Part 9 (1/2)
The sum bequeathed by Paganini to his son (for whom a doc.u.mentary legitimacy had been procured) amounted to two millions of francs (about 80,000), charged with legacies of fifty, and sixty thousand francs, respectively, to his two sisters, and with an annual _pittance_ of 1200 francs to the mother of his loved Achilles. He left also some valuable instruments, including an incomparable _Straduarius_, a charming _Guarnerius_, of the small pattern, an excellent _Amati_, a _ba.s.s_ of Straduarius, agreeing with the violin by the same maker, and his large and favourite _Guarnerius_. This latter, the sole instrument a.s.sociated entirely with his travels, he bequeathed to the city of Genoa, being unwilling that any other artist should possess it after him.
Some further particulars, to ill.u.s.trate chiefly the habits of the _man_, may not be deemed superfluous.
Paganini's existence was a series of alternations betwixt excitement and exhaustion; and it is not surprising to find that his moods of mind were variable and uneven, and that he would sometimes sit, for hours together, in a sealed and sombre taciturnity, whilst, at other times, he would surrender himself to a wild effervescence of gaiety,-without any apparent motive in either case. Most commonly silentious, he was talkative when travelling. The weak state of his health made him averse from loud conversation; and yet, when the rattle of the wheels over the pavement became deafening, he would talk loud and fast. To the scenic charms out-spread before his eyes, he was insensible-his urgent impulse being to move rapidly, and to reach his journey's end. In his later years, a low bodily temperature was habitual to him, insomuch that he would wrap a furred pelisse around him, in summer-time, and huddle himself up in a corner of his carriage, with every window closed.
In-doors, on the contrary, he would have all the windows open, and called it taking an air-bath! He anathematized the climates of Germany and France, but, above all, that of England; and declared that Italy was the only country to live in. The intensity of his internal sufferings trans.m.u.ted, at times, his ordinary pallor into a livid, or even a greenish hue; but his recourse was to quackery-to _one_ empirical remedy, in which he had faith, and not to doctors, in whom he had none.
Before commencing a day's journey, he took no tea, nor coffee, but either soup or a cup of chocolate. If it were early in the morning, he would start without taking anything, and sometimes continue fasting the greater part of the day. For the enc.u.mbrances of baggage, he had almost the contempt of a _Napier_. A small shabby box, in which he placed his beloved _Guarnerius_ instrument, his jewels, money, and meagre stock of linen,-a carpet bag-and a hat-box-these were his accompaniments, and were all stowed inside the vehicle. Careless of all that goes by the name of _comfortable_, he was also very little solicitous about his toilet. His wardrobe might have gone into a napkin. As for his papers, they were thrust into a small red portfolio, in ”most admired disorder,”
such as himself alone could penetrate for any immediate purpose.
Arithmetician he was _not_, in the ordinary sense-but he managed his business calculations in a way of his own, that answered all his need.
To the style of his accommodations on the road, he was quite indifferent, provided only that his rooms were _quiet_. At the day's end, a light supper, or (sometimes) a cup of camomile tea, sufficed him.
In his own quarters, Paganini maintained usually the strictest solitude, and seemed always to quit his room with regret. His violin, as silent as himself, was not touched, save when he tuned it for a concert, or a rehearsal. He had worked _enough_-his labours had long before carried him to the summit;-his want, his craving want, was _repose_. There is a floating story about his having been dodged and watched for six months, from one halting-place to another, by an enthusiastic English amateur, who hoped to ”pluck out the heart of his mystery,” to grasp the secret of his studies, by lodging at the same hotels, and occupying (whenever possible), a contiguous chamber. Vain expectation! a profound silence always enveloped the great Professor. At length, however, the crisis of discovery seemed imminent. Paganini was seen (through a key-hole) to seat himself on a couch-to take the incomparable fiddle from its case-to raise it to his left shoulder! Still, the silence was unbroken-not the whisper of a note could be distinguished! Paganini, absorbed doubtless in the composition of some new piece, only s.h.i.+fted his left hand about, upon the neck of the instrument, to study his positions, without the help of the bow-and then restored the un-awakened fiddle to its resting-place. The Englishman (says the story) renounced his hapless pursuit, and returned home in despair!
Enchained to music and its toils, from his earliest youth, Paganini had acquired very little general knowledge. Books were strange things to him and history and science, almost nullities. Political events had no interest for him: he looked at the newspapers merely for what personally concerned him. His mind was much engaged with his own projects for the future-such as forming a Musical Conservatory in Italy, publis.h.i.+ng his compositions, writing operas, and ceasing to travel. He had a _Byronic_ mistrust of friends, and p.r.o.neness to regard them as secret plotters against his peace. As for visitors (by whom he was sometimes besieged), as many as he was not constrained to see, were pa.s.sed over to his Secretary. To those Artists who sought his converse, that they might enucleate his professional secrets, he listened patiently-but maintained his reserve. Invitations to dine or sup, which at every large town came in a shower upon him, were sparingly and reluctantly accepted. On rising from the table, if he could escape unperceived, he would immediately retire, to take repose. He was more lively _before_ than _after_ dinner-an ill compliment, perhaps, to his _host_, but no bad way of signifying the real sacrifice he had made, in accepting his invitation.
In evening society, he was cheerful, in the absence of _music_; but, if that were started, either in practice, or as a conversational topic, his good humour instantly vanished;-nor is this at all wonderful, when we remember that his public life was one enormous compound of music, and that to _forget_ that art, when in his more private moments, must have been to him as a want and a refuge. His eyes, weakened by the glare of stage lamps, had an owl-like propensity to shun the light, as was manifest in his custom of turning his back to the chandeliers &c. in evening society, and sitting in total darkness at home. He had a faculty, like that of George the Third, for unfailing recollection of the persons and names of those who had been once presented to him; and yet (strange to say) the names of the towns, wherein he gave his concerts, would slip from his memory, as soon as he had quitted them.
On the mornings of his concert-days, he allowed himself a liberal time for quiet-lounging at ease upon a sofa, as if conscious that composure is the cradle of strength-and then he would start up, full of decision for business. Amid the ensuing preparations, he took a good deal of snuff-the sure sign of his being earnestly engaged. At rehearsal, he was careful to exclude strangers. If they found their way in, however, he touched his solo pa.s.sages almost inaudibly, or indicated them by a slight _pizzicato_. With the orchestra, he was rigorous in the extreme-exacting the minutest attention to every point. When he came to some special pa.s.sage of display, in expectation of which, the members of the band were on their legs, all eagerness to catch what was coming, he would sometimes carelessly throw off a few notes only, and then turn towards them with a smile, and the words, _Et ctera, Messieurs!_ It was for the evening-for the public-that he reserved all the wonders of his talent. He always took away with him the various orchestral _parts_, which he would entrust to no one else. As for the _princ.i.p.al_ part, it was never seen, as he played from _memory_, and sought to prevent the copying of his compositions. He had a way-the caprice of conscious power-of keeping the public a long time waiting, before he would show himself, and begin to play. His departure from a concert-room was the picture of a triumph. The curious and the enthusiastic formed a dense lane, extending to his carriage, and welcomed him with transports of admiration. At his hotel, a similar a.s.semblage awaited him with their acclamations. Elate with such marks of general favour, he would then join the _table-d'hote_, not without an appet.i.te for supper, though, perhaps, depression and indigestion might const.i.tute the experience of the following day.
Such, then, as artist and as man, was Nicholas Paganini-whom let none _envy_, nor deem that a world-wide fame was _well_ acquired by the sacrifices _he_ made for its attainment-sacrifices involving, almost of necessity, much oblivion of the higher purposes of life, along with the forfeiture of some of its best comforts. Measuring the toils and sufferings of his career against its triumphs, surely we may say, ”_le jeu ne valait pas la chandelle!_”-the precious flame of life was _too dearly_ expended on a perfection that allowed _nothing else_ to be perfected!” For a fitting wreath to the memory of Paganini, the _cypress_ should bear equal part with the _laurel_; since pity and admiration can hardly be dissevered, in our thoughts of him. The consummation of _the artist_ was the spoiling of _the man_. To render himself, in so absolute a sense, the _master_ of his instrument, it was essential to become, what he emphatically was-its _slave_. Bodily health, and moral vigour, withered alike under a dedication to _one_ object of ambitious study, so early sighed for, and with such prolonged severity pursued. That the _success_, however, (be its relative worth what it may) was _complete_-that the bold and wild adventurer reached the highest attainable summit in those regions of art that he explored and ill.u.s.trated-is a point which seems hardly capable of rational dispute. Allowing some of his eccentricities to weigh against him as _defects_, there will yet remain sufficient ground for regarding him, on the whole, as the greatest of _all_ violinists, past or present; nor would _he_ be the _most_ hardy of prognosticators, who should venture to a.s.sign him the like pre-eminence over all future individuals of his calling;-for how can we antic.i.p.ate another such happy union of the _inventive_ with the _executive_ power-another case in which there shall be so strange a concurrence in the various requisites of pre-disposing organization,[43] inflexible will, and co-operating circ.u.mstance? The same causes, however, which have placed him so far above the level of the crowd of instrumentalists, would seem to deny to him the production of any permanent or important impression on the general state of his Art. He could hardly have been followed by others, even if he had undertaken to be their teacher, and to ”ungird his strangeness” to their toiling apprehensions, disclosing to them the most subtle principles of what he himself delighted to call _la filosofia del violino_. _His_ means would still have been above _their_ means, and the end would never be reached. Thus, although the greatest of artists, he must be reckoned, as a director and propagator of his art, far less considerable than Viotti of the modern school, Corelli of the old, or even others less distinguished than these two men of fame. ”In considering the discoveries of Paganini,” said once an able French critic, ”as regards their application to the progress of the art, and of genuine music, I think that their influence will be very limited, and that what arises out of them is only good in _his_ hands; for, indifferently executed, it would be insupportable. The art of Paganini stands alone: it was born and it will die with him.” It is true that we have had _subsequent_ experience, in various instances, of a certain degree of _approximation_ to the feats of Paganini; but, were this even closer than it is, it would not invalidate what has been here suggested as to the almost incommunicable nature of such skill as his.
Potent to stir the vibratory string, And _wonders_ from the realms of sound to bring!
Skilled, through the _ear_, to reach the awakened _heart_, Or bid the _Fancy_ play her picturing part!
Conqu'ror, whose captives, gladdened with soft strains, Clung to thy sway, and revelled in their chains, And came in crowds, their homage to renew, And heaped the tribute still, as still thy due!
How _void_ the s.p.a.ce that thou were wont to fill!
Thy throne, how vacant, now-and _mute_ thy skill!
Hast thou-hast _found_, far, far from earthly din, The _rest_ thy glittering triumphs could not win?
-Farewell!-What chief soe'er may seek to reign, _Thy like_ we shall not look upon again!
The _compositions_ of Paganini, replete as they are with the most surprising difficulties, and the boldest innovations, form prominent examples of what may be called the _romance_ of instrumental music. The design entertained by their author, of giving them to the world in his own life-time, as well as of imparting the _secret_ that should make their execution seem no longer super-human, was destined to have no fulfilment; and it is to be regretted that his death rendered impossible the complete publication of _all_ that he had composed, as not a few of the ma.n.u.script pieces were left by him in an imperfect state. Of _twenty-four_ several pieces, enumerated as forming the whole of the MS.
original works of Paganini, preserved by his son, _nine_ only were discovered to be in a completed state. An edition of all that is presentable, however, has been undertaken in Paris, to gratify at length a twenty-years expectation but it is very doubtful whether a London edition will be ventured on, since it is only for the higher cla.s.s of professors-for a very select minority-that such a collection can have any attractiveness, beyond that of mere curiosity.
Monsieur Fetis, in his literary notice, written to accompany the Collection just referred to, has given some able critical remarks on the compositions in detail. His pamphlet may be consulted with advantage by the enquiring reader. Alluding to the compositions in their general character, M. Fetis observes that great merit is displayed in them-novelty as to the ideas, elegance as to the forms, richness of harmony, and variety in the effects of instrumentation. These qualities (he adds) s.h.i.+ne out particularly in the _Concertos_, however much they may differ from the cla.s.sic type of those of Viotti, which, with all their charming sentiment, left something yet to be desired, on the score of _variety_, in the more rapid pa.s.sages.
In his own compositions (which he always played with more satisfaction to himself than those of any other master) the mind of the great artist was highly developed; but to execute his peculiar intentions, in all their complexity, he needed the beautiful, exemplary, unfailing accuracy of intonation, that so distinguished him. How nicely exact, in the softest pa.s.sages, his double notes! With what marvellous certainty did his bow pitch down upon the strings, no matter what the relative distance of the intervals! His hand (says M. Fetis) was a geometrical _compa.s.s_, that divided, with mathematical exactness, the neck of the violin-and his fingers always came plump upon the very point at which the intonations of his double-note intervals were to be obtained.
As some sort of antidote to positive _despair_, I will conclude this chapter with a pa.s.sage in which, despite their th.o.r.n.y intricacies, the above-named writer recommends the practical study of Paganini's Works:-
”It will perhaps be asked, what can be the advantage of introducing fresh difficulties into Art! In Music, it will be reasonably contended, the object is not to _astonish_, by the conquest of difficulties, but to _charm_, by means of sentiment. Against this principle, I would be the last to declaim; but I would observe, first, that there is no preventing those cases of _exception_, in which certain artists _will_ seek the triumphs of their talent in extreme perils of execution, which, if successful, the public will as surely applaud;-and, secondly, that the study of what is most arduous, leads to certainty in what is more simple. A violinist who should attain the power of playing the Concertos of Paganini, with truth of tune, and in perfect proportion, would possess, _a fortiori_, an undeviating accuracy in ordinary music.”
CHAPTER IV.
THE FRENCH SCHOOL.
... furnished out with _arts_. DRYDEN.
Next in importance to the Italian School of Violinists, that of France now offers its claims to our notice. If the palm, indeed, were to be awarded according to the comparative merits of the _living_ (or recently living) Masters of each School, it must be given in favour of France; for, though we might admit the Italian Paganini to have been ”facile princeps,” the greatest of _all_ performers-and though we might overlook the consideration of his belonging, in fact, to no cla.s.s or acknowledged system whatever-he is, still, but _one_ man of might,-a Goliah, without an army to back him, since his qualified countrymen, in modern days, are few-whereas the French have a redoubtable band of champions, present or recent, whose united force is able to defy living compet.i.tion. It is in the aggregate of the _past_ with the present, however, that the Italians are found to predominate. The probable originators of the art of violin-playing (in so far, at all events, as it was worthy to be called such), _they_ have been likewise its steady and decisive improvers in every department, from the days of Corelli to those of Viotti, a s.p.a.ce of about a century;-while the excellence of the French is of more modern growth, and, it should be remarked, of more limited character.
Brilliancy of style, neatness and finish of execution, are _their_ distinguis.h.i.+ng traits. They are a gay and a polished nation-they are gay and polished fiddlers. They animate you in the _vivace_, they dazzle you in the _allegro brillante_-but they commonly fail to reach your heart through the _adagio appa.s.sionato_. Their violinists have all the skill that is independent of deep feeling. In _expression_, they fall short of what is required: they catch its lesser graces, but they seem rarely to attain its higher powers. The violin, considered more particularly as the _fiddle_, is an instrument too congenial to the temperament of the French, to have escaped their especial notice and close cultivation. To all that is mercurial in their tendencies, as well as to much that is artificial in their habits, it lends itself with the utmost readiness: it is the best instrument to dance to; it is the best instrument to protect from _ennui_ your sitters at a theatre: it sharpens the pungency of an _air de vaudeville_; it sets off the ceremonial of a ballet. In this sense, the French have ”marked it for their own,” and achieved wonders with it. Out of this sphere-this lower empire-their power has been less considerable. It must be confessed, however, that this limitation applies with greater force and distinctness to the time _preceding_ their great Revolution, than to later days. That mighty event, which stirred up the depths of the national mind, and opened the channels of thought in every direction, could not but exert some degree of influence, even on those arts that have least connection with the ordinary business of men. The French taste in music-formalistic, ungenial, and anti-catholic as it was-has undergone _some_ change for the better, through the convulsions that have overthrown Kings, and scattered Courts. It still retains, albeit, much of its old, hard idiosyncrasy. French music is still, for the most part, ”_caviare_ to the general.” It lacks cosmopolitan character. To ensure it a full and hearty welcome, it needs a French education. If these observations be just, it follows that our lively neighbours, in dealing with stringed instruments, as well as with others, would not attain first-rate success in the way of _composition_ for them-and such has been (I submit) the fact. Their real _forte_ lies in _exposition_-in giving outward manifestation and effect to the ideas of others.