling, and stamping, the audience proceeded
to storm the stage; and only precipitate flight by means of a private
door, saved the unlucky artist's life.
The explanation came to Paganini later. The inhabitants of the villages
around Ferrara had from time immemorial a strong prejudice against their
Capital. The citizens they alleged were stupid in their nature, and
deserved the sobriquet "hee-haw." If a countryman, returning from
Ferrara, were asked where he came from, he replied by throwing back his
head and braying like an ass! Paganini had no knowledge of local
history; he was not a reader, he never even glanced at the papers,
except when they contained something concerning himself. His revenge
caused quite a tumult, in what way can be well perceived: and the
magistrate, to restore quiet, advised Paganini not to give his second
concert in the town, so that the offenders were really punished all
round.
It is not necessary to enter into details concerning all Paganini's
tours. It appears to have been in 1810 that he wrote the "Napoleon
Sonata," and he performed it in public at a concert given by him at
Parma, August 18th, 1811. His fame was spreading beyond his own country,
and Schilling states that from 1812 the German musical journals bestowed
much attention upon him. He was at Milan in 1813, and his success there
was greater than ever. For that city he appeared to have a predilection,
for he was there, with the exception of a short stay at Genoa, until the
autumn of 1814. At that time he was by no means a recluse. He visited
the theatre, La Scala, and witnessed a performance of Vigano's ballet,
"Il Noce di Benevento," to which Suessmayer wrote the music; and from a
certain scene he took the theme of his variations known as "Le Streghe."
At a theatre he was inspired to write one of his finest movements. He
went to hear Demarini, Italy's greatest tragedian, and was so affected
by one scene that he could not sleep, and his emotion ultimately found
expression in music. This will be dealt with when noticing his
compositions.
In October, 1814, Paganini went to Bologna, and there met Rossini for
the first time. Rossini, nine years the junior of Paganini, had already
produced a dozen operas--two in Milan that year. By Court favour Rossini
had just escaped the conscription, and had hastened away to Bologna. The
meeting of these artists was of importance to both. Meyerbeer went to
Italy in 1815, and was there for some years, producing several operas.
Laphaleque tells a story to this effect: Meyerbeer was on the eve of
leaving Florence to proceed to Naples to bring out one of his works. He
did not yet know that place, and it offered a double attraction; he
wanted to enjoy the beautiful blue sky as well as his artistic triumph.
But he went to hear Paganini, and dreamt no more of Naples, nor of his
opera. Paganini travelled all through Tuscany, and Meyerbeer followed;
and not until he had heard Paganini eighteen times could he tear himself
away from him.
Within the period of five years, Paganini returned to Milan five times,
making a long stay on each occasion, and giving a great number of
concerts. He played at Verona, Padua--where the "prison" stories seem to
have originated--returned to Milan early in 1816, when he met the
French violinist, Charles Lafont, with whom he played and of whom more
will be said. Then to Venice, Trieste, and back to Venice in time to
hear Spohr (October 18th), on whom he called both before and after the
concert. Spohr greatly desired to hear Paganini play, but the latter
excused himself.
Paganini must ere this have received invitations to visit other
countries, for Spohr in his diary remarks, when referring to Paganini's
first visit, that he had apparently abandoned his project of going to
Vienna. In 1817, Paganini visited Piacenza, where he met the Polish
violinist, Karl Joseph von Lipinski, who had gone to Italy expressly to
hear Paganini. The Italian treated his Polish brother artist generously,
and played with him at two concerts. Paganini was also again at Milan
that year and paid a visit to his mother at Genoa. According to Anders,
his father died in 1817. At the close of the same year Paganini was in
Rome, where Rossini's opera "La Cenerentola" was produced at the opening
of the Carnival season, December 26th. It is related that Meyerbeer was
also in Rome at this time, and that Rossini's "Carnovale" was sung in
the streets by the composer, Meyerbeer, and Paganini, who disguised
themselves for the frolic. Paganini in the Palace of Prince von Kaunitz,
the Austrian Ambassador, was introduced to Prince Metternich, who,
charmed with his talent, pressed him to visit Vienna. But the
violinist's health was in a precarious state. He suffered from an
intestinal disorder, aggravated by his addiction to some quack remedy.
He gave concerts in Rome, of which Schilling, who gives the date,
however, as 1827, gives a very curious account. The first concert,
though held in a Palace--such buildings being met with at every
step--was in a room like a hay-loft. The orchestra consisted of some
half-dozen shabbily dressed players, the singers were mechanics, members
of the chorus of the Teatro Argentina, and the audience scarcely
numbered fifty. Rome, professedly the first musical city of Italy, and
of Europe, was ignorant of Paganini, the greatest violin virtuoso of
Italy and the world. But his extraordinary genius kindled coldness into
enthusiasm. At his second concert the attendance increased tenfold; at
the third the success was even greater.
In 1818, and the following year, he gave concerts at Verona, Turin,
Florence, and other towns. At Verona, the conductor of the theatre
orchestra, one Valdabrini, persuaded himself that Paganini was little
else than a charlatan, one who might play the pieces of his own
repertory very well, but who could not execute a work such as a concerto
of his, Valdabrini's, composition. Paganini was informed of this
estimate of his abilities, and hastened to assure Valdabrini that he
would be happy to reproduce the inspirations of the _chef d'orchestre_
of Verona; and as this trial would be a powerful attraction, he would
reserve it for his last concert. The day of rehearsal arrived, and
Paganini was in his place. Instead of the music of the concerto,
however, the artist improvised all kinds of fanciful passages, insomuch
that the astonished orchestral players, lost in admiration, forgot to go
on with their own work. The disappointed Valdabrini exclaimed: "My
friend, this is not my concerto you are playing, I can recognise
nothing of what I have written." "Don't distress yourself," replied
Paganini, "at the concert you will recognise your work well enough, only
now I claim a little indulgence."
The concert night arrived, and Paganini commenced with pieces of his own
choice, reserving the concerto for the end. All were attention for the
great event. Paganini came on at last, holding in his hand a Malacca
walking cane. Everyone asked himself: What will he do with that?
Suddenly he seized his violin, and, employing the cane as a bow, played
the concerto (thought by the composer to be practicable only after long
study) from beginning to end, not only rendering the most difficult
passages, but introducing charming variations, never failing for an
instant to display the purity, grace and verve that characterised his
art.[8] This pleasantry was not to the taste of Valdabrini, we may be
sure; but it was a rebuke to his presumption. Such amenities are
scarcely possible now-a-days.
Paganini visited Naples in 1819 for the first time. When he arrived he
found the local musicians badly disposed towards him, and he had
something like a repetition of his experience at Verona, only he used
the cane no more! These musicians affected to doubt the reality of the
marvels fame attributed to Paganini, and proposed to amuse themselves at
his expense. They engaged a young composer, Danna (Dana?)[9] fresh from
the Conservatorio, to write a string quartet, filled with difficulties
of every kind--for the first violin--persuading themselves that the
great violinist could not overcome them. When all was ready--no doubt
the other parts had been well practised--Paganini was invited to a
musical reunion, where he found the violinists Onorio de Vito, Giuseppe
Mario Festa, the violoncellist Ciandelli, and the composer Danna. Hardly
had he arrived, when they placed the music before him, and invited him
to play it at sight. Perceiving that they had set a trap for him,
Paganini cast a hurried glance at the music, and played it off as though
it had long been familiar to him. Confounded by what they heard, his
assistants were prodigal in their admiration, and declared him
incomparable.
Paganini's health now gave way to an alarming degree, and his landlord,
fearing the malady was consumption--infectious, according to current
opinion--proceeded to turn the violinist and his belongings into the
street. Medical science has confirmed the views of the Neapolitans in
respect to the contagious character of consumption, and the open-air
treatment is now considered the proper method to adopt; but the
landlord's rough and ready application of the remedy was highly
objectionable, and so thought Ciandelli, who chanced to be passing at
the time. He gave the landlord a severe thrashing, and conveyed Paganini
to more comfortable lodgings, where he was carefully tended. Paganini
repaid this act of kindness, as will be seen. These little scenes throw
curious side-lights on life in Naples at that period.
In 1820, Paganini returned to Milan, where he founded an Amateur
Society, _Gli Orfei_, and conducted its concerts for a time; but the
roving habits he had acquired rendered a settled life irksome, and he
was soon again on the move. The winter found him once more in Rome,
where he must have stayed on and off for another year; for he was
there in December, 1821, when Rossini was about to produce his opera,
"Matilda di Sabran," at the opening of the Carnival season. On the day
of the last rehearsal the conductor fell ill, and Rossini was in
despair to replace him. Paganini, hearing of his friend's dilemma,
offered to conduct the rehearsal and the first performance--his
operatic experience at Lucca must not be forgotten--an offer Rossini
gratefully accepted. Without a moment's preparation, Paganini set to
work to communicate to an unskilled orchestra--it was at the _Teatro
d'Apollone_--the composer's intentions and the manner in which they
should be interpreted. Having no time for verbal explanation, he did
everything by example, playing the first violin part an octave higher
than it was written, and making himself heard above the strongest
_fortissimo_. At a glance he penetrated the meaning of every movement,
and he so worked upon the executants that they obeyed him as if
by enchantment. This single rehearsal sufficed to bring about an
irreproachable performance, the orchestra undergoing a veritable
metamorphosis, to the astonishment of everyone, Rossini included. So
far Laphaleque. Sutherland Edwards[10] says Paganini conducted the
first three performances, adding, "Never, it is said, did the band of
the 'Apollo' play with so much spirit before."
For the next two years Paganini was constantly travelling, and in the
year 1823 we have the first glimpse of him through the medium of an
English musical journal.[11] This first reference is quite incidental.
Giuseppe Rastrelli was playing in Naples in 1822 (or 1823), and was well
received, "although his predecessor, the celebrated Paganini," was still
fresh in the public remembrance. This assumes that Paganini was well
known to English readers. He had indeed been mentioned in books
published before this date. On his way to Pavia in 1823, Paganini was
attacked with illness, and his life was despaired of. At that time he
had again intended going to Austria, but a long rest was needed to
restore his health. This repose he enjoyed at Genoa, and recovered
sufficiently to give two concerts in the _Teatro da Sant'Agostino_, in
1824. The second concert introduced two youthful claimants to public
favour. The first was a Signora Bianchi, under twenty years of age, who
was characterised in the bills as the little _virtuosa forestiera_, and
who sang three airs; the other was a Signora Barette, who played a
_Pezzo Cantabile_ and a _Sonatina_ upon the violoncello. They both
experienced a flattering reception.[12] The young violoncellist was not
more than fourteen years old, and there is no reason to suppose that she
was the first of her sex to appear in public as a violoncellist. The
other "little guest" or stranger was to play an important part in
Paganini's history.
This concert afforded another proof of Paganini's power of attraction. A
certain M. Bergman, a (Swedish?) traveller and passionate lover of
music, reading accidentally the evening before in the journal at
Leghorn, an announcement of Paganini's concert, lost no time, but
instantly set out for Genoa, a distance of a hundred miles, and luckily
reached the spot just half an hour before the concert began. He went
with his expectations raised to the utmost, but, to use his own
expression, the reality was as far above his anticipations as the
heavens are above the earth. Nor could this enthusiastic amateur rest
content with once hearing Paganini, but actually followed him to Milan,
in order to hear him exercise his talents a second time. Now-a-days the
enthusiasts are young ladies, who mob their favourites in the artists'
room!
In 1824 Paganini gave two concerts in _La Scala_, Milan, which was
crowded to excess. At the first he played a concerto, and three airs
with variations--all on the fourth string, so said the report. A
surfeit, this, even for his fervent admirers. In the same year at Pavia,
he gave two concerts, the bills being headed:
PAGANINI
_Fara sentire il suo Violino._
(Paganini will cause his violin to be heard.) He was received with no
less enthusiasm than at Milan. Paganini then returned to Genoa, but soon
left for Venice. There he formed an union with Antonia Bianchi, the
young singer he introduced at Genoa, who became his companion, sang at
his concerts, and shared his triumphs.
In 1825, Paganini was again at Naples, where he gave a concert, causing
his name to be announced in the bills as--
_Filarmonico_,
a term which gave rise to much discussion, some considering it as
indicating modesty, others just the reverse; but at all events it
savoured of affectation. In the summer of 1825, Paganini went to
Palermo, where he also gave a concert. The delicious climate of Sicily
had a great charm for him, and he remained there for nearly a year,
giving concerts at different places, but enjoying prolonged intervals of
repose. His health strengthened, Paganini again entertained the idea of
leaving Italy, but determined upon one more tour before carrying out his
intention. In 1826, he visited Trieste, Venice, and finally Rome, where
he gave five concerts. In April, 1827, Pope Leo XII. invested Paganini
with the order of the Golden Spur, a distinction so rare that it
afforded a topic for conversation for some time. From Rome Paganini went
to Florence, and as "Il Cavaliere Paganini" gave a concert at the
_Teatro Pergola_, which was attended by all the rank and fashion of the
place. He was detained for some time at Florence owing to a disease
breaking out in one of his legs. As soon as he was able to travel he set
out for Milan, where he was received with every demonstration of
affection. He gave four musical soirees at the close of 1827, and in
the early part of 1828, two concerts in _La Scala_, when he appears to
have played for the first time the concerto with the "Rondo ad un
Campanello;" the piece created a great effect. Paganini had now
traversed the whole of Italy at least three times, giving hundreds of
concerts, building up an ever growing reputation and exciting universal
admiration, despite those detractors whose machinations have been
exposed. At last, on the 2nd of March, 1828, Paganini started on his
long projected visit to Vienna.
FOOTNOTES:
[8] Laphaleque.
[9] Son of Giuseppe Dana, of Naples?
[10] The Life of Rossini, p. 226.
[11] With the exception of a Literary Supplement to the "New Musical and
Universal Magazine," 1774, there was no publication devoted to Music
until the year 1818, when "The Quarterly Musical Magazine and Review"
appeared, edited by Robert Mackenzie Bacon. This was followed in 1823 by
"The Harmonicon," edited by William Ayrton.
[12] Harmonicon, Vol. III., p. 37.
CHAPTER IV.
Paganini arrived at Vienna, March 16th, 1828, and gave his first concert
in the Redouten-Saal[13] on the 29th of the same month, creating a
_furore_ the like of which had never been witnessed. It must be borne in
mind that Paganini was now no romantic-looking youth to move the
feelings of sentimental or hysterical young ladies. He was in his
forty-sixth year, and his face bore the marks of suffering; he wore his
long hair in ringlets falling over his shoulders, but physically he was
a wreck. Yet no youthful artist of to-day has made a more sensational
_debut_ than that of Paganini in the Austrian Capital in 1828. To repeat
the oft-quoted account given by Schilling: "At the first stroke of the
bow on his Guarnerius, one might almost say at the first step he took
into the hall, his reputation was decided in Germany. Kindled as by an
electric flash, he suddenly shone and sparkled like a miraculous
apparition in the domain of art."
Another account, if less familiar, is equally interesting. In a letter
from Vienna, addressed to the _Literary Gazette_, the writer says:--"The
great novelty and prodigy of the day is one M. Paganini, an Italian
performer on the violin.
"This is the first time he has left Italy; but I heard him previously,
about five years ago, at Milan, in competition with M. Lafont, whom he
beat fairly.[14] He is, without contradiction, not only the finest
player on the violin, but no other performer, upon what instrument
soever, can be styled his equal: Kalkbrenner, Rode, Romberg, Moscheles,
Jew and Gentile, are his inferiors by at least some thousand degrees;
they are not fit, as we say in Germany, to _reach him water_. He is
Mathews of the violin, performs a whole concert on a single string,
where you are sure to hear, besides his own instrument, a harp, a
guitar, and a flute. In one word, he is a necromancer, and bids fair
to beat _la Giraffe_. We have here hats, shawls, gloves and nonsense
of every description, _a la Giraffe_; but yesterday I actually
ate _Auflaufy_--a very innocent, rather insipid sweetmeat--_a la
Paganini_.... He has already performed twice to crowded houses in our
great masquerade-hall. The beginning of the concert was, as usual,
advertised for half-past eleven [in the morning]: at eleven o'clock not
a pin dropping from the roof would have reached the ground; people were
already there at nine o'clock. He came hither with six florins in his
pocket; now you may style him a warm man. From Vienna he intends to
proceed to Paris, and thence to London."[15]
Here a brief digression is pardonable. The Pasha of Egypt, a short time
before Paganini's visit, had presented to the Emperor of Austria a
Giraffe, an animal then new to Europe. That interesting quadruped, a
superb specimen of its kind, created such a sensation, and so completely
absorbed public attention, that as seen in the letter just quoted,
everything was _a la Giraffe_.[16] Paganini's phenomenal success gained
him a popularity that quite eclipsed the poor Giraffe, and now the mode
was _a la Paganini_. All kinds of articles were named after him; a good
stroke at billiards was a _coup a la Paganini_; his bust in butter and
crystallised sugar figured on every banquet table; and portraits, more
or less faithful, adorned snuff-boxes, cigar-boxes, or were carved on
the canes carried by the fops. Paganini himself went into a shop one day
to buy gloves. "_A la Giraffe?_" asked the salesman. "No, no, some other
animal," said the _maestro_, whereupon he was handed a pair _a la
Paganini_! It is said that a certain driver, whom Paganini had once
engaged, obtained permission to paint on his vehicle the words
_Cabriolet de Paganini_, by which means he gained notoriety and enough
money to set up as a hotel-keeper. Paganini was much sought after by the
leaders of society and fashion; but Prince Metternich alone received the
favour of a visit.
It may be remembered that Franz Schubert gave his first, and as it
turned out, his only concert, in the hall of the Musik-Verein, Vienna,
on the 26th of March, three days before that of Paganini. Schubert
cleared over L30--the first piece of luck that came to the poor
composer. The money flowed freely; he paid his five Gulden (something
over six shillings) to hear Paganini, and went a second time, not so
much for his own sake, as to take his friend Bauernfeld,[17] who had not
five farthings, while with him (Schubert) "money was as plentiful as
black-berries." Generous, simple Schubert! Did he and Paganini ever
meet? What a pair they would have made!
Paganini's Vienna concerts were so successful that he increased the
number from six to twelve. It is said that poor musicians actually sold
their clothes to raise the needful in order to hear him; and that no
halls were large enough to contain all who wished to attend his
concerts. Paganini's last concert was given by express command of the
Emperor of Austria, who honoured the occasion by his presence. Among
other things, Paganini introduced the National hymn "God preserve the
Emperor," which he performed with a truth and fervour of expression that
seemed to impart a novelty even to so familiar a theme. He did some
wonderful things on the G string, astonishing and delighting all
present, especially rivetting the attention of the Emperor, who led the
applause.
The Court Gazette announced that His Majesty, as a testimony of his
admiration, had sent Paganini a diploma, appointing him one of the
Emperor's chamber musicians, and exempting him from the usual fees of
office; this was accompanied by a splendid gold snuff-box set with
brilliants. The chief magistrate of Vienna presented Paganini with the
gold medal of San Salvador; and, to crown all, a medal was struck in
Paganini's honour. This, the work of J. Lang, has on the face a portrait
in relief of the violinist, with the inscription:--
NICOLAO PAGANINI VINDOBONA
MDCCCXXVIII.
and on the back the words:--
PERITURIS SONIS NON PERITURA GLORIA.
surrounding an open music book with the theme of the "Bell Rondo," upon
which lies the famous Guarnerius wreathed with laurel. This was the
city's parting gift to the great artist.
These doings were too good to escape the notice of the caricaturist, and
a two-act piece was produced at the _Theater an der Wien_, entitled "The
Counterfeit Virtuoso; or, the Concerto on the G string," the music by
Kapellmeister Franz Glaeser. The overture was ingeniously made up of the
principal subjects of Paganini's concertos, ludicrously contrasted with
counter subjects of a popular kind. Several of the _quodlibets_ were
full of humour, and, with the _bon mots_ and anecdotes, tended to make
it a very amusing production for the moment.
It was at Vienna that the rumour spread abroad of Paganini being in
league with the Devil, which accounted for his marvellous performances.
The great violinist was much disturbed and annoyed by these calumnies,
and had to appeal to the press for aid in refuting them. It may be that
his estrangement from the world, his love of solitude, morose temper,
and the avarice which displayed itself, all had their origin in the
hostile attitude assumed by a section of the public during his foreign
tours, for when in Italy Paganini seems to have lived much as others
did. Paganini was accompanied by his companion Signora Bianchi, and the
son born to them, when he visited Vienna.
It was in May the little party left Vienna. The concerts had quite
prostrated Paganini, and the family went to Carlsbad. After resting
there some time Paganini departed for Prague, but an abscess in the face
kept him a prisoner for three weeks. Here is a contemporary account
which is interesting. Paganini was obliged to place himself under the
care of two celebrated medical men, Krumblholz and Nusshardt, and they
were the only visitors he received during his lonely residence up three
pair of stairs. After a successful operation on the jaw-bone, one of his
physicians expressed a desire which was cherished in vain by the whole
city--that of hearing some notes from the hitherto silent instrument of
the great master; and he entreated him to try if he could rest his
violin on his hardly healed chin. Paganini confirmed what has long been
said, that even before friends he was very niggardly in the display of
his talents. He took his instrument, played one stroke with his bow, and
said, "_Es geht schon_" (that will do). "For eight days before the first
concert," continues the writer, "every place was engaged. When I reached
the theatre at four o'clock in the afternoon, it appeared as if the
house was about to be stormed, so great was the throng on the outside.
Many magistrates and people of the first rank were amongst the crowd,
and shared my anxious expectation. At last I found myself, I scarcely
know how, in the pit, and there awaited for two hours and a half the
opening of the concert." The writer then goes on to describe the
violinist, his appearance, his smile that made everyone shudder, and the
extraordinary performance which roused the audience to the wildest
enthusiasm. He then quotes the saying of a Vienna critic: "Paganini has
nothing in common with other players but the violin and the bow," and
regrets that his friend will not for some time have the opportunity of
hearing the superb performer, for he learns that Paganini does not yet
intend to visit Paris or London.[18]
[Illustration: _Plate V.--See Appendix._
FROM A CONTEMPORARY GERMAN PICTURE.]
Paganini's first concert only was well attended. There was then a
reaction. Some attributed the falling off to the high prices charged for
admission, but there was, in fact, a traditional hostility in art
matters between Prague and Vienna; that which was praised in Vienna must
be condemned in Prague, and what was approved in Prague must not be
tolerated in Vienna. It was at Prague that Paganini actually published
this letter from his mother as proof that he was not the son of the
devil!
DEAREST SON,--At last, after seven months have elapsed since I
wrote to you at Milan, I had the happiness of receiving your letter
of the 9th current, through the intermediary of Signor Agnino, and
was much rejoiced to find that you were in the enjoyment of good
health. I am also delighted to find that, after your travels to
Paris and London, you purpose visiting Genoa expressly to embrace
me. I assure you, my prayers are daily offered up to the Most High,
that my health may be sustained, also yours, so that my desire may
be realised.
My dream has been fulfilled, and that which God promised me has
been accomplished. Your name is great, and art, with the help of
God, has placed you in a position of independence. Beloved,
esteemed by your fellow citizens, you will find in my bosom and
those of your friends, that repose which your health demands.
The portraits which accompanied your letter have given me great
pleasure. I had seen in the papers all the accounts you give me of
yourself. You may imagine, as your mother, what an infinite source
of joy it was to me. Dear son, I entreat you to continue to inform
me of all that concerns you, for with this assurance I shall feel
that it will prolong my days, and be convinced that I shall still
have the happiness of embracing you.
We are all well. In the name of your relations, I thank you for the
sums of money you have sent. Omit nothing that will render your
name immortal. Eschew the vices of great cities, remembering that
you have a mother who loves you affectionately, and whose fondest
aspirations are your health and happiness. She will never cease her
supplications to the All-powerful for your preservation.
Embrace your amiable companion for me, and kiss little Achille.
Love me as I love you.
Your ever affectionate mother,
_21st July, 1828_. TERESA PAGANINI.
From Prague, Paganini went to Berlin, where he remained four months. He
was received with the utmost enthusiasm, and on the evening of his first
concert he exclaimed: "I have found my Vienna public again." Wherever
Paganini stayed for any length of time it suddenly became the fashion to
learn to play the violin; and the fair members of the aristocratic
families were among the most eager to become pupils of the famous man.
Paganini made a great deal of money in Berlin. The critics were divided
in opinion as to his merits; but Rellstab, whom Schumann once called
"Wretched Berlinese reviewer," was favourably impressed. Paganini is
said to have received a challenge from Baron Sigismond von Praun, to a
public contest for supremacy in performance, but as the would-be
opponent was a youth of seventeen, Paganini disdained him. Perhaps he
thought of his own presumption in his young days!
Paganini's tour was one continual triumphal progress. At Koenigsberg his
first concert realised about L330, an unprecedented sum in that place;
at Frankfort his four concerts produced something like L1,000. A critic
wrote of him: "One striking peculiarity of his playing is the
extraordinary effect it produces on persons wholly devoid of musical
cultivation. Most _virtuosi_ play only for the learned; not so
Paganini. His performance is alike appreciated by men of business and
connoisseurs, by children and grown persons--it is felt and understood
by all. This is the distinctive characteristic of all that is great in
art."
He was at Leipzig in 1829, and was among the visitors at the house of
Abraham Mendelssohn--the pleasant garden-house in the Leipziger
Strasse--and his portrait figures in Hensel's collection. In June, 1830,
Paganini was in Cassel, when Spohr heard him for the first time--of
which more later. In Hamburg the same year Heine heard him, and his
vivid and extraordinary notice of the artist must be briefly quoted. "I
believe," said Heine, "that only one man has succeeded in putting
Paganini's true physiognomy upon paper--a deaf painter, Lyser by name,
who in a frenzy full of genius has with a few strokes of chalk so well
hit the great violinist's head that one is at the same time amused and
terrified at the truth of the drawing. 'The devil guided my hand,' the
deaf painter said to me, chuckling mysteriously, and nodding his head
with a good-natured irony in the way he generally accompanied his genial
witticisms.... The Hamburg Opera House was the scene of this concert,
and the art-loving public had flocked there so early, and in such
numbers, that I only just succeeded in obtaining a little place in the
orchestra." Then he goes on to describe the audience and the entrance of
Paganini. "Is that a man brought into the arena at the moment of death,
like a dying gladiator, to delight the public with his convulsions? Or
is it one risen from the dead, a vampire with a violin, who, if not the
blood out of our hearts, at any rate sucks the gold out of our pockets?
Such questions crossed our minds while Paganini was performing his
strange bows, but all those thoughts were at once still when the
wonderful master placed his violin under his chin and began to play. As
for me, you already know my musical second-sight, my gift of seeing at
each tone a figure equivalent to the sound, and so Paganini with each
stroke of his bow brought visible forms and situations before my eyes;
he told me in melodious hieroglyphics all kinds of brilliant tales; he,
as it were, made a magic lantern play its coloured antics before me, he
himself being chief actor.... A holy, ineffable ardour dwelt in the
sounds, which often trembled, scarce audibly, in mysterious whisper on
the water, then swelled out again with a shuddering sweetness, like a
bugle's notes heard by moonlight, and then finally poured forth in
unrestrained jubilee, as if a thousand bards had struck their harps and
raised their voices in a song of victory." Thus, a poet on a poet in
tones.
In 1829 Paganini was in Warsaw, and Chopin was among those who heard
him. As he was leaving, in July, he was stopped some distance from the
city by a numerous company who had met together in a garden. They drank
the health of the artist, and Joseph Xaver Elsner, Director of the
Conservatoire, handed him a costly snuff box, bearing this inscription:
"Al Cavaliere Nicolo Paganini, gli ammiratori del suo talento, Varsovia
19 Luglio 1829." Paganini pressed it to his lips, speechless with
surprise, and affected almost to tears. At Munich he gave three concerts
in November of the same year; and at the close of the last _soiree_ the
artist was crowned by Stunz, the Kapellmeister, while thousands of
laudatory poems were showered from different parts of the hall. At
Stuttgart, the King of Wuertemberg presented him with 100 _louis d'or_,
and it is said that before leaving Germany Paganini sent over L6,000 to
the Bank of England for safe custody, a proceeding which showed his good
sense, and perhaps revealed a mistrust of his continental friends.
Paganini's tours, extending over three years, embraced Bohemia, Poland,
Saxony, Bavaria, Prussia, and the Rhine provinces. Many more details
might be given, but they are really needless: it was always the same
story of the artist's success, excepting, indeed, at Augsburg, where the
criticisms were adverse, as at Prague. An anecdote may fitly close the
narration of Paganini's long stay in Germany, as it reveals an
interesting trait in the character of the peasantry. Paganini, in the
autumn of 1829, was summoned to appear before the Queen Dowager of
Bavaria, at the Castle of Tegernsee, a magnificent residence of the
Kings of Bavaria, situated on the banks of a lake of the same name. At
the moment the concert was about to begin, a great bustle was heard
outside. The Queen, having enquired the cause, was informed that about
sixty of the neighbouring peasantry, having been told of the arrival of
the famous Italian violinist, were come with the hope of hearing some of
his notes, and requested that the windows should be opened, in order
that they also might enjoy his talent. The Queen went beyond their
wishes, and with truly Royal good-nature, gave orders that they should
all be admitted into the saloon, where she had the pleasure of remarking
their discernment, and the judicious manner in which they applauded the
most striking parts of the distinguished artist's performance.
Frankfort seems to have been a favourite stopping place with Paganini,
and from there, at last, he quitted the fatherland, and arrived at
Strasburg, where he gave two concerts, and thence proceeded direct to
Paris.
It has to be observed that France had just been through another
Revolution, and the turmoil, social and political, had not subsided. To
a populace seething in this fevered atmosphere anything by way of
diversion would be welcome. The man of the hour was Paganini, for in a
sense he combined within himself the surrounding elements and
influences. At the moment the public was just in the mood for Paganini,
and the artist met the craving for excitement. He gave his first concert
in the Opera House on March 9th, 1831, and notwithstanding that the
prices of admission were tripled, the house was crammed. It would be
impossible, says Fetis, to describe the enthusiasm with which the
audience were seized when listening to the extraordinary artist, an
enthusiasm approaching delirium, frenzy. Paganini's Studies had long
been known to Parisian violinists, but they remained enigmas impossible
of solution. At his third concert, March 25th, Paganini introduced a new
concerto, in D minor, which, like so much of his music, is lost. In
Paris the infamous persecution of the artist seems to have reached its
climax. Fetis states that Paris was above all places hostile to
Paganini, although that city had contributed more than any other place
to the _eclat_ of his success. His portrait was on every wall, and
exhibited in the windows of print shops. Paganini himself stopped to
look at one representing him in prison; and while scanning it with
some amusement, found he was being surrounded by a crowd who were
scrutinising him with close interest, evidently comparing his features
with those of the lithograph. This was too much, and Paganini sought his
friend Fetis, and confided to him his troubles, seeking his aid for
their amelioration. Fetis requested Paganini to supply him with
particulars, and then indited a long epistle, which, signed by Paganini,
appeared in the _Revue Musicale_. Quotation may be deferred until the
narration of Paganini's public career is completed, and a more detailed
consideration of the character of the man and the artist is entered
upon.
One incident that occurred during Paganini's visit to Paris may be
related. The officers of the different legions of the National Guard
combined to organise a grand ball to be held in the Opera House for the
benefit of the poor. They thought it would add greatly to the
attractions of the function if they could prevail upon Paganini to
attend and play a few pieces. To ask for violin solos in a place
prepared for a ball, and among an assemblage met for dancing, argued a
very curious taste, or want of it. Paganini owed it to his dignity as an
artist to refuse the invitation, which he did. For this he was bitterly
assailed by a section of the press, and was compelled to publish a
letter justifying himself.[19] He explained that he had already given up
the Opera House, which was at his disposal, for the preparations for the
ball, and that involved the loss of receipts for one concert--from
15,000 to 20,000 francs. He added that in Berlin, Vienna, and all the
towns where he had continued any time, he made it a duty to perform for
the benefit of the unfortunate; and he certainly should not leave Paris
without devoting the proceeds of one of his _soirees_ to the relief of
the poor of that capital. He kept his word; gave the promised concert,
and the poor profited by a refusal that was attributed to him as a
crime.
Berlioz, then in Italy--he had just won the Grand Prix de Rome--passing
through a crisis in his life, stayed a few days in Genoa. In his
autobiography he wrote: "All Paris was raving about Paganini, while I,
with my usual luck, was kicking my heels in his native town instead of
listening to him. I tried to gather some information about their
distinguished townsman from the Genoese, but found that, like other
people engaged in commerce, they cared little for the fine arts, and
spoke quite indifferently of the genius whom Germany, France and England
had received with open arms. They could not even show me his father's
house." So quickly and easily can one be forgotten! England had not yet
received Paganini, but it was many years after this time that Berlioz
penned his autobiography.
Liszt, in Paris, his first dream of love cruelly dispelled, shunned the
world and buried himself in seclusion. For the time the artist within
him was dead, and his thoughts turned to the priesthood. The revolution
of 1830 awoke him. The Magyar blood was aroused, and sympathising with
the people's struggles Liszt planned a _Symphonie revolutionnaire_. But
it was Paganini who, the next year, touched Liszt as it were with a
magic wand, and gave the direction to the genius and energy of the young
artist. Of this more in its proper place. Early in May, 1831, Paganini
left Paris for London.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] Where Beethoven gave his concerts in 1814.
[14] The writer's memory played him false. The meeting with Lafont took
place in 1816; or, according to some, in 1812!
[15] This letter was reproduced in the "Harmonicon."
[16] Lady Morgan, in her book, "France in 1829-30," gives an account of
the Giraffe just then arrived in Paris. The animal was added to the
collection in the London Zoological Gardens in 1836.
[17] Litterateur, of Vienna: writer of comedies, etc.
[18] This letter was published in _The Quarterly Musical Magazine and
Review_.
[19] Addressed to _Le Corsaire_, and reproduced (in English) in _The
Globe_.
CHAPTER V.
Fetis stated that Paganini's visit to London excited the most lively
curiosity, but did not awake that intelligent interest which welcomed
him in the Capital of France. This does not sound complimentary to
London, but perhaps Fetis read some of the introductory comments of the
press when Paganini was about to reach our shores. This is a specimen:
"We shall talk of Paganini very much till he comes. When he arrives
nobody will speak or think of anything else for nine, perhaps eighteen,
days: he will be everywhere: all other violinists will be utterly
forgotten: it will be agreed that the instrument was never before heard;
that his predecessors were all tyros; all other fiddles mere kits. There
will be Paganini rondos and waltzes; variations, long, short, hard,
easy, all _a la Paganini_. We shall have Paganini hats, caps, etc., and
the hair of all the beaux patronised by beauty, will be after his
curious pattern. His influence will extend to our tables, and there will
be Paganini puffs served up daily. Then, all at once, his very name will
cease to be pronounced by persons of _ton_; and, as a matter of course,
people not of _ton_--not of the Devonshire circle, not of Almack's--will
imitate those who are: and the Italian player, like the penultimate
fashion, will be utterly forgotten!--_in good society_. I will
even allow him to flourish here two whole months, provided no new
chin-chopper[20] arrive in the interim, no _danseuse_ with a miraculous
toe, to contest the supremacy of his wonderful bow: should any such
rival enter the lists with him, his glory will set in less than a moon,
and never blaze again above our fashionable horizon."[21]
[Illustration: _Plate VI.--See Appendix._--TITLE-PAGE OF COMIC SONG,
1831.]
Here is another from _The Examiner_:--"There cannot be a more
inoffensive creature. His sole propensity is to gain money by his art,
and his passion to lose it at the gambling table. Paganini's bow
(_Scottice_, boo) is almost as wonderful as his bow (_Anglice_,
fiddle-stick)--the craw-fish would attempt something like it were he on
the stage, but not so well."
Well, we've improved in manners somewhat since 1831. No respectable
paper would publish now such notices in advance of any distinguished
artist, however eccentric he might be. Paganini duly arrived in London
in May, 1831. His first concert was announced for the 21st in this
manner:
THE KING'S THEATRE.
SIGNOR PAGANINI respectfully informs the Nobility, Subscribers, and
Frequenters of the Opera, and the public, that he will give a
GRAND MISCELLANEOUS CONCERT of VOCAL and INSTRUMEMTAL MUSIC, at
this theatre, TO-MORROW EVENING.
_Prices of Boxes_:--Pit Tier, 8 Guineas; Grand Tier, 10 Guineas;
One Pair, 9 Guineas; Two Pair, 6 Guineas; Three Pair, 4 Guineas;
Stalls, 2 Guineas; Orchestra, 1-1/2 Guineas; Admission to the Pit,
1 Guinea; Ditto to the Gallery, Half a Guinea.
This announcement produced a storm of indignation. Articles appeared in
_The Times_, _The Courier_, _The Observer_, _The Chronicle_, and
correspondence of a heated character was carried on. The editor of _The
Harmonicon_, calculated that a full house at the prices would realise
more than 3,000 guineas, and M. Laporte, the manager of the King's
Theatre, was virtually accused of conspiring to rob the public. It must
be explained that Laporte "farmed" Paganini; and as the latter
invariably doubled the ordinary prices of admission, his impressario
naturally desired to share in the golden harvest. Laporte wrote to _The
Times_ a hurried note on May 19th, at eleven p.m., stating that at some
future time he would refute the charges brought against him; and the
next day a letter from Paganini to Laporte, and advertised in the
newspaper, gave pause to the wordy warfare. It was as follows:--
Sir, _Friday_, 29th May.
Finding myself too unwell, I request you will respectfully inform
the public that the Concert announced for to-morrow will not take
place.
Your obedient Servant,
To M. Laporte. NICOLO PAGANINI.
Paganini was in a wretched state of health when he reached London, and
his condition was not improved by the turmoil his announcement had
created. The terms of his contract with Laporte were published in _The
Observer_, and it was shown that Paganini had practically surrendered
his freedom of action. This may be illustrated by a story that I have
not met with in any English publication, though it may be true all the
same. It is from the notice of Paganini in Mendel's "Musikalisches
Conversations-Lexikon." His Majesty William IV. sent to enquire what
honorarium Paganini required to play at the Court. Paganini answered:
L100, a mere bagatelle. As the messenger tendered him one half that sum,
Paganini haughtily replied, "His Majesty can hear me at a much cheaper
rate if he will attend my concert. But my terms are not left for me to
settle."
The concert postponed from May 21st was then announced for June 3rd, but
the question of the high prices had yet to be disposed of. Conflicting
statements were made--one to the effect that Paganini expressed his
regret that they had not been fixed still higher! Be that as it may,
that was not the time to trifle with an angry public. There was not a
moment to be lost, and some one must give way. The matter was soon
decided. On June 2nd, appeared in _The Courier_ and _The Globe_ the
translation of a letter from Paganini, which may be reproduced for the
sake of its contents:
"The time appointed for my first Concert at the King's Theatre so
nearly approaches, that I feel it my duty to announce it myself,
and to claim the favour of the English nation, which honours the
arts as much as I respect her. Having been accustomed in all the
towns of the Continent to double the usual prices at the theatres
where I have given my Concerts, and, but little acquainted with the
customs of this Capital, where I present myself for the first time,
I thought I might do the same here. But having been informed by
several papers that the existing prices here are higher than those
on the Continent, and having myself ascertained that the statement
was correct, I willingly second the wish of a public whose esteem
and protection I desire as my greatest recompense.
(Signed) NICOLO PAGANINI.
London, June 1st, 1831."
At last the concert took place in the King's Theatre, June 3rd, 1831.
There was an orchestra erected on the stage. Many musicians have left a
record of the extraordinary impression made by Paganini on that
occasion, and have attempted to describe the man. In the present place
quotation may be limited to the remarks of the editor of _The
Harmonicon_, William Ayrton, a cultivated musician, and a sober-minded
critic. He wrote thus: "The long, laboured, reiterated articles relative
to Paganini, in all the foreign journals for years past, have spoken of
his powers as so astonishing, that we were quite prepared to find them
fall far short of report; but his performances at his first concert, on
the 3rd of last month, convinced us that it is possible to exceed the
most sanguine expectation, and to surpass what the most eulogistic
writers have asserted. We speak, however, let it be understood, in
reference to his powers of execution solely. These are little less
than marvellous, and such as we could only have believed on the evidence
of our own senses; they imply a strong natural propensity to music, with
an industry, a perseverance, a devotedness, and also a skill in
inventing means, without any parallel in the history of his instrument."
[Illustration: _Plate VII.--See Appendix._
SKETCH BY D. MACLISE, R.A.]
So far, the musician. The critics on the press may also have been
musicians, though at that time it was not usual to have a musical
department, if such a term may pass, in the daily or weekly papers. _The
Athenaeum_, in its notice, does not reveal the polished style of a
high-class literary journal. This is how it deals with the concert:--"At
length all differences have been arranged, and the _mighty wonder_ has
come forth--a very Zamiel in appearance, and certainly a very devil in
performance! He is, beyond rivalry, the _bow_ ideal of fiddling faculty!
He possesses a demon-like influence over his instrument, and makes it
utter sounds almost superhuman.... The arrival of this magician is quite
enough to make the greater part of the fiddling tribe commit suicide."
And now let us turn to the concert itself. The fashionable world did not
rush to the theatre, and only two boxes were let. The stalls and
orchestra were full, and also the pit, but not crowded. The audience
consisted in great part of musicians; and even those engaged in the
orchestra were listeners for the first time, as Paganini at rehearsal
only played such passages as served for "cues," and in nowise revealed
his powers.
The object of a great _virtuoso_ would naturally be an exhibition of his
own talent, but Paganini was not prodigal of his playing at the first
concert. He had engaged the orchestra of the Philharmonic Society, then
probably the finest in Europe, and his programme opened with Beethoven's
Symphony, No. 2, in D. It will be shown later that Paganini had a great
veneration for Beethoven. Then Signor Lablache was the solo vocalist, so
Paganini was in the best of company. His first piece was the Concerto in
E flat[22], and his second solo the Military Sonata for the G string,
the theme being Mozart's "Non piu andrai." The receipts were L700.
Paganini had a most flattering reception, and his performances were
greeted with acclamations, and waving of hats and handkerchiefs. The
members of the orchestra were astounded. Mori avowed that if he could
not sell, he would at least burn, his fiddle; Lindley, who stammered
terribly, said that "it was the d-d-devil"; and Dragonetti (whose "he's
were she's") growled out, "She's mighty esprit!" Cramer thanked heaven
that he was not a violinist. A striking feature of Paganini's
performance was his playing from memory. The _Athenaeum_ remarked, "He
plays without a reading desk or book stand; this gives an air of
_improvising_ to his performance, which we hope to see imitated, if any
one be found hardy enough to undertake a violin solo for the next seven
years." No violinist would venture to play a concerto now with the music
before him, but he may not be aware that it was Paganini who set the
fashion of playing without book.
The public now forgot all about the trouble of the high prices, and the
second concert, given in the same place on the 10th, was so well
attended that the receipts were about L1,200. On this occasion Paganini
played his Concerto in B minor, and Lablache struck the little silver
bell in the Rondo. He also gave his variations on "The Carnival of
Venice," and a Sonata on the fourth string, in which the Prayer from
_Mose in Egitto_ was introduced. The third concert took place on the
13th, when Paganini brought out another new Concerto. Something like
L900 was realised. At the fourth concert, on the 16th, Paganini played a
_Cantabile_ on two strings, a _Rondo Scherzoso_, by Rodolphe Kreutzer--a
detail to be noticed,--a _Larghetto gajo_, the Military Sonata, and the
variations on "Non piu mesta," from Rossini's _La Cenerentola_. The
fifth and last Concert was on the 22nd, when the house was crowded to
excess, and the enthusiasm greater than ever.
But Paganini, or his astute manager, began to presume a little too much
on the good nature of the public. Parting was "such sweet sorrow," that,
like another Juliet, Paganini was inclined to prolong that process as
long as possible. Final concerts succeeded each other--much like the
"Farewells" of popular singers--until the audiences began to dwindle. At
one, at the King's Theatre on July 4th, Paganini played a new Concerto
in E major, "all expression and grace," and by far the best proof given
of his talent since his arrival in London. Paganini gave two concerts at
the London Tavern in July. The first was well attended, but at the
second there was no orchestra. The concert was a failure--"and no
wonder, for the Signor tried an experiment on the forbearance of the
citizens, and actually took only a pianist and one or two second-rate
singers with him to make up a half-guinea concert! This was too much
even for John Bull to submit to."[23]
What a curious side-light this shows upon concert matters in the first
half of the nineteenth century! Now-a-days the "experiment" is for the
_virtuoso_ to engage an orchestra.[24]
Paganini played at some of the benefit concerts during the season,
taking one-third of the gross receipts. There was evidently ill-feeling
on this point, for Lablache and Rubini now refused to sing where
Paganini played. It was said, even, that the leader of his orchestra had
to sue Paganini for recovery of his fees, but the artist in question,
Spagnoletti, put the matter right by publicly stating that his action
was against M. Laporte, and that against Signor Paganini he had never
had the slightest cause of complaint. Time was found for a few
provincial visits. In July Paganini gave two concerts at Cheltenham, and
there he got into trouble. It was announced that his engagements would
not permit his remaining beyond the second day. His concerts were well
supported, and one of the Subscription Balls, at the Rotunda, was
relinquished in order that no hindrance should stand in the way of
those desirous of hearing the violinist. But when it was given out that
Paganini would give a third performance, there was a disturbance. Some
leading residents had a handbill printed calling upon the "nobility and
gentry" to support the established amusements of the town, by
patronizing the Ball, if only as an act of justice to the proprietor.
The effect was to secure a thronged attendance at the Rotunda, and so
poor an assemblage at the theatre, that Paganini refused to perform. Of
course the manager had to communicate this unpleasant piece of
information to the audience, at the same time offering to return the
admission money; but the people were in no pacific frame of mind, and
they marched straightway to the hotel where Paganini was staying, and
demanded the fulfilment of his engagement. A mob soon collected, and
their demeanour became so threatening that there was nothing left but
compliance with their demand. Paganini went to the theatre, played two
of his most favourite pieces with great success, and at midnight posted
off for London. It appeared that he had agreed to perform for two-thirds
of the receipts, but finding the house not half full, demanded two
hundred guineas in advance. This the local manager refused, and informed
the audience of the fact; and the outbreak was the natural result. The
local paper remarked: "We believe this is the only instance as yet upon
record of Paganini's playing to empty benches, and himself unpaid."
Paganini addressed a letter to the _Times_, giving another version of
the incident, but he did not appear to have come out of the affair very
well. His manager's share in the business may be left to conjecture.
One other little circumstance seems to have caused a certain amount of
irritation. Paganini was engaged for the Lord Mayor's banquet at the
Mansion House on July 9th. When the Lord Mayor proposed the toast of the
Lord Chancellor, before Lord Brougham's rising to return thanks,
Paganini played a solo. He evidently displaced the usual glee party, but
in any case it was not the most artistic function to assist at, and
money must have been the chief consideration.
Paganini carried his London concerts into August, and visited Norwich,
where again a third performance took place when only two were announced.
The local manager was a heavy loser, as Paganini (or his agent) had
arranged for a specific sum, and there was very little in excess for the
payment of vocalists, and general expenses. There was also a clashing
with an important fixture at the theatre, and feeling ran high, though
there was no violent demonstration as at Cheltenham. Towards the end of
August, Paganini set out for Dublin, being engaged for the first Musical
Festival held in that city.
[Illustration: _Plate VIII.--See Appendix._
THE CELEBRATED STATUETTE (CARICATURE), BY DAINTON.]
FOOTNOTES:
[20] An allusion to Michael Boai, whose performances in London, in 1830,
were of a curious description,--producing tones by merely striking his
chin!
[21] The Dilettante, in _The Harmonicon_, VIII, 479.
[22] Now played in D.
[23] Harmonicon, IX. p. 190.
[24] At that time concert givers always engaged an orchestra, but the
gigantic combinations of the present day were, of course, unknown, and
unnecessary.
CHAPTER VI.
Dublin held her first Musical Festival from August 30th to September
3rd, 1831, and in connection with this event, it is interesting to note,
Henry Fothergill Chorley contributed his first musical criticism to the
_Athenaeum_.[25] There was very little about Paganini, but much about the
oratorio, "The Triumph of Faith," of Ferdinand Ries. It may be observed,
in passing, that in the first half of the nineteenth century musical
festivals were more numerous than they are now--there were five in 1831.
With the exception of those given in York Minster (1823-1835), they were
not on the large scale of the principal present day celebrations; but
they were relatively of more importance, inasmuch as there were then
fewer musical centres beyond the metropolis, and small towns would have
had little music but for those periodic gatherings.
Dublin's scheme was ambitious; for Paganini's fees for the three evening
concerts was 500 guineas. Braham and Henry Phillips were among the
vocalists engaged, and the latter, in his "Musical Recollections," gives
a very interesting and amusing account of Paganini at the festival. No
one seemed to know how Paganini arrived in Dublin, which gave rise to a
vague idea that he was wafted across by the _Flying Dutchman_. Where he
lodged was equally a mystery. He arrived at the stage door of the
Theatre Royal on the evening of the first concert, and immediately
ordered an apartment to be got ready, and the room to be perfectly
darkened. There he paced up and down, playing snatches of his music
until the time for his _debut_ before a Dublin audience.
The Theatre was crammed to suffocation. The Lord Lieutenant and his
Suite attended in State, and all the _elite_ of Dublin were in the dress
tier. When the Conductor, Sir George Smart, led Paganini to the centre
of the stage there was a terrific outburst of applause, followed by
breathless silence, as the great artist went through his deliberate
process of adjusting his violin, raising his bow, and letting it rest
upon the strings before commencing. This was too trying to the mercurial
temperament of the occupants of the gallery, and before many seconds
there was a stentorian shout, "Well! we're all ready!" The house was
convulsed with laughter, peal after peal rang through the theatre.
Paganini, stamping with rage, turned to Sir George Smart, and cried,
"_Qu'est ce que c'est?_" The explanation seemed to make matters worse,
and Paganini left the orchestra. Some time elapsed before he could be
induced to return; but when he did so, and began to play, he created the
same effect as elsewhere. The next day everybody was exclaiming: "Ah!
sure, have you heard the Paganini; och murther! and his fiddle?" Such
is the account Henry Phillips gives, but it is not easy to attach
credence to all he has put in his book.
At one of the concerts Paganini played the concerto in B minor, with the
Rondo _a la clochette_, when an excited Hibernian shouted above the
storm of applause, "Arrah now, Signor Paganini, have a drop of whiskey,
darling, and ring the bell again!" Paganini's departure from Dublin was
as mysterious as his arrival. On his return to London he failed to
attract much attention, and seems to have been mostly on tour in the
provinces and in Scotland. One incident in London was so singular that
it deserves mention. Carlyle was supposed to have taken a walk with
Paganini. Fancy "the Sage of Chelsea" in company with "the magician of
the bow"! Thomas Carlyle was in London in 1831 vainly negotiating for
the publication of "Sartor Resartus." One day his friend, Edward Irving,
took him to Belgrave Square to dine with Henry Drummond. They walked
along Piccadilly, thronged with fashionable promenaders; and as both men
were of pecular personal appearance, they doubtless attracted some
attention. This is what Carlyle subsequently wrote:--"Irving, I heard
afterward, was judged, from the broad hat, brown skin, and flowing black
hair, to be in all probability the one-string fiddler, Paganini--a tall,
lean, taciturn abstruse-looking figure--who was then, after his sort,
astonishing the idle of mankind."[26] Carlyle has said many true, and
many beautiful things about music, but one may search his writings in
vain for a good word about musicians!
In December of this year (1831) Paganini was announced to play in
Bristol. The following "squib" or lampoon was issued:--
PAGANINI.
TO THE CITIZENS OF BRISTOL.
FELLOW CITIZENS,--It is with feelings of unqualified disgust that I
witness the announcement of SIGNOR PAGANINI'S Performance to take
place in this City: Why at this period of Distress? With the
recollection of so many scenes of misery still fresh in our minds,
and whilst SUBSCRIPTIONS are required to the extent of our means in
order to FEED and CLOTHE the POOR: why is this FOREIGN FIDDLER now
to appear? for the purpose of draining those resources which would
be infinitely better applied in the exercise of the best feeling of
man--CHARITY. Do not suffer yourselves to be imposed upon by the
Payment of Charges which are well worthy the name of extortion;
rather suffer under the imputation of a want of TASTE than support
any of the tribe of Foreign MUSIC-MONSTERS, who collect the Cash of
this Country and waft it to their own shores, laughing at the
infatuation of John Bull.
_December 10th, 1831._ PHILADELPHUS.
A. SAINT. TYP. CASTLE PRINTING OFFICE, 54, Castle Street, Bristol.
Paganini's concerts at Leeds, early in 1832, were so well managed that,
out of the profits, a liberal donation was presented to the fund for the
relief of the poor. At Birmingham, in February of that year, his visit
caused such an influx of strangers to the town, that neither lodgings
nor stabling could meet the demand made upon them. A popular song was
written for the occasion, and the streets rang with it long after the
violinist had left the place. Two lines ran thus:--
"It's well worth a guinea to see Paganini,
To see how he curls his hair."
At Brighton some time earlier, the high prices were nearly causing a
riot, through the issue of an inflammatory placard against them. Mr.
William Gutteridge, a well-known musician of that place, who had
arranged for the concerts, had to ask the protection of the magistrates,
but fortunately no outbreak occurred. The squabbles about prices, the
charges of avarice brought against Paganini, and the acrimonious tone of
part of the press, afford melancholy reading. His gains were said to
reach L20,000. In March, 1832, he left London for Paris. There, he gave
a concert for the poor on March 18th. He did not stay very long in
France, and on his way again to this country, occurred the incident
referred to as one of the indignities to which he was subjected. This is
the story.
Paganini having to pass through Boulogne on his way to England, decided
to give a concert in that town, which boasted of a Philharmonic Society.
Paganini deputed a friend to arrange for that Society to assist at the
concert.
All seemed going well until Paganini arrived on the scene, when the
amateurs stipulated for a certain number of free admissions for their
friends and families, as a recognition for their assistance. Paganini
represented to them that in a small concert room so many free admissions
would leave little room for the paying public, and he could not accede
to their demand. However, they would not give way, so Paganini declared
his intention to engage a professional band. This did not suit the views
of the amateurs, and they threatened the professional players with the
loss of patronage and pupils if they dared assist Paganini; and the
unfortunate artists, dependent as they were upon that support, had to
refuse the offer made them. But Paganini was not to be baffled; he
determined to give the concert, and to perform without any accompaniment
at all. This he did; and now came the ludicrous sequel. A number of
those amateurs actually paid for admission to the concert, on purpose to
hiss the independent artist. This they did as soon as he entered the
concert-room. Despising such petty spite, Paganini entrusted his revenge
to his art, and the rapturous plaudits of the audience proper soon
reduced to a pitiable silence those who had offered so gross an insult.
As a writer said at the time: "The amateurs of Boulogne have earned for
themselves a niche in the history of the art--they have _hissed_
Paganini."
To digress, for a moment. Paganini's performance, solus, was a recital
pure and simple; perhaps the first ever given in a concert room. In
Grove's "Dictionary of Music and Musicians" there is this definition:
"Recital, a term which has come into use in England to signify a
performance of solo music by one instrument and one performer." It was
probably first used by Liszt, in 1840, when he advertised his
performances as "Recitals." The first was given at the Hanover
Square Rooms, on June 9th, and was called by the _Musical World_ a
curious exhibition. The "one man show," as the recital has been
irreverently termed, may not conduce to the highest interest of art,
but Paganini--not Liszt--was its inventor.
[Illustration: PLATE 9. (_See Appendix._)]
Paganini made his _rentree_ at Covent Garden Theatre on July 6th, but he
did not appear to have played anything new. Neither did he attract much
attention, and little need be said respecting his visit. He was back
again in London in 1833, but was out of favour, and was advised to
postpone his concerts until the public anger, caused by his refusal to
play for the distressed English actors in Paris, had subsided. His first
concert was given in the King's Theatre, on June 21st, when apparently
he played nothing new, and had but a small audience. The press in
general appeared to be hostile--the _Athenaeum_ did not notice him at
all--and it is probable that his stay was not prolonged. He was in Paris
later in the year, and was present at the concert given by Berlioz on
the 22nd of December, when he heard the _Symphonie Fantastique_, and was
so impressed that he wished Berlioz to write a solo for the wonderful
Stradivari viola he possessed.[27]
Between Paganini and Berlioz there was a mutual attraction. Both had
something of the volcanic in their nature; both did much battling
with the hostile outer world. But more of their friendship later.
Paganini was in London once more in 1834, and gave a concert at the
Adelphi Theatre on April 7th. Again nothing new, according to report.
The next morning he gave a second concert at the Hanover Square Rooms,
at which it was said not more than one hundred persons were present, and
half of those went in with free tickets. The erstwhile popular idol was
now dethroned. Paganini fell ill after this, and postponed his third
concert.
The _Athenaeum_ referred to Paganini's playing to crowded houses at the
Adelphi, and empty benches at the Hanover Square Rooms, and then went on
to say: "His performance on the _Viol di Gamba_,[28] or some such
instrument, is yet to come as is also a duet with Dragonetti, which, we
are told, is to be the _ne plus ultra_ of what is beautiful and amazing.
He has, hitherto, only repeated his best compositions, and, as before,
left every other violinist, ancient and modern, at an inconceivable
distance behind him." This concert was to be the last, which induced the
writer of the _Athenaeum_ notice to attend it. He found the "new
instrument" nothing but a full-sized viola, tuned in the ordinary way.
"Considering the difference of stop between this and the violin, his
precision and brilliancy upon the former, as displayed in double stop
passages, harmonics, and _arpeggi_, of extraordinary difficulty, were
most amazing.... In his grand concerto in E flat, his cadenza was one of
the most wonderful combinations of novel harmony, and passages of
execution, we ever heard." Apparently the duet with Dragonetti was not
played, as nothing was said of it.
The directors of the music at the Oxford Commemoration week, May, 1834,
were anxious to add Paganini's name to the attractions offered. He was
approached, accordingly, and, through his manager, announced his
terms--one thousand pounds. Astounded by the answer, the Oxford Delegate
desired that it might be committed to writing. This was done, but when
shown to Paganini, he directed that guineas should be substituted for
pounds. He knew that art was not commerce! There is no record of his
playing at Oxford.
This last visit of Paganini to England had a romantic termination. He
had separated from Signora Bianca on account of her jealous temper, and
had fallen in love with a young English girl--that is if current report
may be trusted. He proposed, for the purpose of securing her a proper
legal settlement, that the marriage should take place in Paris, and he
left London on June 26th, arranging for her to follow him to Boulogne.
The young lady secretly left her home, but her father had his
suspicions, and apparently arrived at Boulogne first, for the daughter,
instead of meeting Paganini, was confronted, on landing, by her father,
with whom she returned home. There is no doubt as to the occurrence, for
it was "in the papers," and names were given. Schilling, whose
_Encyclopaedia_ was published in 1837, gives a long account of the
affair, which he would not have done had there been no truth in it, even
though the law of libel was not then very stringent. Here it will
suffice to say that the young lady was the daughter of a man with whom
Paganini lodged, and who was associated with the concert work of the
artist. Moreover, the girl herself had, it would seem, sung at some of
the concerts, and had become fascinated with the great violinist.
The incident might be passed over, only for the fact that to it was
owing the impression that Paganini visited America before returning to
Italy. Dubourg, in the later editions of his work "The Violin," states
that Paganini spent part of his time in America, previous to his return
to Italy in 1834. Now George Dubourg was a contemporary of Paganini, and
his statement is not to be dismissed lightly, though he offers no
evidence in support of it. At the present time it is difficult to find
proof, one way or the other. The American papers in 1835 were
speculating as to the birthplace of Paganini, and some of the
explanations were meant to be funny, but are too vapid for repetition
now. The _Musical World_ for August 4th, 1837, in quoting an anecdote
concerning Paganini's kindness to a poor musician, ends by saying
Paganini took the poor man with him to America. The question was raised
in the _Musical World_ for January the 9th, 1886, and decided in the
negative. The legend had this slender foundation. In the early part of
1835, the young lady whom Paganini wished to marry, went to the United
States--she was an actress and vocalist of moderate ability--but her
stay was brief. Still, everybody wished to see her, for wherever she
went she was looked upon as the heroine of a romantic episode, and her
name was always coupled with Paganini's. The story of the elopement had
been carried across the Atlantic by scandal's winged feet; and it was
said that Paganini sent a special messenger to America to reopen
negotiations on the delicate subject--arrangements that came to
nothing. The agent might have been taken, by Dubourg, for the
principal--hence the mistake. Paganini never went to America, neither
did he again return to the shores of Albion.
FOOTNOTES:
[25] Chorley, then living in Liverpool, had previously sent some short
pieces in verse to that paper, but did not become a member of its staff
until 1833.
[26] "Reminiscences," by Thomas Carlyle, I., 311.
[27] Which resulted in the Symphony, "Harold in Italy," with a solo part
for the viola.
[28] The spelling betrays an ignorance of the instrument, though the
writer must have been Chorley himself. Interest in those antique
instruments had not then been revived, nor were there artists to play
upon them.
CHAPTER VII.
In the summer of 1834, Paganini, after an absence of six years, returned
to his native land. He was now a rich man, and he invested part of his
fortune in landed property, purchasing, among others, the Villa Gajona,
near Parma, which he made his home--the first he could really call his
own, and he was in his fifty-second year! His health was irretrievably
broken down; he suffered from consumption of the larynx, and was losing
the power of speech. He now sought peace and quiet, and thought of
preparing for publication a complete edition of his compositions, which,
if he had accomplished it, might have led to the explanation of his
alleged secret. In November, or December, Paganini gave a concert at
Piacenza--on the very same boards where he almost began his brilliant
career--for the benefit of the poor; this was the first time he had been
heard in Italy since 1828. The year 1835, Paganini passed alternately at
Genoa, Milan, and his villa near Parma. The cholera then raging at Genoa
was the cause of the rumour of Paganini's death. The dread scourge had
claimed him for a victim, it was said, and the Continental journals
devoted columns to him in the form of obituary notices.
The only English contribution to the necrology of Paganini known to me
was written by Chorley in the _Athenaeum_. It is both interesting and
curious: for Chorley manages to squeeze in his account of Paganini at
the Dublin festival, which the editor evidently cut out in 1831. That
scarcely concerns us now, though it relates that the _furore_ caused by
Paganini's performance could not be appeased until he had mounted the
grand pianoforte, in order that the audience might obtain a better view
of his lank proportions! An extract from his notice must be given. It
begins thus:--"_E Morto!_--the words which the silent and absorbed man
murmured to himself, in a tone of deep feeling, after listening to one
of Beethoven's magnificent symphonies, are now--alas!--to be uttered
sadly for their speaker--Paganini is dead!
"We would fain believe that the newspaper reports are in error....
Let us hope that the intelligence from Genoa, received this week
[September], that the artist had been carried off by the sudden and
fearful death of cholera, may, by some happy chance, prove one of those
'mistakes which it gives them pleasure to contradict.' But, should it
not then, indeed, may Music put on sackcloth and sit in ashes for her
High Priest!" Then follows an "appreciation," to use a modern
expression, to which reference may be made later.
Chorley was an impressionable young man, in his twenty-third year, when
he attended the Dublin festival, and so excited did he become over
Paganini's performances, that he gave vent to his feelings in verse.
That poem he now inserted in the _Athenaeum_, "as a farewell to one
whose like we shall never hear again!" There are really fine thoughts in
the poem, and, though too long to quote in its entirety, a few stanzas
may well be rescued from the periodical in which they are buried.
O Paganini!--most undoubted king
Of St. Cecilia's flock, alive or dead,
Whether their pasture be of pipe, or string,
Or mighty organ, which doth overspread
Ancient Cathedral aisles with flood of sound,--
In all the wizard craft, matured by labour,
That doth the spirit move, delight, astound,
Thou hast no peer--thou hast not even a neighbour,
In the long lapse of years from Tubal Cain to Weber.
Sages have said, who read the book of night,
That once each hundred years some meteor flares
Across the startled heavens with brilliant flight,
Making strange tumults in the land of stars;
And, 'mid the realm of constellations vast,
In steady splendour ever rolling on,
Sweeps far and wide with fierce and furious haste,
Rushing from pole to distant pole anon;
And, like the monarch's ghost--"'Tis here--'tis there--'tis gone!"
Thou dost to these, the meteor-born, belong,
O mighty monarch of the strings and bow!
And though it were to do sweet Cupid wrong
To call thee else like him--yet on thy brow,
And in thy curved lips and flashing eyes,
His clearest seal hath god-like Genius set,
Who bade thee from the common herd arise
And win thyself a crown--nor ever yet
Hath Art her votary graced with brighter coronet.
O that a stately temple might be reared
On some wide plain--and open to the sky--
Where all the great, the gifted, the revered
Side close to side, ensepulchred might lie!
And there, where many a breeze at evening's close
In solemn dirge around their tomb should sweep,
Should all the sons of melody repose,
That pilgrims from afar might come and weep,
And by their sainted dust a silent vigil keep!
And there together in renown should rest,
The Italian minstrel of the broken heart![29]
And he whose Requiem for a spirit blest
Was his own dirge--too early lost Mozart!
And he of the Messiah--and the flight
Of Israel's children from their bonds abhorred,
When God was cloud by day, and fire by night!
And he, who sung of darkness, at one word
Bursting to light--and Earth created by its Lord!
And many more--with whom ungentle Time
Forbids my weak and wandering verse to say;
Save one great master-spirit, whom my rhyme
_Must_ pause to honour--for the meteor ray
Burnt with intensest radiance o'er his head;
Albeit too soon within his eager ear
The realm of sound deep silence overspread,
Whom yet the world is learning to revere--
Beethoven! he should sleep with thee--the Wizard--near!
There's left a space, beside his hallowed dust,
For thee with whom began my feeble song;
But be it long before the encroaching rust
Of Time wear out thy energies--and long
Ere the grim Tyrant with resistless call
Beckon thee hence--before thy bow be hung
In some gray chapel--and thy brethren all
Strive for thy magic instruments unstrung;
If Heaven were kind to man, thou shouldst be ever young!
A fortnight later, Chorley was able to reassure his readers by
contradicting the report. It seems that the rumour was started through
the death of Dr. Paganini (referred to at the beginning of this essay),
and there seems little doubt but that he was the brother of the
violinist.
[Illustration: _Plate X.--See Appendix._
COPY OF OIL PAINTING OF PAGANINI IN THE MUNICIPAL MUSEUM AT GENOA.]
In 1836, some speculators applied to Paganini to give the support of his
name and his talent to the founding of a Casino in Paris, of which the
ostensible object was music, the real end, gambling. It has been
suggested that the project appealed to Paganini's avarice, which caused
him to lend himself to the accomplishment of the undertaking. On the
other hand, it is fair to assume that the artist was in ignorance of the
true motive of the promoters of the scheme; and the fact that certain
instructions to the trustees of the fortune settled on his son had been
made public some four years earlier lends countenance to the impression
that he was disgusted with gambling, and had long ceased to indulge in
the vicious pastime.
In the early summer of 1837, Paganini's health having improved, he gave
several concerts in Turin, both for the benefit of the poor, and on his
own behalf. Later in the year, however, he was in Paris, living in the
greatest seclusion. The CASINO PAGANINI was opened, apparently in
October, 1837. The building was situated in the Rue Mont Blanc, and was
supposed to be a kind of Club of Art and Literature. An orchestra of
some fifty performers was engaged for concerts, which were open to
subscribers only. In the grounds a brass band played to those
assembled, and admission there apparently was free to the public. The
object of the undertaking was not made known. A French paper stated by
way of a joke that Paganini's part in the proceedings was to walk round
the garden when the weather was fine. The Government refused to license
the place as a gambling-house, and the management had to rely upon the
concerts alone. It would appear that Paganini had signed a contract to
play at the concerts, but the wretched state of his health was the
excuse for his not doing so. He had been in Paris off and on from 1837
to some time in 1839. In 1838, certainly before April, he was there, and
went to hear a newly invented instrument termed the Harmoniphone. This
was the work of an ingenious musician, Jacques Reine Paris. It was a
small key-board instrument designed to imitate the oboe, and intended as
a substitute for it, in places where oboe players were not available. A
distinguished company was invited to meet Paganini, who was greatly
interested and pleased with the invention. Then, in December, Paganini
witnessed what Berlioz described as the massacre of his "Benvenuto
Cellini" at the opera. In the same month was inaugurated a society for
the production of classical compositions, and for the encouragement of
musical artists, and at this brilliant function, held in the Salle
Erard, Paganini was present, with Meyerbeer, Auber, De Beriot,
Donizetti, and a host of other celebrities. On the 16th of the month
Paganini attended the concert given by Berlioz at the Conservatoire,
when the symphony, "Harold," was performed. Paganini heard it for the
first time, and at the close of the concert occurred the affecting
incident of Paganini kneeling on the stage and kissing the hand of
Berlioz, the demonstration being followed by a magnificent donation of
20,000 francs. Paganini seems to have had a transient recovery, for the
papers spoke of his becoming corpulent.
Still, he did not play at the Casino Concerts, and a crisis soon arose.
Early in 1839, the directors of the Casino brought an action against
Paganini for breach of contract, and he was decreed to pay damages to
the amount of 20,000 francs. This decision so much displeased both
plaintiffs and defendant that they appealed against it. The case did not
come on again for some time, and Paganini sought rest and change in the
south of France. He stayed for some time at Marseilles, where, at the
house of a friend, he once more abandoned himself to his art, devoting
his time alternately to his violin and his guitar. Fetis states that
notwithstanding his feeble health, Paganini attended a performance of
Cherubini's _Requiem_ for men's voices; and on June 21st went to one of
the churches to take part in the performance of Beethoven's Mass in C.
But his malady could only be alleviated by frequent change of clime.
Accordingly, in October we find him at Genoa, in the vain hope that his
native air would prove beneficial; but he was prostrated by a violent
nervous attack almost immediately following his arrival. He must, soon
after, have left for Nice, which he never quitted alive. Nice, though a
pleasant place, was not regarded as at all a favourable retreat for
persons suffering from pulmonary or bronchial affections, and it proved
fatal to the great artist. But we must, for the moment, return to Paris.
The rehearing of the Casino case came before the _Cour Royale_, Paris,
on January 3rd, 1840. Paganini could not, of course, attend in person,
but he was represented by Counsel, and it may be of interest to name the
man who was entrusted with his defence. It was a certain Mons.
Chaix-d'Est-Ange. From accounts of the proceedings, this legal luminary
addressed the Court at great length. He described the prayers and
entreaties of the proprietors of what he termed "this catchpenny
establishment" to induce the grand _Maestro_ to lend his mighty arm and
name to their speculation. He had promised, in writing, to play nowhere
but at their concerts; but as he had played nowhere else, the
proprietors could have no legal right to such excessive damages. The
counsel for the plaintiff, Mons. Barillon, declared that as Paganini's
defection had ruined the speculation, the damages ought to be
proportionate to his transcendent talent. Going into details, he stated
that Paganini was installed in a splendid suite of apartments at the
Casino, one boudoir being lined with flannel expressly for him; and that
when he was complaining of his wretched health, he accepted a dinner
offered him by the musicians of the orchestra, and gave toasts in both
French and Italian. After that, he allowed bills to be printed,
announcing that he would play at the Casino concert. Hundreds of tickets
were eagerly bought at twenty francs each, when suddenly Paganini
refused to play. Entreaties were in vain; Paganini, in his own room,
with closed doors, would practise, but would not play at the concert.
Recourse was had to the musicians of the Grand Opera, so as not to
disappoint the audience, but the prefect of police would not allow the
_employes_ of the opera to be taken from their theatre, and ordered the
Casino to be closed. Ruin stared the proprietors in the face, and 20,000
francs was no adequate compensation. The former decision was reversed,
and Paganini was condemned by the Court in 50,000 francs[30] damages,
and ten years imprisonment in default of payment.
[Illustration: _Plate XI.--See Appendix._
THE HOUSE IN WHICH PAGANINI DIED.]
Whether the fine was actually paid, I have found no evidence to prove,
but the imprisonment was certainly not enforced. In a few months' time,
the gaoler whom none can deny, touched Paganini with his icy hand, and
the troubled spirit left its frail earthly tenement on May 27th, 1840.
[Illustration: _Plate XII.--See Appendix._ TABLET ON HOUSE IN WHICH
PAGANINI DIED.]
But not to rest were the mortal remains consigned. No peaceful grave for
the wandering, restless being whose fitful fever of life was over at
last. Paganini died without receiving the last Sacrament of the Church.
He had indeed been visited by a priest, sent by the Bishop of Nice; but
not deeming his end so near, made no confession, nor prepared himself
for death according to the rite of the Church of Rome. The doubt as to
his faith caused the Bishop of Nice to refuse burial in consecrated
ground. The son, the friends of Paganini, and the principal artists of
the place solicited the authorisation of a solemn service for his
eternal repose, but in vain; all that was conceded was the offer of an
authentic record of death, with leave to transport the corpse whither
they might wish. This compromise was not accepted, and the matter came
before the Court of Justice, when the decision was in favour of the
Bishop. There was no alternative but to appeal to Rome, when the
Bishop's decree was annulled, and the Archbishop of Turin was charged,
conjointly with the Canons of the Cathedral of Genoa, to institute an
inquiry into the Catholicism of Paganini. Meanwhile the remains--stated
by the _Athenaeum_ to have been embalmed for interment at Genoa--were
subjected to shocking indignities. The landlord wanted to let the house
where the artist had died, and the corpse was laid in the cellar until a
more fitting resting-place was found. Then it is said to have been moved
to the hospital of Nice, thence by sea to the _Lazzaretto_ of Villa
Franca, and finally to a country house Polcevera, near Genoa, part of
the property of the heir of the illustrious artist. There the body
remained four years. Rumours spread abroad of piteous moans and other
lamentable noises being heard at night. To put a stop to these
unpleasant reports, the young Baron Achille made an application for
permission for a solemn service to be celebrated at Parma, in virtue of
Paganini having been a knight of St. George. This was not fruitless. The
service was celebrated in the church of _La Steccata_, appropriated to
that order of chivalry. After the solemnity the friends of the deceased
obtained the permission of the Bishop of Parma to bring the body within
the boundary of the Duchy, when it was transferred to the _Villa
Gajona_, for interment in the Communal cemetery. So, at last, in May,
1845, the mortal remains of the illustrious violinist were laid in the
grave; by order of the government, there was no display of any kind, no
outward symbol of homage. The mourners might, however, hope at least for
the repose of the casket that once enclosed the fiery, turbulent,
soaring spirit of one who knew no rest in life. But, alas! even that was
not the end. In the letter addressed by Paganini to the Editor of the
Paris _Revue Musicale_, the closing sentence breathed a prayer that,
however calumniated he might be in life, the world would at least allow
his ashes to repose in peace. That appeal was not granted. It has been
shown that five years elapsed between his death and his burial; fifty
years more, and the repose of the grave was broken. The _Athenaeum_ of
September 7th, 1895, contained this paragraph:--
"In the Communal Cemetery of Parma the mortal remains of the great
violin player, Paganini, have just been exhumed. The violinist was
buried there fifty-five years ago, nevertheless his face has been
found to be well preserved and easily recognizable. It is proposed
to show the body to the public before it is re-interred."
Horrible! But first note the mistake. The body was buried fifty, not
fifty-five, years before. Those terrible five years seem to have been
unnoticed in this country, and I have been unable to find any reference
to the mournful function of May, 1845.[31]
Now, what was the reason for exhuming the remains? For the purpose of
removal to a more prominent site! Thus is homage paid to genius! Such,
too, was the fate of Beethoven. His remains were removed in 1888 to the
Central Cemetery at Vienna, and lamentable incidents attended the
exhumation. Schubert, who, by his own desire, was buried by the side of
the great master, did not escape the doom; but Mozart was mercifully
spared; he was buried in a pauper's grave, and his body has remained
undiscovered. The story of the preservation of his skull may be
dismissed as apocryphal. But what are gorgeous monuments? Does the true
artist value the case more than the instrument? Why seek ye the living
among the dead? The artist does not die--he puts off the "muddy vesture
of decay"; he lives in his art-work.
[Illustration: _Plate XIII.--See Appendix._
THE TOMB OF PAGANINI AT PARMA.]
FOOTNOTES:
[29] Pergolesi.
[30] The _Athenaeum_ puts the amount at 52,000 francs.
[31] In the _Musical World_ of February 16th, 1843, there is a paragraph
stating that Paganini's remains were still unsepulchred, the corpse
lying in an uninhabited house.
CHAPTER VIII.
Having traced the career of Paganini "from the cradle to the grave," let
us now look a little more closely at the man, the artist. Glimpses of
his character have already been revealed, but so curiously interesting a
personality will repay further study. Totally uneducated, he yet made
himself so much a man of the world, as to enjoy the personal friendship
of such notabilities as Lord Byron, Sir Thomas Clifford Constable, Lord
Holland, Prince Metternich and others. In his official positions at
Court he comported himself with dignity. He had the pride of the artist,
and would not play if the conditions were not suitable. One instance has
already been given. Here is another, which also occurred in Paris.
Paganini was asked to play at a Court concert at the Tuilleries. He went
the day before to inspect the _salon_ where the function was to take
place, and found the heavy draperies so numerous that the tones of his
violin would be deadened, and the effect of his playing would be lost
unless the curtains were removed or rearranged; he acquainted an
official with his wish to alter them. To that august personage a
"fiddler" was a mere nobody, and Paganini was given to understand his
proper place. Highly offended with the manner of the official, Paganini
resolved not to play. The Court was assembled for the concert, but the
great violinist was absent. A messenger was sent to his hotel, and was
informed that the Signor had retired to rest very early.
Mobbed by ill-mannered crowds whenever he appeared in the streets, (and
this especially in London, when strangers not only spoke to him, but
even felt him, to ascertain if he was really flesh and blood), Paganini,
with his sensitive nature, shrank more and more from contact with the
outer world. He was not a Milton, "whose soul was like a star, and dwelt
apart," but he was essentially a solitary, a recluse. His character was
the result of his environment. Accustomed to brutal treatment in his
childhood, he became hardened; set free from restraint, he tasted the
wild joys of youth, only to find them turn to Dead Sea apples. Schumann,
in his "Advice to young musicians," wrote: "The laws of morality are
also the laws of art." But Paganini had no mentor, and learnt by bitter
experience the lesson of life. He was accused of avarice, and many
ridiculous stories were told of him. When at Prague, it is said that
even the members of the theatre were struck off the free list, and he
was annoyed that the police who watched the upper galleries could not be
made to pay for their places! He beat down a London laundress a
halfpenny in her charge for washing his shirts, and Moscheles gives
currency to the story, though he cannot vouch for its truth, that
Paganini gave his servant a gallery ticket for one of his concerts on
condition that the man served him gratuitously for one day! All these
wretched things may have been true, more's the pity. But there is one
little story that appears to have been overlooked. The father of Nicolo
Paganini was avaricious, and compelled his son to minister to his
avarice, even robbing him of the first-fruits of his own earnings;
Nicolo in turn became avaricious, but it was for the sake of his little
son, whose life he desired might be better than his own. "He saves for
his yet uneducated child," wrote Guhr, in 1829. Yes, this man, proud,
scornful, despising the crowds whose money made him rich, in the
recesses of his heart nourished a love, pure and unselfish. That was the
fine gold; his wealth was dross. His affection for the child was
boundless, and he allowed the little fellow to tyrannise over him
completely. There are pretty stories of his playing with the boy, but
there is nothing about teaching the boy to play--the violin. The memory
of his own childhood was quite sufficient to deter him from any attempt
to force instruction on his boy, and cloud the sunshine of his young
life.
The world gave Paganini its plaudits and its money; but there never
seemed to be any bond of sympathy between the artist and the public. Yet
Paganini could appreciate kindness. Moscheles relates that the father of
his wife rendered Paganini some important service before the visit to
England. When Paganini first called upon Moscheles he was profuse in
expressions of gratitude, and taking down a miniature portrait of his
benefactor he covered it with kisses. "Meantime," Moscheles writes, "we
had leisure to study those olive-tinted, sharply defined features, the
glowing eyes, the scanty, but long black hair, and the thin, gaunt
figure, upon which the clothes hung loosely, the deep sunken cheeks, and
those long, bony fingers." Moscheles was of service to Paganini during
his first days in London, and, to use his own words, he was paid with
quite as many honied epithets as his father-in-law received. But he
suspected the Italian to be rather too sweet to be genuine. Indeed, the
friendship was too fervent to last long, and money was the cause of the
rupture. Mori commissioned Moscheles to write a piece "Gems a la
Paganini," taking the precaution of obtaining the violinist's consent.
His style is imitated, and he expresses his admiration of the piece. A
second and third book of "Gems" are published, and down comes Paganini
with the charge of musical piracy. His permission extended only to the
first book. A lawsuit was commenced, but Paganini effected a compromise
with Moscheles, conceding the free sale of the three books of "Gems" in
return for pianoforte accompaniments to twelve small violin pieces.
Moscheles reluctantly consented to write the accompaniments, but refused
to allow his name (which Paganini wanted) to appear on the title-page.
Mori had to pay something by way of damages, and Moscheles at last
rejoiced at being quit of an episode so little worthy of an artist, and
at having done with those dreadful lawyers.[32]
But quite enough has been said in reference to Paganini's avarice: it
has been shown that he had a motive for saving money. Is it as easy to
account for other traits of his character? That aloofness, that scorn
of the world, that hard bargaining: "Take me or leave me," revealing
callous indifference, was there no cause for all that? There is a very
graphic, and at the same time, appalling, account of the impression
produced by Paganini among the Parisians, which is translated at length
in Dubourg's "The Violin." Berlioz wrote of the weird genius making his
appearance in France during the uproar of the collapse of a dynasty, and
arriving in Paris--with the cholera. The terrors of the scourge were
powerless to check the tide of curiosity: the people were mad for the
time being. This is the conclusion of the notice just mentioned: "Of
such a public, and such an artist, how saddening is the sight!... The
public, made up of idlers--of beings isolated, cold, corrupt--must be
_amused_, forsooth! and the artist exhausts his taste and his sentiment,
and well nigh perspires blood and water, to comply with their
exactions--to _amuse_ them! and if he attain this end, the public clap
their hands, the manager of the theatre counts out to him a heap of
gold, and he goes away, with his ears deafened at the noise which has
surrounded him, and which, for a moment, it may be, has made his heart
beat high;--he goes away, with a loving grasp tightened over the coin he
has so hardly won; and now inwardly exclaims, with a smile of pity, 'The
blockheads--the barbarians! who is there among them that can comprehend
me--that can _feel_ my intentions!' and then the home-returning public,
selfish to the very soul, indemnify themselves for their finger's-end
applause by sottish contempt, by remarks that are empty, or worse--that
are scornful, bitter, shocking, disgusting even--such as those which may
have been buzzed into one's ears in Italy or in Paris, but varied in a
hundred ways, and aggravated at will, just as _he_ varies and enlarges,
twists and turns, beneath his magic bow, a subject of apparently
the most simple and insignificant kind. And now the voices most
distinguishable among the ebbing crowd murmur out the words, 'Gambler,
Libertine'! or worse.... And the privileged public resort again to the
theatre, to admire the talent of him who they comprehend not; and the
artist returns, in like manner, to _amuse_ those who provoke his pity,
and whom he beholds so far below him! Thus we have contempt on one side,
compassion on the other; applause from hands chilled with the touch of
gold, on the one part,--on the other, sounds that borrow their animation
from no social sympathy! Such are the relations between the public and
the professor--such the bonds that connect them!" Unhappy artist;
miserable public! How shall we account for this pitiful state of things,
this gulf between the performer and the auditor? We must seek the
explanation in the letter to the _Revue_, referred to more than once,
but now claiming our attention more directly.
[Illustration: _Plate XIV.--See Appendix._
PAGANINI IN PRISON.]
The pictures of "Paganini in Prison," exhibited so lavishly while the
artist was in Paris in 1831, provoked him to remark that there were some
"honest fellows" making money of a calumny that had pursued his steps
for the last fifteen years. He then referred to the different versions
of the crime imputed to him: that he killed a rival whom he found in
company with his mistress; or that it was his mistress who had been the
victim of his jealous fury; the only point of agreement was the
imprisonment. "Let me tell you," the letter continued, "what happened to
myself in Padua about fifteen years ago (1816), on this very subject. I
had given a concert with some success: the next day I went to a
table-d'hote; I entered the room late; was, perhaps, the sixtieth guest,
and took my seat unnoticed. One of the company expressed himself in
flattering terms of the effect produced by my performance the evening
before. His next neighbour agreed in the praises bestowed on me, but
added, 'Nobody ought to be surprised at Paganini's ability: he owes it
all to an eight years' solitary imprisonment in a dungeon, with nothing
but his violin to occupy his time, or soften the rigours of his
confinement. He was condemned to this long incarceration for having
assassinated a friend of _mine_, who was unfortunate enough to be his
rival.' As you may easily believe, every one was loud in denouncing the
enormity of my crime; when I addressed myself to the speaker, begging
him to inform me where and when this tragical adventure had occurred.
All eyes were in an instant turned upon me, and you may judge the
astonishment of the company at finding the hero of this tale of murder
and imprisonment one amongst them. The relater of the story was not a
little embarrassed. 'It was not a friend of his own that had fallen--he
had heard--he had been told--he believed--but after all it was very
possible he might have been deceived,' etc. Now see, Sir, how easy it
is to play with the reputation of an artist merely because men, inclined
to indulge in idleness themselves, cannot conceive it possible that he
may have studied as closely in his own chamber and in full possession of
his liberty, as he would if he had been chained up in a dungeon."
There was an occurrence that gave rise to these reports, and which
Paganini related in the same letter. "A violin player, named D----i,[33]
who was at Milan in 1798, associated himself with two other men of bad
character, and engaged with them in a plot to assassinate, by night, the
curate of a neighbouring village, supposed to be in possession of much
wealth. Luckily for the curate the heart of one of the conspirators
failed him, and he denounced his companions. The gendarmes watched the
spot, and took D----i and his accomplice into custody at the moment they
arrived at the curate's dwelling. They were condemned to twenty years'
confinement in irons, but General Menou, after he had been appointed
governor of Milan, at the end of two years restored the violinist to
liberty. Would you believe it, Sir? this is the sole foundation upon
which the whole history of my incarceration has been erected. A violin
player, whose name ended in _i_, had been engaged in a murder and
imprisoned--it could only be _Paganini_--the assassinated party
was converted into either my rival or my mistress, and it was I,
_Paganini_, who had been so many years loaded with chains, and immured
in a dungeon. Solely with the view of wringing from me the secret of my
new system, have they complimented me with fetters, whose only effect
would have been to paralyze my arms."
Paganini further stated that he called on the Italian ambassador
resident in Vienna, to testify that he had known the artist for nearly
twenty years, during all which time his conduct has been that of an
honest man. He also pointed out that having been constantly before the
public from the age of fourteen, he must have had a mistress and a rival
when he was seven! for there was no room for an interval of eight years
afterwards. It was at Vienna that one of the audience, while Paganini
was playing "The Witches' Dance," distinctly saw the devil close to the
violinist, guiding his fingers and directing his bow; the said devil was
dressed in red and had horns and a tail, and the striking likeness of
the countenances of the two, plainly proved the relationship between
them. That pretty story followed Paganini everywhere: and, as has been
seen, in Prague he had to publish a letter from his mother disproving
the rumour of his Satanic parentage. There is something intensely
pathetic in Paganini's conclusion: "I see nothing else for it but to
leave malignity at liberty to disport itself at my expense."
In this prosaic, materialistic twentieth century, which believes in
little besides money, there is no fear of any of our violin wonders
being associated with the arch-fiend. They may be regarded as physic
problems, but the supernatural is eliminated from the study. But
Paganini did not live in the twentieth century, and in his day the devil
was a very real personage, notwithstanding the temporary overthrow of
much belief through the French Revolution, and the enthronement of the
"Goddess of Reason" in the Church of Notre Dame, Paris. It may seem
absurd, now, even to recall these calumnies; but we have to deal with
the environment of a great genius, to study the cause of his failing to
become great as a man; for surely he had the making of a fine character.
That he should traverse the greater part of Europe, pursued by tales of
devilry and murder, is one of the saddest comments on that period; that
the "iron entered into his soul," and the man capable of affection
became a miser and a misanthrope, is more mournful still. He was the
"Flying Dutchman" of the violin.
How was it that the devil and the violin came into relationship? We have
it on the authority of Martin Luther that the devil hates music. Luther
not only believed in the devil, but he fancied he saw him: and in the
room of the Castle of Wartburg may still be seen the mark on the wall,
where he threw his inkpot at the fiend, who tried to thwart his work of
translating the Bible. It is curious that the only instrument which, to
the present writer's knowledge, Satan has been represented as playing
upon, is one of the precursors of the violin. There is a piece of
sculpture in the Cathedral of Amiens, depicting Satan playing on an oval
three-stringed Vielle, of the thirteenth century.[34] The story of
Tartini and his dream, when the devil played so marvellously on the
violin, is known to everyone, and is, moreover, perpetuated in the
sonata _Il Trillo del Diavolo_. It is related of Thomas Baltzar, the
first great violinist ever heard in England, that when he played at
Oxford he astonished everyone by "running up his fingers to the end of
the finger-board." John Wilson, the Oxford Professor of Music, "the
greatest judge of musick that ever was," according to Anthony a Wood,
"did, after his humoursome way, stoop down to Baltzar's feet, to see
whether he had a huff on, that is to say, whether he was a devil or not,
because he acted beyond the parts of man." As this took place in 1658
there was some excuse for the grim pleasantry; moreover music had
suffered an eclipse, and performers in this country were comparatively
few. Even the gentle and polite Corelli forgot himself so far as to
apply the term, devil, to another violinist. As the story may not be so
well known as the foregoing, I shall briefly repeat it. Nicolaus Adam
Strungk (or Strunck), violinist to Ernest Augustus, Elector of Hanover,
when in Rome (_circa_ 1684) made it his business to see Corelli.
Introducing himself to the Italian master as a musician, Corelli asked
what was his instrument. Strungk replied that he could play upon the
harpsichord, and a little upon the violin; but he particularly wished to
hear Corelli on the latter instrument, his fame being widely known.
Corelli obligingly consented, and played a piece to the harpsichord
accompaniment of Strungk. Strungk afterwards played a toccata, with
which Corelli was so much taken that he laid aside his instrument in his
transport of admiration. When Strungk had finished at the harpsichord,
he took up the violin, and began handling it in a careless manner,
whereupon Corelli remarked that he had a good bow-hand, and wanted
nothing but practice to become a master of his instrument. At that
moment Strungk put the violin out of tune, and played on with such
dexterity, attempering the dissonances occasioned by the mistuning with
such amazing skill, that Corelli cried out in broken German: "I am
called Arcangelo, a name that in the language of my country signifies an
Archangel; but let me tell you, that you, Sir, are an Arch-devil!"
There is nothing malicious in these stories of the devil and the
fiddler; and if Paganini had experienced nothing worse than what has
just been related, he might have treated the matter as a joke. But that
which malice or envy originated, a "reptile press" promulgated. Innocent
of crime, Paganini was branded as a felon; gifted with genius of the
rarest order, cultivated to a perfection absolutely unique, his skill
was attributed to the aid received from the devil. Add to this his
wretched health, and there is both mental and bodily suffering. In his
later years he was cut off from intercourse with others, like
Beethoven--but with this difference: Beethoven employed a tablet or
note-book for his friends to convey their words to him; Paganini
transmitted, through a similar medium, his thoughts to others. He was
dumb! Is there no brighter side to this picture? If there be, let us
turn to it.
It is, perhaps, fortunate that no man can be consistent throughout his
life; the morose must smile at times, and the misanthrope mitigate his
hatred of mankind. Paganini was but human, and his life was not all
shadow. Though his intimate friends were few, there were some who were
able to place on record details of the private life of the great
violinist. Of such, the most useful to biographers was George Harris. He
was an Englishman, attached to the Court at Hanover then connected with
Britain; a dramatist of a certain order, he accompanied Paganini on his
tours in Germany, acting for a time as his secretary, and apparently
he was with him when in England. From him we learn a good deal.
Paganini was always on the move, and travelling in his day was not
the rapid, comfortable, even luxurious process it is now. In the
post-chaise Paganini stowed his luggage, which was of the simplest--and
shabbiest--description. A dilapidated box held his beloved violin, his
linen, cash and jewellery; a carpet-bag and a hat-box completed his
outfit. He was philosophically indifferent to comfort, but in his later
years he always had the windows of his carriage closed. When he arrived
at his quarters, the windows of his room were thrown open, and he
indulged in a sun-bath--again anticipating modern medical advice.
Paganini, when travelling, was fond of taking a stroll when the horses
were changed. It was a relief to stretch his legs after the close
confinement of the post-chaise, but sometimes his rambles were so
prolonged that there was weary waiting for him when all was ready to
resume the journey, and drivers became exasperated. Paganini was made to
suffer on one occasion. That was when travelling from London to
Birmingham. He had already tried the patience of his coachman by causing
loss of time, and the man declared he would drive on without him, rather
than wait again. At the next stopping place Paganini walked off as
usual, leaving Harris asleep in the vehicle. The horses being changed,
the driver started, leaving Paganini behind. This caused some trouble,
for a post-chaise had to be sent from the next station in search of the
derelict, and Paganini in his rage refused to pay the extra expense. He
was summoned before the Birmingham magistrates, and the case going
against him he was compelled to discharge the debt. Poor Paganini, he
always suffered when he came into contact with the law.
[Illustration: PLATE 15. (_See Appendix._)]
[Illustration: PLATE 16. (_See Appendix._)]
[Illustration: PLATE 17. (_See Appendix._)]
In his personal habits Paganini was simplicity itself. Frugal to a
degree in his repasts, a cup of chocolate sufficed for a meal when
starting early on a journey, and often he would fast until evening. When
in a happy mood after a concert, he would join the table d'hote and do
as others did, but the slightest indulgence was punished the next day.
He preferred solitude, but when he mixed with others he would join
freely in the conversation; if music were touched upon he became silent,
or left the room. So long as he could find accommodation that was quiet,
he cared little for its quality. Scenery had no charms for him, and all
climates but his own were equally indifferent to him. His accounts were
kept in a little red pocket-book (found under his pillow after his
death), in a kind of arithmetical shorthand only decipherable by
himself. He never had been taught the science of numbers, or he might
have been made a first-rate mathematician.
Harris stated that all the time he was with Paganini he never heard him
play a single note except before an audience. That may have been correct
so far as Germany was concerned, but the Rev. John Edmund Cox, in his
"Musical Recollections," has something very different to say about
Paganini. "During his career he visited my native town,[35] and as I
had the good fortune then to be able to converse in French, the friends
who had engaged him for a round of concerts in that place and its
vicinity placed me in direct communication with him somewhat in the
capacity of a secretary; so that I not only travelled in his company and
heard him at every concert at which he appeared, but I lived in the same
hotels and lodgings which had been secured for him. This kind of
semi-official position necessitated my seeing much of him during his
leisure hours, when he threw off the suspicious restraint which was
always apparent in his manner when he was among strangers, whom he
imagined were bent upon getting as much as possible out of him for their
own advantage. Then, indeed, he would evince anything but a hard and
ungenerous nature, his manner being not only kind but courteous; whilst
any attention that was afforded to his wants or to his comforts was
sure to elicit not only looks but words of gratitude. In public he
confined himself almost exclusively to the performance of his own
music,--... but in private--for he had his violin constantly in his
hand--he would sit and dash off by the hour together snatches from the
compositions of the best masters, and give readings of such originality
to passages that had been heard again and again, as apparently have
never been supposed to be possible by any other player. As an instance
in point, he one morning, whilst I was writing several notes for him,
commenced the first _motivo_ of Beethoven's magnificent violin concerto.
To write was then impossible; and he, perceiving how entranced I seemed,
asked whether I knew what it was. On my replying in the negative, he
promised, if it could be managed, that I should hear the whole of that
movement before we separated." The promise was redeemed. The above is
valuable as showing that Paganini was not quite so wanting in knowledge
as was generally supposed. He could converse in French, though at that
time--1831--he had only spent a few weeks in France. Education, proper,
he had none; but the statement that he could speak no language but his
own, is evidently incorrect. The allusion to strangers bent upon getting
as much as possible out of him for their own advantage, finds an
illustration in the story of the Englishman who is said to have followed
Paganini for some six months, watching his every movement, lodging at
the same hotels, and employing every means to get at the great secret of
the violinist's art. At last his perseverance seemed about to be
rewarded. Looking through the keyhole of Paganini's door, the
Englishman saw the violinist take his instrument from its case--raise it
to his shoulder, even shift the left hand up and down the neck; but not
the ghost of a sound. It was just a study of positions, and the violin
was then restored to its place. In despair, the inquisitive amateur gave
up the quest.
The concerts Paganini gave for the poor were evidence of his natural
goodness of heart. It is true, such efforts cost him little; he gave a
few hours' time: the public found the money. One day, when walking in
Vienna, he saw a poor little Italian boy playing the violin in front of
a large house. He drew from him a touching story of poverty, and a sick
mother; and emptying his pockets into the boy's hands, he took from him
his violin and began to play. He was soon recognised, and a crowd
assembled; the people were immensely diverted, and gave a generous
response when the hat was handed round. With "Take that to your mother,"
Paganini sent the boy off rejoicing, and turning to the companion of his
walk, he remarked, "I hope I've done a good turn to that little animal."
He was fond of applying the word "animal" to those sometimes spoken of
as "the lower classes," but was not altogether singular in that respect.
At the anniversary dinner of the Royal Society of Musicians, in 1832,
among the donations announced was one of ten guineas from Paganini. This
was thought so excessively mean an acknowledgment of the generosity of
the English nation, that the announcement was received with groans and
hisses. That was distinctly rude on the part of those who, having dined
well, ought to have been in a genial state of mind.
At least one generous action must be placed on record. It was told by
George Augustus Sala many years ago.[36] The mother of that voluminous
writer was a vocalist, and made her _debut_ at Covent Garden Theatre in
1827, as the Countess in Bishop's version (or perversion) of Mozart's
"Marriage of Figaro." In 1828 she became a widow, and supported her
family by teaching singing and giving annual concerts, chiefly at
Brighton, where she lived. For one of her benefit concerts she engaged
Paganini. The most distinguished artists of her day had gladly given
their gratuitous assistance at similar functions, and Paganini accepted
the small fee of twenty-five guineas. Sala was a very small boy at that
time (born in 1828), and possibly drew upon his imagination when
recounting the event so many years later. This is what he wrote:--"'Take
your little boy with you, Madame Sala,' was the shrewd counsel of ----,
a valued friend of my mother; 'take the boy with you when you pay Pag.;
perhaps _that_ will soften him a little.' I was the smallest and
chubbiest of the tribe; then, duly washed, combed and made spruce, my
parent took me in her hand, and led me to the Old Ship, where Paganini
was staying. We were ushered, not without fear and trembling on my part,
into the presence of the mighty musician, who was at breakfast. Then my
mother, alluding as far as she in delicacy could to her large family
and small means, proceeded to count out--sovereign by sovereign,
shilling by shilling--Paganini's fee of five and twenty guineas. I can
see with the eye of memory the whole man before me now, his gaunt
angular form, his black elf-like locks falling in weird confusion over
his neck and shoulders, his cadaverous face and shaggy brows, his long
bony hands with the veins standing out like cordage, his amazingly large
feet, and especially his neck, disproportionately long, scraggy, and
corrugated. I can see the glare--so it seemed to me--which, when he
raised his bent brows, darted upon the pile of money, and the spasmodic
avidity with which he extended his hand and swept the pile towards
him.... 'A very nice little boy,' he was good enough to say, alluding to
myself; 'but time is bad, and there is no monish in de vorld: no, never
no monish at all.' My mother rose with a heavy heart to depart. 'Stop,
little boy,' said the great violinist, and he beckoned to me with a
skinny finger, which any of the witches in Macbeth would have been proud
to own; 'stop, take this, it will buy you a cake.' He thrust a crumpled
piece of paper into my hand, rose from his chair, and, without more ado
'bolted'--that is the only word suited to the action--into his bedroom.
He had given me a bank note for fifty pounds! Superstitious people used
to whisper that Paganini had sold himself to the enemy of mankind;
spiteful people used to draw him as a greedy, flint-hearted miser.... I
only know how he acted towards my mother."
FOOTNOTES:
[32] Life of Moscheles (English Edition), I., p. 252-7.
[33] Duranowski, a talented Polish violinist. He entered the French army
and was _aide-de-camp_ to a General. He lost his rank when released;
returned to his violin, and was living at Strassburg up to 1834.
[34] An engraving of it is in Naumann's "History of Music" (English
Edition), p. 255.
[35] Norwich.
[36] In the "Bow Bell's Annual" for 1878 (?)
CHAPTER IX.
From the man we now turn to the artist. Schiller wrote: "The artist is
the son of his age, but pity for him if he is its pupil or even its
favourite." It has been shown how truly Paganini was the child of his
age; the pity was that he became its pupil and its favourite; in
consequence he failed to attain the supreme height where dwell the
spirits of the greatest. But he was a great artist, in spite of his
concessions to the public taste; and he held in reverence that which he
found great in others. When in Vienna in 1828, exactly a year after the
death of Beethoven, Paganini attended a concert, and heard a performance
of the great master's Symphony, No. 7, in A. Profoundly moved by that
sublime composition, he remained mute, his gaze fixed and mournful;
suddenly the tears rolled from his eyes; his grief and emotion wrung
from him the words: _E morto!_ Anders, who relates the incident, adds:
"Never was the immortal author of _Fidelio_ more worthily extolled than
by those tears, by that simple word. The day may come when some
disciple, some friend of the Genoese artist, will say in his turn,
seized with bitter sadness, _E morto!_" Strange, that Chorley should
have employed the very words, in the premature obituary notice which
has been already referred to.
When in Paris, Paganini once visited the Institution for the Blind. He
was so much struck with the beauty and purity of intonation that
characterised the singing of the pupils, that he declared that never
before had he an adequate notion of what harmony was.
The artist, as well as the art, claimed his respect. There seems to have
been no artistic jealousy about him, and to the young performer he was
invariably kind, whilst to the established professor he was just. It is
said that when Paganini's concerts took place at the King's Theatre, it
was proposed to dispense with the services of the "leader" at the Opera.
When Paganini heard of this, he paid a well-merited compliment to the
abilities of Signor Spagnoletti, and insisted upon his engagement at all
the concerts, he, Paganini, might give at the Theatre. It is true, at
rehearsal, Paganini never gratified the members of the orchestra as to
what the concert performances were likely to be; but he was careful to
have the accompaniments well prepared. Quick-tempered, he was irritated
at any faulty work, but when all went well he expressed his approbation
by exclaiming, "_Bravissimi! Siete tutti virtuosi!_" ("You are all
artists!") Paganini brought the orchestral parts with him to rehearsal,
and took them away afterwards; as to the solo part, no one had a chance
of looking at that, for Paganini played everything from memory. His
kindness to brother-artists has been placed on record. The young
violoncellist Ciandelli, who rendered such service to Paganini when he
was turned into the street by the brutal landlord, was afterwards well
repaid by the instruction Paganini gave him. The great violinist told
Schottky, his biographer, that he took a lively interest in young
Ciandelli, and that he imparted to him his secret. He gave him lessons,
and at the end of three days so transformed his playing, that from being
a mediocre performer, he became the first violoncellist at the Theatre
Royal, Naples, with a possibility of becoming the first in the world.
However, as history is silent respecting the subsequent achievements of
Gaetano Ciandelli, he need not claim further attention.
The Bohemian violinist, Joseph Slavik, appeared at Vienna in 1826, when
he was twenty years of age. Moscheles heard him play, and said he was
considered in Vienna as the second Paganini. Of course that was hearsay;
_the_ Paganini had not then been heard outside Italy. When Paganini was
in Vienna, in 1828, he become acquainted with young Slavik, and held him
in affectionate regard. At all hours the young student had access to the
idol of his worship, and received many valuable hints and ideas upon
fingering, etc., and friendly encouragement to pursue his daring course
with unwearying application. He spent two years in retirement, zealously
studying the Paganini method, and when he reappeared in Vienna, he was
spoken of as no petty imitator, but a second original. A contemporary
notice, comparing Slavik with Paganini, states:--"The only difference
between the two at present is, that the pupil, carried away by the
ardour of youth, often suffers himself to be seduced into the most
gigantic attempts, the success of which on every occasion no mortal can
with certainty rely upon; while the other, possessing the plaintive and
deeply pathetic tones of a singer, at the same time resembles a
consummate piece of musical mechanism, which accomplishes the most
extraordinary feats quietly and without effort." Slavik died at Pesth,
in 1833, at the early age of twenty-seven; what he might have become his
actual achievements plainly indicated.
In his later years, Paganini appears to have had great delight in
listening to young artists. In 1836, Antonio Bazzini, then a youth of
eighteen, played to Paganini, who was enraptured with his performance. A
year later, in Paris, Paganini heard a much younger violinist, the boy
Apollinaire de Kontski, and actually went so far as to give him a
testimonial. Articles in the musical dictionaries all state that
Paganini gave some lessons to the child; some say that the friendship
between the two resulted in Paganini bequeathing to De Kontski his
violins and compositions. Grove, in quoting Mendel, says this statement
requires confirmation. When Apollinaire de Kontski died, in 1879,
nothing, so far as I have been able to ascertain, transpired concerning
the alleged bequest. But the testimonial seems to have escaped the
notice of dictionary compilers, so, as a curiosity, I reproduce it from
the _Musical World_, of June 21st, 1838:--
"Having heard M. de Kontski, aged eleven years, perform several
pieces of music on the violin, and having found him worthy of being
ranked among the most celebrated artists of the present day,
permit me to say, that if he continues his studies in this fine
art, he will, in course of time, surpass the most distinguished
performers of the age.
(Signed) PAGANINI."
But if Paganini was fond of hearing and encouraging other artists, he
was averse to anything like competitive display. When he met Lafont at
Milan in 1816, as already related, he played at the concert given by
that artist. The function came to be regarded as a contest, and an
account of it appears in Laphaleque's pamphlet. Some paper, early in
1830, having quoted this notice, Lafont wrote a letter of protest, which
is interesting enough to reproduce in part. He wrote:--
"Sir, I have just read, in your journal of the 2nd of Feb., an extract
from the Notice published on the celebrated violinist, Paganini. As this
notice contains statements utterly erroneous, as regards me, I owe it to
truth, to the advice of my friends, and to the favour with which the
public has been pleased to honour me during twenty-five years, to give
an exact statement of the facts of the case. The following is a
narration of what occurred. In the month of March, 1816, I gave in
conjunction with M. Paganini, a concert in the great theatre, La Scala,
at Milan, and, far from making a cruel trial of the powers of my
adversary, or of being beaten by him, as is pretended by the author of
the Notice, I obtained a success the more flattering, as I was a
stranger in the country and had no other support than my talent.
"I played, with M. Paganini, the concerted symphony of Kreutzer, in
_fa_ major. For several days previously to the concert we rehearsed this
symphony together, and with the greatest care. On the day of the concert
it was performed by us as it had been rehearsed, with no change
whatever; and we both obtained an equal success in the passages executed
together or separately. On coming to the _phrase de chant_ in _fa_
minor, in the second solo of the first part, there was a decided
advantage for one of us. This passage is of a deep and melancholy
expression. M. Paganini performed it first. Whether the strong and
pathetic character of the piece was ill-suited to the ornaments and
brilliant notes which he gave in it, or whatever else was the cause, his
_solo_ produced but little effect. Immediately after him, I repeated the
same passage, and treated it differently. It seems that the emotion by
which I was then agitated, caused me to give an expression more
effective, though more simple, and it was so felt by the audience, that
I was overwhelmed with plaudits from all parts of the house. During
fourteen years I have been silent on this trifling advantage obtained
over M. Paganini in this instance, only in the symphony, and probably
rather by the superiority of the school than by that of talent. It is
painful to me to speak of myself; nothing short of the misrepresentation
of the article in question could have provoked me to reply. I was not
beaten by M. Paganini, nor was he by me. On all occasions, I have taken
pleasure in rendering homage to his great talent; but I have never said
that he was the first violinist in the world; I have not done such
injustice to the celebrated men--Kreutzer, Rode, Baillot, and Habeneck,
and I declare now, as I have always done, that the French school is the
first in the world for the violin."
After this modest assertion Lafont concludes with an expression of
rejoicing in the opportunity of praising a talent of which he felt it an
honour to be the rival, but of which no one could make him the
adversary.
This epistle provoked a rejoinder from Francesco Cianchettini[37] who
wrote:--"As I was present at that contest, I do assert that the account
given by Mr. Imbert is not erroneous, but correct. The public decision
was in favour of Paganini; Mr. Lafont having acquiesced in silence to
such a decision, does not diminish one iota of his acquired fame: as not
only himself, but every living violinist who dares to enter into rivalry
with Paganini, will be prostrated, although the Signor has not had the
advantage of being a pupil of the _super-excellent Parisian Violin
School_. In Paris, I have heard how the talented violinists, mentioned
in Mr. Lafont's letter, speak of Paganini. The _Coriosi_ gladiators of
the Neronian age spoke with the same freedom of Hercules. Had this
demigod suddenly appeared on the arena with his club, all of them would
instantly have shrunk into pigmies."
In a footnote Cianchettini added that whatever excellence the Parisian
Violin School might lay claim to, was derived from Italians; from
Viotti, through Pugnani and Tartini, to Corelli, "the father of the
violin."
But the genius of Paganini was fully understood and appreciated by a far
greater Frenchman than Charles Lafont:--Hector Berlioz.
The friendship between Paganini and Berlioz has been briefly referred
to, but it is a subject for further consideration, as it reveals the
influence that the one artist wielded over the other. The first meeting
of the two men must be told in the words of Berlioz himself. A few
remarks are needed by way of preface. In the summer of 1833, Berlioz
married the English actress Miss Smithson, who, still weak from her
carriage accident, had, on her wedding day, "nothing in the world but
debts, and the fear of never again being able to appear to advantage on
the stage." To pay off these debts Berlioz organized a benefit
entertainment, beginning with drama and ending with a concert. But his
programme was too long, and he had forgotten something--_the claque_.
His poor wife could not conceal her lameness, and though talented as
ever, she failed to obtain a recall. Another actress, having taken
precautions, had an ovation. Then at midnight the band of the _Theatre
Italien_, not being obliged to play after that hour, left the place, and
the _Symphonie Fantastique_ could not be played. Liszt assisted, and the
affair was not quite a failure, financially, though the promoter came in
for bitter attacks. Poor Berlioz was in despair, but he took his courage
in both hands, and announced a concert at the _Conservatoire_. He took
care to engage artists he could trust, and with his friend Girard as
conductor everything went well, the _Symphonie Fantastique_ taking the
room by storm. Now let Berlioz speak: "My success was complete, and the
former judgment on me was reversed. My musicians looked radiant with
delight as they left the orchestra. Lastly, my happiness was completed
when the public had all gone, and a man stopped me in the passage--a man
with long hair, piercing eyes, a strange and haggard face--a genius, a
Titan among the giants, whom I had never seen before, and at first sight
of whom I was deeply moved; this man pressed my hand, and overwhelmed me
with burning eulogies, which literally set both my heart and brain on
fire. It _was Paganini_ (22nd December, 1833). From that date my
relations with that great artist, who exercised such a happy influence
upon my destiny, and whose noble generosity has given birth to such
absurd and malicious comments."
It was some time in January, 1834, that Paganini called upon Berlioz and
said he had a wonderful viola, a Stradivari, upon which he should much
like to play in public, but he had no music for it. Would Berlioz write
a solo for him? Berlioz was flattered by the proposal, but replied that
in order to produce a composition sufficiently brilliant to suit such a
virtuoso, he--Berlioz--ought to be able to play the viola, and that he
could not do. So he thought Paganini alone could meet his own wishes.
Paganini, however, pressed his own point, adding that he himself was too
unwell to compose anything. Berlioz then set to work. To quote his own
words: "In order to please the illustrious virtuoso, I then endeavoured
to write a solo for the viola, but so combined with the orchestra as not
to diminish the importance of the latter, feeling sure that Paganini's
incomparable execution would enable him to give the solo instrument all
its due prominence. The proposition was a new one. A happy idea soon
occurred to me, and I became intensely eager to carry it out."
Paganini was impatient to see the music, and as soon as the first
movement was finished, it was shown to him. He did not like the long
silences. "That is not at all what I want," he said; "I must be playing
the whole time." "You really want a _concerto_ for the tenor," Berlioz
replied, "and you are the only man who can write it." Paganini said no
more, and soon afterwards left for Nice. Berlioz then gave free play to
his fancy, and wrote the series of scenes for the orchestra, the
background formed from the recollections of his wanderings in the
Abruzzi, the viola introduced as a sort of melancholy dreamer, in the
style of Byron's "Childe Harold." Hence the title "Harold in Italy."
Now, this is the point: "Harold" was inspired by Paganini, who
indirectly gave a new art-form to the world. The piece was produced on
November 23rd, 1834, but Paganini was then in Italy, and he did not hear
it until four years later.
But Paganini was destined to inspire something greater still. He was
again in Paris in 1838, and, as before related, was present at the
"horrible performance" of Berlioz' "Benvenuto Cellini." Sad at heart
Paganini said: "If I were manager of the _Opera_, I would at once engage
that young man[38] to write me three such operas: I would pay him in
advance, and should make a capital bargain by it." The failure of the
opera threw Berlioz on a bed of sickness. But he had to live, and was
soon arranging to give concerts at the _Conservatoire_. The first barely
paid expenses, but the second, at which both the _Symphonie Fantastique_
and _Harold en Italie_ were performed, was more successful, and at this
Paganini was present. This has also been incidentally mentioned, but
further notice is required on account of the sequel. Again we must allow
Berlioz to speak for himself. "The concert was just over; I was in a
profuse perspiration, and trembling with exhaustion, when Paganini,
followed by his son Achilles, came up to me at the orchestra door,
gesticulating violently. Owing to the throat affection of which he
ultimately died, he had already completely lost his voice, and unless
everything was perfectly quiet, no one but his son could hear or even
guess what he was saying. He made a sign to the child, who got up on a
chair, put his ear close to his father's mouth and listened attentively.
Achilles then got down, and turning to me, said, 'My father desires me
to assure you, sir, that he has never in his life been so powerfully
impressed at a concert; that your music has quite upset him, and that if
he did not restrain himself he should go down on his knees to thank you
for it.' I made a movement of incredulous embarrassment at these strange
words, but Paganini seizing my arm, and rattling out 'Yes, yes!' with
the little voice he had left, dragged me up on the stage, where there
were still a good many of the performers, knelt down, and kissed my
hand. I need not describe my stupefaction; I relate the facts, that is
all."
In his frenzied state Berlioz went out into the bitter cold, met Armand
Bertin on the boulevard, told him what had occurred, caught a chill, and
again had to keep his bed. Two days later, the little Achilles called,
the bearer of a letter, and of a message to the effect that his father
would himself have paid the visit, but was too ill to do so. The letter
ran as follows:--
"MY DEAR FRIEND,
Beethoven dead, only Berlioz now can revive him; and I, who have
enjoyed your divine compositions, worthy of the genius which you
are, entreat you to accept, in token of my homage, twenty thousand
francs, which will be remitted you by the Baron de Rothschild on
presentation of the enclosed. Believe me always your most
affectionate friend,
NICOLO PAGANINI.
Paris, December 18th, 1838."
Picture the scene! Berlioz, pale with excitement; his wife, entering the
room, imagines some new misfortune has befallen them. Told of what has
happened, she calls her son Louis. Berlioz' words again: "And my wife
and child ran back together, and fell on their knees beside my bed, the
mother praying, the child in astonishment joining his little hands
beside her. O Paganini! what a sight! Would that he could have seen it!"
The news soon spread abroad, and there were mixed feelings with regard
to Berlioz; delight on the one hand, detractions on the other, and
"scandalous insinuations" against Paganini. It was some six days before
Berlioz recovered sufficiently to visit and thank Paganini. The latter
would not hear a word; it was the greatest pleasure he had ever felt in
his life, he said; adding, "Ah! now none of the people who cabal against
you will dare to say another word, for they know that I am a good judge,
and that I am not easy" the last clause bearing two meanings: "I am not
in easy circumstances," or, "I do not part with money easily." I know
that this gift of Paganini to Berlioz is now regarded as a myth. One
version of the story is that Paganini was merely the agent, the real
donor being Armand Bertin, the great friend of Berlioz, who wished to
remain in the background. Another version is to the effect that Jules
Janin, editor of the _Journal des Debats_, compelled Paganini to make
the gift to Berlioz, who was the musical critic on that paper; and that
Paganini, fearing to lose his prestige with the public if Berlioz turned
against him, yielded to the pressure put upon him. I am going to give
chapter and verse for all this, for it is a matter that should be put at
rest. But first, what a condition is revealed of the press in relation
to art. Berlioz in money matters was incorruptable, though he was often
poor enough; therefore I leave him out of the discussion. But think of
the possibility of the transaction! Janin, years before, had written
bitter things of Paganini--things I have declined to quote in this
memoir; but Janin must have been quite as bad as he asserted Paganini to
have been, if he was capable of this monstrous proposition. There are
two details to be considered, and the first is the date. In 1838, the
public career of Paganini was at an end. There was the wretched Casino
business, it is true, but there was no performance by Paganini. In the
second place, supposing for a moment that Berlioz could or would employ
his pen in disparagement of the great violinist, could he have written
anything more violent, more depreciatory, than critics had been writing
for the previous twenty years, criticisms which Paganini had survived,
and grown rich upon? Besides, if the Janin story be true, the Bertin
must be false. Where then is the authority for the former? In 1840,
Liszt wrote a memorial notice of Paganini. In it passing reference is
made to some deeds of benevolence. Lina Ramann, in her "Life of Liszt,"
of which the first part was published in 1880, prints this essay, and at
the point above mentioned adds a long foot note[39] giving the Janin
story, which she averred Liszt knew through Janin himself. That was a
safe story to reproduce, though it might have been contradicted by Liszt
if he ever saw the book. Now for the Bertin version. The authority
quoted for that is always Ferdinand Hiller. In 1868, Hiller published
his work "On the Musical Life of our Time," in which he relates some
gossiping with Rossini, in 1856. The conversation turned upon Paganini
on one occasion, and Hiller asked about the kingly gift to Berlioz.
Rossini replied that all Paris knew it, and he must needs believe it,
but at bottom he held the thing impossible. Nothing more definite is
there recorded. In 1871, Hiller published a new series of similar papers
or essays, but of this work I know nothing. Rossini was a raconteur, and
fond of saying good things. There is no reason to doubt the good faith
of Ferdinand Hiller; he set down what Rossini said, which, after all,
was only the expression of a doubt. This reticence was perhaps owing to
the fact that Berlioz was still living. But how was Rossini likely to
know the facts of the case? He went to Italy in 1836, and returned to
Paris about the end of May, 1855; consequently he knew nothing of the
alleged gift at the time, and as Armand Bertin died in 1854, Rossini
could not have heard the story from him. So far, one would be justified
in attaching little credence to Hiller's gossip with Rossini.
But there was a sequel. Rossini died in November, 1868, and Berlioz
passed away in March, 1869. His Autobiography was published in 1870,
with the Paganini incident as it has already been related. To the last,
Berlioz believed that the money came from Paganini. In 1880, Hiller
published a work entitled "Kuenstlerleben," in which a chapter was
devoted to Berlioz. Again reference is made to the princely gift,
incredible from so mean a man as Paganini. "Rossini gave me the key to
this enigma," writes Hiller, "and I do not hesitate to communicate the
same, as it can no longer be unpleasant to anyone concerned in the
matter." He then goes on to say that Paganini consented to be the agent
of Armand Bertin, who really found the money. "Are you sure that this
was true?" asked Hiller; "I _know_ it," replied Rossini, seriously.
Hiller then states his conviction that Rossini's account must be
correct.[40] Now was this the outcome of a subsequent conversation with
Rossini, or an amplification of the "gossip" at Trouville? Hiller is
candid enough to say that some may doubt, and I should confess to being
among the doubters if his evidence was the sole support of the story.
But in 1896, appeared the evidence of one whose testimony was
unimpeachable. The late Sir Charles Halle went to Paris in 1836, when a
youth of seventeen. In 1838, he was introduced to Paganini, was invited
to visit him, and often played to him; and, once, nearly heard Paganini
play! An extract from Halle's "Autobiography" will show what he thought
of the great violinist: "From my earliest childhood I had heard of
Paganini and his art as of something supernatural, and there I actually
sat opposite to the man himself, but only looking at the hands that had
created such wonders. On one never-to-be-forgotten occasion, after I had
played and we had enjoyed a long silence, Paganini rose and approached
his violin case. What then passed in me can hardly be imagined; I was
all in a tremble, and my heart thumped as if it would burst my chest; in
fact, no young swain going to the first rendezvous with his beloved
could possible feel more violent emotions. Paganini opened the case,
took the violin out, and began to tune it carefully with his fingers
without using the bow; my agitation became almost intolerable. When he
was satisfied, and I said to myself, with a lump in my throat, 'Now,
now, he'll take the bow!' he carefully put the violin back and shut the
case. And this is how I heard Paganini." Halle also became acquainted
with Berlioz and acquaintance ripened into a close friendship. He saw
the change worked in Berlioz through the Paganini incident; how his
courage was strengthened, and from a morose, he became a cheerful
companion. Then he divulges what had been a life-secret: "Armand Bertin,
the wealthy and distinguished proprietor of the _Journal des Debats_,
had a high regard for Berlioz and knew of all his struggles, which he,
Bertin, was anxious to lighten. He resolved therefore to make him a
present of 20,000 fr., and in order to enhance the moral effect of this
gift he persuaded Paganini to appear as the donor of the money. How well
Bertin had judged was proved immediately; what would have been a simple
_gracieusete_ from a rich and powerful editor towards one of his staff
became a significant tribute from one genius to another, and had a
colossal _retentissement_. The secret was well kept and never divulged
to Berlioz. It was known, I believe, to but two of Bertin's friends
besides myself, one of whom is (Victor) Mottez, the celebrated painter;
I learned it about seven years later when I had become an intimate
friend of the house, and Madame Armand Bertin had been for years one of
my best pupils."[41] This must be accepted as a true statement of the
case, but it proves no more than that Paganini became a party to a
benevolent conspiracy; he never boasted of the gift, nor claimed any
credit for it. Even when Berlioz, relieved of his financial troubles,
set to work with a light heart at the composition which was to be worthy
of dedication to the illustrious artist to whom he owed so much (his own
words), even when he wrote to Paganini about a subject, all the answer
he could get was: "I can give you no advice." He chose Shakespeare's
"Romeo and Juliet" as a theme, worked at it for seven months, and
produced a masterpiece. Paganini inspired him, but never heard the work
"undertaken chiefly to please him."
To Paganini the world owes still more. It has been already stated that
Paganini's playing when in Paris in 1831 exerted an extraordinary
influence over Franz Liszt, and gave the direction to his genius. I use
the word "genius" advisedly, believing that Liszt is one of that sacred
band to whom the term belongs of right. This is not the place to discuss
the position Liszt occupies among composers; nor is this country yet
qualified properly to judge him. Wagner, Schumann and Chopin have passed
the ordeal; from persecution they have arrived at deification, so to
speak, and even their faults are regarded as merits. But prejudice dies
hard, and Liszt has yet to suffer. His earnest disciple Walter Bache
sacrificed time and means in his Liszt propaganda, but with scant
success. My point here is to try and show that Paganini, despite all
shortcomings as a man and as an artist, had a mission--whether he knew
it or not--and fulfilled it through others.
Beethoven's pianoforte playing, and pianoforte compositions, led makers
of that instrument to extend its compass; Liszt led the way to a new
system for the pianoforte, with effects hitherto undreamt of, and the
impulse came from Paganini. No other instance is on record of an
instrument like the violin absolutely revolutionising the treatment of
the pianoforte. I have already referred to Liszt in Paris, how,
depressed and suffering, he withdrew from art and buried himself in
solitude. The revolution of 1830 aroused him, but it was Paganini who
rekindled the flame of art. Here I must have recourse to Lina Ramann's
"Franz Liszt."
Liszt went to hear Paganini: "Charmed, stunned, yet seeing clearly at
the same time, he could have cried out for sorrow and exultation. This
playing! it was the vision of his soul, after which he had sought and
grasped and yet could never find or seize. Now here he felt it realised
before him. With kindling power it seized his artistic will. Until then
Liszt had groped and sought without any conscious aim; following the
hidden impulse of his spirit, he had given place to all kinds of
whims.... Now, all at once, he was led by Paganini into fixed paths and
the lost thread of his development was found again. By Paganini's
playing the veil had been torn away which lay between him and his
artistic will.... Paganini's playing had fanned the Promethean spark of
his genius to a brilliant flame. That for which the poets of the time
strove in their literary productions--freedom of form and of subject--he
saw here in the domain of reproducing music. With all this the serious
defects and onesidedness of the great violinist's capabilities and
genius did not escape the youthful pianist. He measured him by the
ideals of artistic culture which shone before his own eyes....
He recognised plainly the limits of the influence which Paganini
exercised over him, and saw how human was the mission of the artist--a
consciousness was awakened that _artistic culture is inseparable from
human sympathies, that only a great man can become a great artist_. This
conviction drew from his lips the proud but noble words 'Genie
oblige.'[42] With indescribable eagerness, and at the same time with
exulting triumph, Liszt, after having heard Paganini, turned again to
his instrument. He was seldom seen; in public, as a pianist, never. His
mother alone was the silent witness of his perseverance and restless
working. As Wieland, he hammered at his piano. He, who, already as a
boy, had climbed the Parnassus of study, now sat at the instrument often
six hours a day and practised; yes, he exercised the language of his
spirit, and created for it an organ of expression." The author then
goes on to describe the new ideas that came to Liszt when studying
the Twenty-four Capricii of Paganini, and how he discovered new
combinations, and also that the hand of the pianist had yet much to
learn. "With this perception a bridge was built to new technical
triumphs in the art of pianoforte playing.... On the one hand he
increased the beauty and breadth of sound of this instrument in a
marvellous degree, while on the other, he gave at the same time a fatal
blow to the modern pianoforte music of his day. This was the new
discovery which Liszt made through Paganini, and on the foundation of
which he has created an extension of the arena of sound.... Thus
Paganini's capriccios gave Liszt the first impulse towards the modern
system for the pianoforte, and at the same time prompted him to enter on
the territory till then unknown of transferring effects."[43]
What the influence of Liszt has been, is beyond the present purpose to
inquire. But, blot out Paganini and every note he has written, and he
reappears in the art work of at least one great French composer, and in
that of the greatest pianist the world has yet seen--one to whom the
high compliment has been paid in the epithet--"The Paganini of the
Pianoforte."
FOOTNOTES:
[37] Little is now known of this artist. He married Veronica, sister of
the pianist and composer J. L. Dussek, and was the father of Pio
Cianchettini, composer, who died at Cheltenham in 1851.
[38] Berlioz was then thirty-five, Paganini, fifty-six years of age.
[39] Aus dem Tonleben unserer Zeit, Vol. II., p. 55.
[40] Kuenstlerleben, p. 88.
[41] Life and Letters of Sir Charles Halle, p. 69.
[42] The last words of Liszt's article "Sur Paganini, A Propos de Sa
Mort," published in the "Revue et Gazette Musicale de Paris," December
23, 1840.
[43] Franz Liszt, Artist and Man, Vol. I., pp. 258-65.
CHAPTER X.
Is it worth while at this distance of time to refer to the actual
playing of Paganini? Can one recall "the touch of a vanished hand?" This
memoir would not be complete without some account of Paganini's art
beyond that given in the story of his life. Here I do not venture to
write as a violin expert, and I shall only quote from Guhr's "On
Paganini's Art of Playing the Violin"--which is presumably still
accessible to students--in so far as it may be serviceable to the
general reader. Leaving aesthetic, and higher considerations generally,
out of count for the moment and limiting our attention to matters
technical, we find much that was absolutely new. As regards mere
extravagance and eccentricity of execution, Paganini was surpassed by
Locatelli. We have to take into consideration the concert-pitch in use
at the time of Paganini's public career. That, I take it, corresponded
very closely with the Diapason normal now coming into general use.
Paganini employed thin strings, and, for purposes to be named presently,
often tuned his violin a semitone higher than the pitch of the band
which accompanied him--equivalent to the English pitch, or high pitch
still in use in some places. These thin strings served another
purpose--the easy production of harmonics. If there was one thing more
novel than any other in Paganini's playing it was the introduction of
harmonics, melodies, double notes, and double shakes in harmonics. The
natural harmonics were of course known to all violinists, but the
artificial harmonics, if not the invention of Paganini, were first
employed by him as integral features of his compositions as well as of
his performances. Then there was his particular kind of _staccato_,
produced by throwing his bow forcibly on the string, "letting it spring
while he runs through the scales with incredible rapidity, the tones
rolling like pearls" (Guhr). The Rev. Dr. Fox said the bow seemed to act
with the elasticity of a spring fixed at one end, and made to vibrate.
The combination of bowing, with _pizzicato_ by the left hand, if not
new, was employed by Paganini to a degree never attempted before.
Lastly, there was his wonderful performance on the fourth string, which
he tuned up to B flat, and sometimes even a semitone higher. Much of his
use of these devices is put down as clap-trap, yet since his day many
violinists have employed the same means, if they have not achieved the
same result.
[Illustration: PLATE 18. (_See Appendix._)]
[Illustration: PLATE 19. (_See Appendix._)]
[Illustration: PLATE 20. (_See Appendix._)]
[Illustration: PLATE 21. (_See Appendix._)]
[Illustration: PLATE 22. (_See Appendix._)]
Let us consider, for a moment, the performances on the G string. It is
certain that Paganini was not the originator of that manner of playing,
for Leopold Mozart wrote of Esser[44] as playing on the G string alone
with the greatest ease. Compositions for a single string were also
written before Paganini's day, for Friedrich Wilhelm Rust (1739-1796)
composed a violin sonata for the E string. But Paganini made such a
feature of this species of performance because it pleased the public,
and, in giving the audiences that which they preferred rather than that
which his artistic conscience should have prompted, he became the pupil
of his age, and fell from his high estate. On the other hand, he may be
said to have discovered the powers of the fourth string, to which, by
the employment of harmonics, he gave a compass of three octaves. He was
censured for his partiality in this direction, but in these days every
violinist plays a solo on the G string. Is not Bach's "Aria" played
everywhere as a fourth string solo? Yet, as musicians know, it was not
written for that string, nor as a solo, forming, as it does, the theme
of the slow movement of the "Overture in D," for strings, two oboes,
three trumpets, and drums. Moreover, in Mozart's Violin Concerto in E
flat, No. 6, composed in 1766, there is in the slow movement, an
eight-bar period for the G string, and also one of the same length in
the Finale. In Beethoven's Violin Concerto the principal theme of the
Rondo is assigned to the G string, and also when it recurs after the
second subject. This work was composed in 1806, a short time after
Paganini wrote his "Napoleon Sonata," but was heard in public years
before Paganini's was so performed. These two compositions are mentioned
merely to show that the charm of the fourth string was not unknown in
early days; to refer to later works would be superfluous.
Now, as to Paganini's tuning his instrument a semitone higher than the
ordinary pitch. It will be conceded that the different keys have
distinctive qualities, to which some musicians are more sensitive than
others. Some term it key-colour: I prefer the expression key-character.
On the violin some keys are more sonorous than others. The effect may be
partly mental, and I believe--though I may be wrong--that a violinist
plays with a different feeling in the key of E, to that which would be
excited by the key of E flat, and this apart from the aesthetic import of
the composition itself.[45] In many concertos the chorus violins--if I
may so call them--sometimes play the same notes with the soloist, and so
absorb the tone of the latter that the listener can only hear the mass
of violin tone. It is on record that Paganini was never overpowered by
the _tutti_ in
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