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.