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 any of the pieces he played, though some writers say his
tone was not remarkable for volume. The explanation may be found in what
follows. Paganini had an almost morbidly keen musical organisation, an
acute sense of hearing, in which he resembled Mozart and Berlioz.
Paganini wrote the solo part of his first concerto in D (tuning his
violin a semitone higher), and the orchestral parts in E flat. Why? Not
because D was an easier key to play in, nor because some passages if
viewed as in E flat were marvels of execution; but because he felt the
difference in the "power" of the two keys. Mozart's Concertante for
violin and viola, with orchestra, is in E flat, but the viola part is in
D, and the instrument was to be tuned a semitone higher. This was done
"both to give it a clear sound and to make the execution easier."[46]
Mozart's piece was probably written in 1780, so here is one of the
expedients ascribed to Paganini as a trick made use of by a great master
before the famous violinist was born. Berlioz never heard Paganini play,
but he was the first among his contemporaries to understand and
appreciate Paganini's intention in this respect. In his _Soirees de
l'Orchestre_ he wrote: "He (Paganini) has known how to render distinct
and dominating the tones of a solo violin by tuning its four strings a
semitone above those of the orchestra; which enabled him to play in the
brilliant keys of D and A, while the orchestra accompanied him in the
less sonorous keys of E flat and B flat." Berlioz knew, if any one did,
what was the distinctive character of a key. It is highly improbable
that either he or Paganini ever heard, or even knew anything of Mozart's
"Concertante" just mentioned. So much by way of clearing Paganini from
the charge of charlatanry. Artistic faults and failings he had, and
these no attempt has been made to conceal; but every succeeding
generation of violinists has been deeply indebted to the great Genoese
for opening up new possibilities, by the way in which he advanced the
character and power of the violin. Leaving now the technical side of his
art, let us hear what his great contemporaries have to say of his
playing from the aesthetic standpoint. We need not refer again to Lafont
and Lipinski, but will begin with Spohr. It has been mentioned that
Spohr met Paganini at Venice, in 1816. Spohr wished to hear the great
Italian play something, but the latter declined. He afterwards
explained to Spohr that his style of playing was calculated for the
great public only; and that if he were to play to Spohr he must play in
a different manner, for which he was not then inclined. So it was not
until 1830 that Spohr heard Paganini at Cassel. This is what he wrote:
"In June, 1830, Paganini came to Cassel and gave two concerts in the
theatre, which I heard with great interest. His left hand, and his
constantly pure intonation were to me astonishing. But in his
compositions and his execution, I found a strange mixture of the highly
genial and childishly tasteless, by which one felt alternately charmed
and disappointed, so that the impression left as a whole was, after
frequent hearing, by no means satisfactory to me." Paganini was playing
to his "great public," and in that respect lost Spohr's esteem; but can
a great violinist, of strong personality, be perfectly just to a
contemporary of a different temperament? Schumann, as a composer, could
look upon Paganini from a different point of view. This is what he says:
"When I heard him for the first time, I expected him to begin with a
tone such as had never been heard before. But with how small, how thin a
tone he commenced! Then he began to weave his spells; invisibly he threw
out his magnetic chains among the public; they oscillated above and
around. And then the rings became more and more intricate; even
the audience seemed to contract, while he interlaced his tones
until they seemed melted into one--one with the master himself, all
counterbalancing each other with sympathetic influence." This is not
criticism; it is scarcely description: it is as fanciful as Heinrich
Heine's description, but it is a proof of the great violinist's power to
touch the imagination. Ignaz Moscheles, a virtuoso pianist, complains
of his utter inability to find language capable of conveying a
description of Paganini's wonderful performance. "Had that long-drawn,
soul-searching tone lost for a single second its balance, it would have
lapsed into a discordant cat's-mew; but it never did so, and Paganini's
tone was always his own, and unique of its kind. The thin strings of his
instrument--on which alone it was possible to conjure forth those
myriads of notes and thrills and cadenzas would have been fatal in the
hands of any other violin player, but with him they were indispensable
adjuncts." Again: "Nothing could exceed my surprise and admiration; his
constant and venturesome flights, his newly discovered source of
flageolet tones, his gift of fusing and beautifying subjects of the most
heterogeneous kind; all these phases of genius so completely bewildered
my musical perceptions, that for several days afterwards my head seemed
on fire and my brain reeled. I never wearied of the intense expression,
soft and melting like that of an Italian singer, which he could draw
from his violin." Yet, later, Moscheles had to say: "I find both his
style and manner of playing monotonous." Liszt, many years later said:
"No one who has not heard him can form the least idea of his playing."
Paganini indeed could soar to the Empyrean, but he had not the Peri's
pure gift which would open the gate of Paradise!
[Illustration: PLATE 23. (_See Appendix._)]
Francois Joseph Fetis, who befriended Paganini when first he visited
Paris, certainly held no brief for the celebrated artist, but rather
presided over him as judge. He stated that the art of Paganini was an
art apart, which was born with him, and of which he carried the secret
to the grave. He further stated that Paganini often assured him that his
talent was the result of a secret discovered by himself, a secret he
intended to reveal, before his death, in a method for the violin, which
should have but few pages, but which should throw all violinists into
confusion. Fetis questions the existence of the secret, and thinks the
great artist was labouring under a delusion. Yet he has to acknowledge
that there was something extraordinary and mysterious in the power that
Paganini possessed in the execution of unheard of difficulties in an
infallible manner. His intonation was always perfect.[47]
William Gardiner, the Leicester amateur, who became acquainted with
Paganini, wrote: "There was no trick in his playing; it was all fair,
scientific execution, opening to us a new order of sounds, the highest
of which ascended two octaves above C in alt."
An Italian physician, Francesco Bennati,[48] made a physiological study
of Paganini, accounting for his wonderful executive powers as due not so
much to his musical genius as to his peculiar physical formation. In
particular, the flexibility of his wrist, and the great lateral
extension of his finger joints, enabled him to execute passages
impossible to others. But there must have been something beyond
technique. I have heard many persons, professional and amateur, speak of
his playing as something beyond conception, not only in regard to
execution, but in the power of swaying an audience, playing upon their
emotions; the whole man was an instrument. No other artist was so widely
quoted by his contemporaries. Mendelssohn, Chopin, and others make
reference to Paganini whenever anything wonderful is spoken of. Chopin
was a great admirer of Slavik, and considered him only second to
Paganini. Every volume of reminiscences down to the present day includes
the name of Paganini, if only to relate that somebody once heard him
play. But not only musicians, poets also sang his praises. Is there
anything more beautiful than the tribute paid him by Leigh Hunt? A few
lines may be quoted:
So played of late to every passing thought
With finest change (might I but half as well
So write!) the pale magician of the bow,
Who brought from Italy the tales made true,
Of Grecian lyres, and on his sphery hand,
Loading the air with dumb expectancy,
Suspended, ere it fell, a nation's breath.
He smote--and clinging to the serious chords
With godlike ravishment, drew forth a breath,
So deep, so strong, so fervid thick with love,
Blissful, yet laden as with twenty prayers,
That Juno yearn'd with no diviner soul
To the first burthen of the lips of Jove.
The exceeding mystery of the loveliness
Sadden'd delight; and with his mournful look,
Dreary and gaunt, hanging his pallid face
'Twixt his dark and flowing locks, he almost seem'd,
To feeble or to melancholy eyes,
One that had parted with his soul for pride,
And in the sable secret liv'd forlorn.
But true and earnest, all too happily
That skill dwelt in him, serious with its joy;
For noble now he smote the exulting strings,
And bade them march before his stately will;
And now he lov'd them like a cheek, and laid
Endearment on them, and took pity sweet;
And now he was all mirth, or all for sense
And reason, carving out his thoughts like prose
After his poetry; or else he laid
His own soul prostrate at the feet of love,
And with a full and trembling fervour deep,
In kneeling and close-creeping urgency,
Implored some mistress with hot tears; which past,
And after patience had brought right of peace,
He drew as if from thoughts finer than hope
Comfort around him in ear-soothing strains
And elegant composure; or he turn'd
To heaven instead of earth, and raise a prayer
So earnest-vehement, yet so lowly sad,
Mighty with want and all poor human tears,
That never saint, wrestling with earthly love,
And in mid-age unable to get free,
Tore down from heaven such pity.
It was urged against Paganini as a fault, that he rarely played any
other music than his own. Paganini was one of the latter-day examples of
the virtuoso and the composer represented by one and the same person.
From the days of Handel to the time of Beethoven, the composer was his
own interpreter, and never gave concerts with compositions by others.
But Paganini did at times play concertos by Rode and Kreutzer, though
it was said that in these he was less successful than in his own. The
Rev. Dr. Cox heard Paganini play the first movement of Beethoven's
Concerto--in fact it was performed for his special edification. This is
what he said of it: "Never shall I forget the smile on that sad, pale,
wan, and haggard face, upon every lineament of which intense pain was
written in the deepest lines, when I caught his eye, or the playing,
into which a spirit and sympathy were thrown that carried one wholly
away. As soon as he had concluded, and before I could rush up to him to
express my thanks, he glided away. I never saw him afterwards." It was
also stated that Paganini failed as a quartet player. His strong
individuality might have been an obstacle in the way of securing the
perfect unanimity of feeling and expression that characterise fine
quartet playing; but to imply that he could not perform the music was
absurd. As an executant, pure and simple, Paganini never had, and
possibly never may have, a compeer.
But the question remains: did Paganini's playing result in any permanent
benefit to the art? Had he a permanent influence, and if so, was it for
good? To take a material aspect, it was owing to Paganini that the fame
of Joseph Guarnerius was published beyond Italy. "The names of Amati and
Stradivarius became familiar to the musical world gradually, but
Guarnerius, in the hands of a Paganini, came forth at a bound. This
illustrious violin was often credited with the charm which belonged to
the performer; the magical effects and sublime strains that he drew
forth from it, must, it was thought, rest in the violin. Every would-be
violinist, whose means permitted him to indulge in the luxury,
endeavoured to secure an instrument by the great Guarnerius. The demand
thus raised brought forth those gems of the violin maker's art now in
the possession of wealthy amateurs and a few professors. When the
various works of the gifted Guarnerius were brought to light, much
surprise was felt that such treasures should have been known only to a
handful of obscure players, chiefly in the churches of Italy."[49]
[Illustration: _Plate XXIV.--See Appendix._
A SEMI-CARICATURE OF PAGANINI, 1831.]
It has been shown that Paganini's performances caused a revolution in
the style of composition and execution in pianoforte music, as
exemplified in the works of Liszt. But did violin playing benefit? As
Paganini belonged to no school, so he founded no school. He had his
imitators, but he had few pupils, and no absolute successor. Camillo
Sivori is generally put forth as his only pupil. I have heard that great
artist, but--I say it with diffidence--I could never consider him the
equal of what I imagined Paganini to have been. According to William
Gardiner, Paganini was accompanied by Antonio Oury when he first went to
London. It was Oury who introduced Gardiner to Paganini, and the former
stated that Oury was Paganini's favourite pupil.[50] Then the Chevalier
Robbio, who appeared at Jullien's concerts at Drury Lane Theatre in
1854, claimed to have been a pupil of Paganini. Acknowledged pupils were
Teresa Ottavio, who was playing in Vienna, in 1835, and Mlle. Neumann,
who gave concerts in Venice and elsewhere, in 1838. But all these were
of small account. The question remains. Did Paganini influence the art
of violin playing, and in what direction? Let a very recent writer
contribute an answer. "We would not miss this greatest of fiddlers in
the annals of violin playing--no, not for a Spohr or any other great
modern violin master; but his influence can hardly be called beneficial.
It forced violin playing into a Procrustean bed unsuited to its true
nature and mission. Paganini had temporarily transformed the angel into
a devil, and the angel did not escape unscathed--Lucifer burned his
wings. Violin-playing will never be quite what it was before Paganini.
He helped to hurry the growing old process--brought out the lines, the
spots, and the wrinkles on the once fair face. He, before all others,
established the iron rule of technique, with its train of other evils,
in the place of the gentler reign of charming naivete of the elder
master."[51] There is truth here, and cause for sadness; but can the
hand of time be turned back, and music regain the artless joy of the
seventeenth century, when technique was unknown? Paganini, after all,
was only one of the forces that effected the revolution that produced
the music of the last half of the nineteenth century. It is not too much
to say that the technique of the modern orchestra, in regard to the
string section, is due to Paganini. Compare the scores of the classical
composers with those of the most modern writers, and see what an
enormous difference there is in the work for the strings--from the
violins to the double-basses. The orchestral player of to-day is a
virtuoso. For good or evil, music has entered upon a phase that has
raised executive skill to a pinnacle never attained before: and this it
owes to Paganini: may it be the prelude to higher achievements in the
spiritual domain of art!
FOOTNOTES:
[44] Karl Michael Esser, born about 1736, date of death unknown.
[45] In the Tonic Sol-fa method great stress is laid upon the mental
effect of each note of the scale, altogether apart from pitch.
[46] Life of Mozart, Otto Jhan, English Edition, I., 319.
[47] In 1883, several musical papers stated that a certain amateur
collector of violins, during a tour in Italy, visited the little
Sardinian village, Ameglia, and purchased a collection of instruments
used by Paganini, which were at that time in the possession of the widow
of L. M. Germi, the intimate friend of Paganini. The said amateur also
became possessed of "the secret," but what he did with it has never
transpired.
[48] Born at Mantua, 1798; died at Paris, 1834.
[49] "The Violin," by George Hart. Popular Edition, 1880, p. 202.
[50] It is strange that the Biographical Dictionaries are silent
concerning Oury, who must have been a man of some note. He is merely
named as the husband of Anna Caroline de Belleville, the once famous
pianist (1806-1880), who made her debut in London at a Paganini concert
in 1831.
[51] The Story of the Violin by Paul Stoeving, p. 208.