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 class 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 competition. 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 space 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 distinguishing 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 appassionato. 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 sions 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.
It is the remark of one of their own countrymen (the able Mons. Choron), that the principal merit of the French School of Music, taken altogether, lies in the various branches of execution. And, with reference always to this quality, execution, he adds, “the style in which the French have real and undisputed merit, and indeed, in many respects, have a marked superiority, is the instrumental in general, and especially that of the violin. On this point, the French have always had great pretensions, and often founded in justice.” After alluding to the alleged excellence of early French violinists, and, in particular, of the twenty-four petits violons of Louis XIV, formed by Lully, M. Choron has the candour to acknowledge that he knows not how to reconcile this with the following statement, given by Corette (a furious partisan, by the way, of the French School of Music), in the Preface to his Méthode d’Accompagnement, published at Paris about 1750.—“At the commencement of this century,” says that author, “music was very dull and slow, &c.... When Corelli’s Sonatas were first brought from Rome (about 1715), nobody in Paris could play them. The Duke of Orleans, then Regent, being a great amateur of music, and wishing to hear them, was obliged to have them sung by three voices. The violinists then began to study them, and, at the expiration of some years, three were found who could play them. Baptiste, one of these, went to Rome to study them under Corelli himself.”—Having quoted this embarrassing passage, M. Choron thus continues:—“Be this as it may; since that period, instrumental music has been studied with ardour by the French, and they have made astonishing progress in it. France has now an excellent school for the violin, founded upon that of Italy.”
The excellence of the school, thus defined as to its peculiar character, and thus denoted as to its origin, none will probably be disposed to deny, who are conversant with the general state of instrumental performance at the present time. Adverting again to the question of composition, we may assert, and that also on M. Choron’s authority, that the French have only been imitators, although they are not without names of some celebrity there likewise. M. Castil-Blaze,[44] in a passage wherein he takes a rapid glance at a few of the French violinists, presents us with a tolerable notion of the characteristics of the French system, both as to playing and writing:—“Kreutzer excels in voluble touches, whether continuous or detached into pointed notes. Rode is distinguished by traits of coquettish character, as well as by a free vocal effect conveyed by full notes, whose whole charm is in the quality of the tone. Lafont exhibits an admirable shake, with much grace and refinement in his style. Baillot dazzles in rapid passages, and surprises by the boldness of his double-stringed effects, and the magic of his bow.” Here we find, albeit expressed in the most favorable terms, far more of the pretty and the glittering, than of the solid or the elevated.
“Each of these masters,” continues M. Castil-Blaze, “has lavished upon his compositions those peculiar traits which he most affected, and has made sparing use of such as were remote from his own style of execution. It is certain that those favorite traits would not come beneath his hand, in equal proportion, in a composition of Viotti’s; nay, he would there meet with some that would not admit of his displaying all the extent of his resources, &c. It is therefore indispensable that the virtuoso, who desires to show himself in the most favorable light, should compose his own music, or, at least, should direct him who is charged with its composition.”—This, it needs scarcely to be observed, may be well enough calculated to favor the triumphs of individual vanity, by giving prominence to mechanical dexterity; but it is obviously not founded on a regard for the higher principles of art.
Having glanced at the great national Revolution, as to its agency in modifying French musical taste, let us give a momentary attention, likewise, to another influential agency—that of the Conservatoire de Musique—an institution which has done much, during the last half century, to foster and develop merit in the Art under consideration. M. Castil-Blaze, in his work, “De l’Opéra en France,” thus notifies its origin and effects:—
“In 1793, a union took place of all which France possessed that was most illustrious in the line of composers, singers, and instrumentalists. The Conservatoire of France, that monument of our musical glory, was raised on the foundation of the old Ecole de Chant. All the scattered documents, the varying and sometimes contradictory theories, the principles professed by each master, were brought together, examined, revised;—and then was formed a universal code of music, a system of instruction clear in its elements, methodical as well as rapid in its progression, and certain in its results. * * * * * * * * Then, and only then, were heard in France the sublime productions of Haydn and Mozart, which came forth with all the charms of novelty, though our predecessors had been essaying them for twenty years before.”
It may be here incidentally mentioned, that, in 1802, there sprang up so violent a dissention among the professors at the above valuable Institution, as to excite some fears about the continuation of its existence. Subjoined is an epigram that was born of that occasion:—
“J’admire leurs talents, et même leur génie, Mais, au fait, ils ont un grand tort; C’est de s’intituler professeurs d’harmonie, Et de n’être jamais d’accord.”
Or, as we might phrase it in our own tongue:—
The force, the skill, for which they’re fam’d, I praise;—yet one great fault I see: Of harmony Professors nam’d, How comes it that they can’t agree?
Let us now proceed to consider the principal French violinists in their order—commencing with Lully, who, though not a Frenchman, but rather (as Burney styles him) a Frenchified Tuscan, belonged entirely to France, both by his education, and the results of it. It has been already observed that Baltazarini, the Italian (who became, Gallicè, Monsieur de Beaujoyeux, and who flourished about eighty years earlier than Lully), was the first who introduced the violin to Court favour and fashion in France; where, however, till the time of Lully, it appears to have had no higher province than that which it enjoyed in association with the dance and the ballet—a condition which may, perhaps, be termed “frivolous and vexatious,” but which must be allowed to have coincided pretty exactly with the national taste, at the time.
Jean Baptiste de Lully was born of obscure parents at Florence, in 1633 or 34. The bias towards music which he shewed, while yet a child, induced a worthy Cordelier, from no other consideration than the hope of his some time becoming eminent in the art, to undertake his tuition on the guitar—an instrument which, in the sequel, he was always fond of singing to. The Chevalier de Guise, a French gentleman, who had been travelling, brought Lully into France, in 1646, as a present to his sister, according to Dr. Burney’s phrase and statement, or, in the more qualified language of another account, to serve as a page to Mademoiselle de Montpensier, a niece of Louis XIV, who had commissioned the Chevalier to find her out some pretty little Italian boy for this latter purpose. If such were the lady’s instructions, the countenance of the youth did not answer to them; but his vivacity and ready wit, in addition to his skill on the guitar, determined the Chevalier, as it appears, to engage him. On his arrival and presentation to the lady, he found her so dissatisfied with his looks, as to induce a change in her intentions—and, instead of her page, he was made to fill the office of her under-scullion!
Neither the disappointment he experienced, however, nor the employment to which he was destined, affected the spirits of Lully. In the moments of his leisure from the kitchen, he used to scrape upon a wretched fiddle, which he had contrived to procure. That fiddle it was which caused him to emerge from his obscurity! A person employed about the Court, happening one day to hear him, informed the Princess that the youth had an excellent taste for music. She directed that a master should be employed to teach him the violin; and, in the course of a few months, he became so great a proficient, that he was elevated to the rank of Court Musician. In consequence of an unlucky accident, he was dismissed from this situation; he afterwards, however, found means to get admitted into the King’s band of violins, and applied himself so closely to the study of music, that, in a little time, he began to compose. Some of his airs having been noticed by the King, Louis XIV, the author was sent for, and his performance of them was thought so excellent, that a new band was formed, called “Les petits Violons,” and he was placed at the head of it. Under his direction, they soon surpassed the famous band of twenty-four, which had previously enjoyed an extent of reputation attributable rather to the low state of musical taste and knowledge among the French, at that period, than to the skill of the performers; for they were incompetent (according to De la Borde) to play any thing they had not made a special study of, and gotten by heart. This was about the year 1660, at which time the favorite diversion of the French Court was a species of ballet, that consisted of dancing, intermixed with dramatic action, and musical recitative. The agency of Lully’s musical talent in these entertainments soon procured him the favor of le Grand Monarque, who liked music in so far as it conduced to dancing, and had a taste which found its satisfaction in airs de rigueur, containing a stated number of bars, accented with the utmost reference to saltatory convenience.[45]
In the soul of Louis, vanity supplied the place of musical ardour, and led him to consider the establishment of an Opera necessary to the splendour of his Court. Lully became, after that event, the great dramatic musician of France. Of his importance in that relation, however, and of his fortunate league with the lyrical genius of Quinault, &c. it is not within my purpose to treat. Possessing, now, the situation of Composer and joint Director to the French Opera, he relinquished the connection with his former Band, and instituted one of his own. On becoming appointed superintendent of the King’s private music, he neglected almost entirely the practice of the violin; yet, whenever he could be prevailed on to play, his excellence astonished all who heard him. The Maréchal de Grammont had a valet named Lalande, who afterwards attained some distinction as a violin-player. One day, after dinner, the Maréchal desired Lully to hear Lalande, and to bestow on him a few directions. Lalande accordingly played; but Lully, whenever he did not please him, snatched the instrument out of his hand, made use of it himself preceptively, and, at length, became warmed into such excitement, through the train of ideas produced by his own playing, that he did not lay down the violin for three hours.[46]
In the year 1686, the King was seized with an indisposition that threatened his life; and on his recovering from it, Lully was required to compose a Te Deum, in grateful celebration of the deliverance. Accordingly he wrote one, which was not more remarkable for its excellence, than for the unhappy accident with which its performance was attended. Nothing had been neglected in the preparations for the execution of it, and, the more to demonstrate his zeal, Lully himself beat the time. With the cane that he used for this purpose, in the heat of action (from the difficulty of keeping the band together), he struck his foot; this caused a blister to arise, which increasing, his physician advised him immediately to have a toe taken off, and, after a delay of some days, his foot, and at length the whole limb. At this dreadful juncture, an empiric offered to perform a cure without amputation. Two thousand pistoles were promised him, if he should accomplish it; but all his efforts were in vain. Lully died on the 22nd of March, 1687, and was interred at Paris, where an elegant monument was erected to his memory.
A strange story is extant, in relation to the closing scene of Lully’s life. His confessor prescribed to him, as the condition of his absolution, that he should commit to the flames his latest opera. Lully, after many excuses, at length acquiesced, and, pointing to a drawer in which the rough draught of Achille et Polixène was deposited, it was taken out and burnt, and the confessor went away satisfied. Lully grew better, and was thought out of danger, when one of the young Princes came to visit him. “What, Baptiste,” says he to him, “have you thrown your opera into the fire? You were a fool for thus giving credit to a gloomy Jansenist, and burning good music.”—“Hush, hush!” answered Lully, in a whisper, “I knew well what I was about—I have another copy of it!” Unhappily, this ill-timed pleasantry was followed by a relapse; and the prospect of inevitable death threw him into such pangs of remorse, that he submitted to be laid on a heap of ashes, with a cord round his neck; and, in this situation, he expressed a deep sense of his late transgression. On being replaced in his bed, he became more composed, and (as the relation goes) he expired singing, to one of his own airs, the emphatic words, “Il faut mourir, pécheur, il faut mourir!”
The high estimation which the once sous-marmiton, and afterwards regenerator of the music of France, had enjoyed, enabled him to amass considerable money. In natural disposition, he was gay and cheerful; and, although he was rather thick and short in person, somewhat rude in speech, and little able to shape his manners to the formal refinements of the French Court, he was not without a certain dignity, which intellect succeeds in conferring.
The musical style of Lully was characterized by vivacity and originality; by virtue of which qualities, his compositions, chiefly operas, and other dramatic entertainments, kept possession of the French stage till the middle of the last century, when Rameau came into vogue. Lully is considered to have invented the overture, or at least to have given to it its most distinctive marks of character. He composed symphonies for violins, in three parts; but these are not to be met with in print.
If we may judge of the old French violin-players, en masse, from the kind of business assigned to them by Lully, in his operas, we must draw a very moderate conclusion as to their proficiency; or, to borrow the words of Dr. Burney, we must regard them as “musicians not likely, by their abilities, to continue the miraculous powers ascribed to Orpheus and Amphion.” Even for half a century after Lully’s time, the French progress on the instrument appears to have been far from considerable. Their performers had as yet borrowed but little of the true spirit of their great Italian originals; nor do we come to any very important name among them until that of
Jean Marie le Clair (or Lecler), who was born at Lyons, in 1697. This artist may, perhaps, be regarded as presenting, in his performance and his compositions, a distinct commencement of the French Violin-school, as divaricating from that of Italy. His father was a musician, and, from his instructions, aided by assistance from other masters (and from Somis, in particular), he became an excellent performer. He went abroad for several years, to reap improvement from the professors and performances in other countries; after which, on an invitation from the Duke de Grammont, who had been his pupil, he went to Paris, and was allowed a handsome pension from him. By the recommendation of this nobleman, Le Clair obtained the situation of symphonist to Louis the Fifteenth, in which he laboured incessantly to improve the practice of the violin among his countrymen. With this view, he composed, and published in the year 1723, a collection of solos for the violin; and soon afterwards another of the same kind, in both of which he has displayed much knowledge of the instrument, combined with the resources of a well-regulated fancy. Besides these two Collections of Solos, Le Clair was the author of Six Sonatas for two violins and a bass; two books of Duos, two of Trios, two of Concertos, and two under the title of Recreations.
The character and conduct of Le Clair were of a nature to attract the attention and esteem of all who knew him. He lived, for the most part, a retired and contemplative life; yet, he at last fell a sacrifice, as it has been supposed, to envy. He was assassinated whilst walking alone in the streets of Paris, in the evening of the 22nd of October, 1764.
Le Clair was celebrated for the spirit and energy of his performance; and his compositions afford, in some measure, a proof of his powers. At least, it may be said, that, for boldness and dignity of style, there are no instrumental compositions by any of the older French authors, not excepting those of Lully, which can be compared with them. It is true that they are difficult of execution, and this, for some time, was an obstacle to their currency. The modern school, which laughs at any impediments in the way of execution, would do ample justice of hand to his hardest passages, were it now the fashion to present them to the public ear.
Jean Baptiste Senaillé, who may also be considered as having had some share in the foundation of the French Violin School, was a contemporary of the artist just recorded; and drew his first breath in Paris. His early lessons were received from Queversin, one of the four-and-twenty who formed the King’s band of violinists. His next instructor was Baptiste Anet; but the completion of his studies took place in Italy, whither he was attracted by the high celebrity of the artists there. He returned to Paris in 1719, with a well-earned reputation, and subsequently formed some good pupils, among whom were Guignon, and (probably) Guillemain.
Jean Pierre Guignon was born, in 1702, at Turin, probably of French parents, and became further Gallicized by going early into France, where he had a long career of distinction. He brought to the exercise of his art a liberality conducive to its diffusion and repute, as well as redounding to his own honor—for he gave gratuitous lessons to many young violinists whom the “res angusta domi” might else have left to struggle on without encouragement. His talents gave further aid to the fidicinal cause by the valuable compositions which they enabled him to devote to it, consisting of Sonatas, Duetts, Trios and Concertos. Guignon had the support of courtly patronage, and gave instructions to the Dauphin, father of Louis XVI. During thirty years, he held an appointment rather suggestive of mock-heroic associations, than either flattering or useful—that of Roi des Violons, et Maître des Ménestriers, an office which, as already stated in these recording pages, had given rise to our English dignity, more ridiculed than respected, of King of the Fiddlers. Guignon died at Versailles in 1774.
Gabriel Guillemain, born at Paris, in 1705, produced some sonatas for the instrument that have been held in considerable estimation, and was also admired as a performer. In the decline of his life, he lost his faculties, and, in that melancholy state, became his own destroyer (in 1770), inflicting on his person no less than fourteen wounds.
Pierre Gaviniès, a native of Bordeaux, claims some distinction, both as composer and as performer. So great was his aptitude for the latter character, that he made his début at the Concert Spirituel in Paris, when he had attained but fourteen years of age; nor were his pretensions those of mere vulgar precocity, that makes a dash at music, as parrots do at language; for he gained the approbation of the best of all judges, Viotti. The estimation in which the talents of Gaviniès were held, procured for him, in 1794, the honour of being appointed Professor of the Violin at the then newly formed institution, the Paris Conservatoire. His works consist of three collections (or operas) of Sonatas, several Concertos, and a series of violin music entitled Les vingt-quatre Matinées, the pieces in which are, for the most part, very difficult. He died in 1799, at the advanced aged of 73.
François Joseph Gossec, a composer of some eminence, though not expressly for the violin, fixed his residence at Paris in 1751, and was soon afterwards attached to the suite of the Prince de Condé, as leader of his band. In 1770, he founded the Concert of Amateurs, which enjoyed a marked success during ten seasons, and had the accomplished but volatile Chevalier de St. George for its “premier violon.” Gossec subsequently filled an important post at the Conservatoire, and was, in other respects, actively connected with the progress of music in France. He died “full of days.” The symphonies of this master, and the Quartetts of Davaux, which preceded, in France, those of Haydn, are cited as advantageous specimens of French instrumental music of the concerted kind; and some of them are still heard with pleasure.
Pagin, who drew his excellence from that best fountain, the Italian school, was born in France, in the year 1730. Addicting himself early to the violin, and prompted by the desire to form his style on the purest model, he travelled into Italy, expressly to receive instructions from Tartini. His happy disposition for the art was turned to speedy advantage by that master, and Pagin had scarcely reached his twentieth year ere he returned to Paris, where the success that attended him, in various performances at the Concert Spirituel, attested the value of the means which he had taken for his proficiency. His enthusiasm, however, in relation to his great preceptor, occasioned a check to his career. He chose to play, exclusively, the music of Tartini and the French musicians, resenting his choice, set about to oppose him. Their jealousy, whether alarmed for national or for individual credit, took an ingenious method of working out its purpose: it was by the ironical applauses and sinister compliments which he received, at one of the above concerts, that the unwelcome innovator was compelled to forego appearing at any more of them. He was subsequently engaged in the suite of the Count de Clermont. Dr. Burney, who heard him in 1770, has recorded his admiration of the expression and lightness that distinguished his performance.
Pierre Lahoussaye, another venerator and follower of Tartini, commenced his date of life at Paris, in 1735. At a still earlier age than Pagin, he gave public manifestation of his talent. He first found his infant way upon the instrument, unaided, and then, after some tuition from the solo-player, Piffet (styled le grand nez), made his début at the Concert Spirituel, when only nine years old. Shortly afterwards, the little Lahoussaye had the fortunate opportunity of hearing, at a musical party where he was introduced, the greatest violinists of the time, including especially—Pugnani, Giardini, Pagin, Gaviniès, Vanmalder, Domenico Ferrari, &c. A solo was played by each of these men of mark: and the eager astonishment with which the “tender juvenal” listened to their successive outpourings of expression, or feats of dexterity, could not but attract the attention of all. On Ferrari’s putting a violin into the boy’s hand, he not only made some brilliant preludings, but repeated from memory several passages in a sonata of Tartini’s that Pagin had just before played. An enthusiast himself, Pagin was so delighted with the boy, that he at once undertook his further instruction, and prevailed on the Count de Clermont to assign to him a post as his chamber-musician. Thus advantageously placed, the young Lahoussaye was, however, restless till he could accomplish his favorite wish—that of seeing Tartini. Under this impulse, he attached himself to the suite of the Prince of Monaco, and went with him to Italy. Repairing with all speed to Padua, he found the wondrous master in the church, in the act of commencing a concerto. To express the surprise and admiration of the young Frenchman, at the purity of tone, spirit and accuracy of execution, truth and delicacy of expression, that triumphed in the performance of the Italian, would be difficult indeed. He felt at once so humbled as to the sense of his own powers, as almost to abandon the hazardous wish for an introduction to him whom he had so eagerly sought out. Creditable as was this diffidence to the character of the aspirant, the kind disposition of Tartini rendered it unnecessary. He received him favourably, was gratified to observe in his performance something of the manner of his own school, and engaged to advance him in it. Lahoussaye was reluctantly drawn away to Parma, through his situation with the Prince of Monaco: but, after delighting the court there by his talent, he found means to return to Tartini at Padua, and continued for a long time under his tuition, remaining in Italy, altogether, for the space of fifteen years. In 1769, he visited London; and, after passing three years there, returned to his native Paris, to diffuse, according to his means, and as far as the musical habit of his countrymen might admit it, the benefits of the Italian style. He arrived at the situation of Chef d’Orchestre to the Concert Spirituel, and to the Italian Opera in Paris. In 1789, he had the honor to succeed Mestrino as Chef-d’Orchestre of the Theatre of Monsieur; and he afterwards filled the same post at the Feydeau Theatre. On the establishment of the Paris Conservatoire, he was appointed Professor of the First Class. The compositions of Lahoussaye are numerous, and have had some celebrity, although, for the most part, they have remained in the manuscript state.
Paisible (pupil of Gaviniès) whose gentle name contrasts painfully with his violent end, was born in 1745, at Paris, and was one of those able artists who contributed to give éclat to the Concert Spirituel. Full of youthful hope derived from the impression he had there created, he made a musical “progress” through a part of France, the Netherlands, Germany, and as far as St. Petersburg. Here, however, the tide of his success was suddenly turned. His desire to exhibit his talents before the Russian Empress was baffled, owing, as it has been supposed, to the intrigues of Antonio Lolli, who was then in the service of the Imperial Court. Failing also in his endeavour to obtain notice by means of public concerts, Paisible engaged in the service of a Russian Count, with whom he went to Moscow. This resource did not last long; and the concerts he attempted at Moscow were even more discouraged than those at St. Petersburgh. Distracted by misfortune and debt, he closed his career in 1781, by the act of his own hand—having written a touching letter of farewell to his friends, in which he desired them to sell his violin (a valuable one), with the object of defraying the claims against him.
Simon Leduc, another distinguished pupil of Gaviniès, and one of the directors of the Concert Spirituel, was born in 1748. Two books of Solos, and several Concertos and Symphonies, are his works as a composer. There is extant, in connection with his name, a little anecdote of some interest. About a month after his decease, in 1777, there was a rehearsal of one of his symphonies for the Concert des Amateurs. In the middle of the adagio, the Chevalier de St. George, who had been his friend, and was then leading the orchestra, was so affected by the expression of the movement, combined with his recollection of the composer, that he let fall his bow, and burst into tears!
F. Hippolite Barthélémon, a fine performer of the old school, was born at Bordeaux, in 1741. In the early part of his life, he served awhile as a midshipman in the navy of the King of Spain; but Apollo soon asserted his claims above those of Mars, and Barthélémon resigned himself to that softer sway. After pursuing his new career for a time in Paris, where he composed an opera for the Italian Theatre, he came over to England in 1765. Here also he produced an opera for the Italian stage, through the success of which he became acquainted with Garrick, and received from him a musical commission, which was settled for in a way that evinced the accustomed parsimony of that great actor and little manager. As leader of the Opera band for several seasons, and solo performer on various public occasions, Barthélémon gave ample proofs of his mastery over the violin. His adagios in particular were much admired, and his extempore cadences were so scientific and appropriate as, to seem like the natural continuation of the composer’s own ideas. Among his engagements while in London, was that of leading the band at Vauxhall Gardens; in which situation he once figured as a principal in a whimsical occurrence. It chanced, one night, when the gardens were full of fashionable company, and the stream of music was at high tide, that a bewildered bat, which had winged its eccentric course for some time about the walks, to the discomposure of the visitors, found its way into the illuminated orchestra, and, after having made two or three circuits there, flew into Barthélémon’s face, with so forcible a familiarity as to unseat him from his eminence, and precipitate him, wholly frighted from his propriety, to the floor. He fell on his ceremonial sword, which, in breaking his fall, was itself broken; and he was picked up in a condition which fortunately did not forbid his joining in the general chorus of laughers; nor did he fail to congratulate himself, that, in falling on his own sword, he had not done so after the old Roman fashion[47].
One of Barthélémon’s points of excellence consisted in his solo performances of Corelli’s music, in which his sweetness and polished taste were charmingly manifested. He and Salomon are supposed to have been the last, who made it a regular habit to study, and to perform in public, the compositions of Corelli. Barthélémon died in London, in the year 1808.
Dismissing, with the tribute of a simple mention, the names of Mondonville, Bertheaume, Jadin, and Grasset, we come now to the more recent time when the genius of Viotti, diffusing its influence over the whole modern system of violin performance, lent an especial lustre to a number of musical satellites who are marked in the French nomenclature. The Italian Viotti infused new life into the French School, which, seeking its resources more from fancy than from feeling, and (with few exceptions) relying rather upon the small excellencies of nice execution, than upon the sympathies which expression can command, had become somewhat exhausted. Viotti communicated to the French Violinists a share of the vigour and the intellectual character that animated his own style, and taught them
“To fill the languid pause with finer joy.”
Louis Julien Castels de Labarre, one of the pupils who were modelled by the above great master, was born at Paris, 1771, of a noble family of Picardy. When finished as an instrumentalist, from the hands of Viotti, he went, at the age of twenty, to Naples, where he studied composition under Sala, at the Conservatory of La Pietà, as he did afterwards in France, under Méhul. After two years of success as “premier violon” at the Théâtre Français, he entered the orchestra of the Grand Opera. The published works of Labarre for his instrument are of the lighter kind.
Of a year later in date of birth than the preceding artist, is Pierre Jean Vacher, also of Paris. At eight years of age he commenced his labours on the violin, under Monin, of whom fame is nearly silent; and a few years later, his second master (albeit “nulli secundus”) was Viotti. From the age of fourteen to nineteen, Vacher was engaged as violinist at the great Theatre at Bordeaux. In the early part of the French Revolution, he went to Paris, where he remained several years in the orchestra of the Vaudeville Theatre, and became known as a composer by means of some popular airs, suited to the demands of that establishment. He was afterwards employed in the orchestras of the Théâtre Feydeau, and of the Académie de Musique, &c. He published several operas (or works) of violin music.
Pierre Rode, another of the eminent players formed by Viotti, was born at Bordeaux, in 1774. His musical tendencies were manifested from his infancy; and, after some instructions bestowed on him in compliance with his early bias, he was sent, while yet but thirteen years old, to Paris, which city has always been considered, in modern times, as the centre of the musical art in France, and enjoys indeed something approaching to a monopoly of it[48]. Here he was introduced to Viotti, who made kindly estimate of his capacity, and interested himself much in directing and improving its exercise. His first public appearance was in 1790, before a Parisian audience—one of his master’s concertos being the subject of the display. Shortly after this, he was appointed principal second violin at the Théâtre Feydeau, and obtained further notice by means of his performance of other concertos of Viotti’s, on selected occasions.
In 1796, Rode commenced professional travelling, and went through Holland and Hamburgh to Berlin. Returning homewards, he was shipwrecked on the English coast. This accident gave him an opportunity of visiting his great preceptor Viotti (who was as yet receiving English shelter and hospitality),—but it did not enable him to make the impression of his talents felt here; for, after one attempt, in which (probably through the disadvantage of being hardly known to us islanders) he met with slender encouragement, the solemn terrors then prevalent at the Alien Office intervened to arrest his ambitious bow-arm. In those really perilous days, our green-eyed government certainly saw more perils than had either existence or probability. It would seem as if the plague of democracy had been by them considered to infest the very garments of a Frenchman, and the air that surrounded his person. It mattered not in what shape, or with what business, he presented himself; suspicion whispered an aliàs against them all. If he professed to amuse, he was but the more likely to be intent on deceiving. Viewed by the help of this principle, a fiddler became obviously a highly dangerous character. If discord was confessedly mingled with his strains, surely revolution might lurk in his fiddle-case. “Let no such man be trusted;” and, accordingly, Rode was invited to discontinue his sojourn, “parmi nous autres Anglais.” His countryman, Mons. Fétis, in recording the particulars of Rode’s career, has fallen into the error of attributing to the English public, instead of their political directors, his unhonored departure.
Re-embarking for Hamburgh, the disappointed artist travelled through Germany, and again reached Paris, the scene of his first triumphs. Here he was appointed Professor of the Violin at the Conservatory, and played with renewed success at the Feydean Concerts;—but, with a continued disposition for travelling, he went soon after to Madrid. Boccherini, then established in that city, entered into friendship with him, and scored several of his concertos for him.
In 1800, Rode returned to Paris, and was at once nominated Solo Violin to the private band of Bonaparte, Chief Consul. His fame and his excellence were by this time alike matured. He was invited to St. Petersburg in 1803, receiving the appointment of First Violin to the Emperor’s band, with the sole duty of playing at the Court Concerts, and at those given in the Imperial Theatre. After five years thus passed with high credit, he returned to Paris, and gave what was professedly his last public concert. Great was the disappointment, however, among the discerning Parisian Amateurs, at finding that a great change had come over the spirit of his performance—that he had no longer at command the brilliancy and fire which had marked him for one of Viotti’s own, but that a premature decay seemed to be upon him, although the purity of tone, the taste, the elegant style of bowing, were yet remaining. This exhibition appears to have had a chilling effect upon the artist himself, who, for a long time afterwards, was heard by his friends alone. In this latter way, his quartett-playing, accompanied by Baillot and Lamarre, created real gratification.
His love of fame, meanwhile, did not decline with the powers which had formerly attended and balanced it. He undertook a further course of travel in 1811, and went through Austria, Hungary, Styria, Bohemia, Bavaria, and Switzerland. In 1814, he was resident at Berlin, whence he returned to his native Bordeaux. He could not yet reconcile his mind, however, to the relinquishment of a career which his abated energies forbade him to continue. It was reserved for another (and a most mortifying) visit to Paris, to convince him that the hope of shining was now but a morbid feeling within him. He quitted that scene in a state of grievous and irrecoverable depression. The wanderer came back to his home, only to languish onwards to his grave. Towards the close of 1829, a paralytic stroke affected both his body and his intellect. In this state he lingered nearly twelve months, and died in November, 1830.
Monsieur Fétis has recently referred[49], with a just exultation, to the days wherein the triple force of Rode, Kreutzer, and Baillot, threw its lustre over the French School of Violin-players. He characterizes the talent of Rode as subtle, delicate, brilliant, and frequently suggestive, in its effects, of the great master who had called it forth. “There are few living,” he observes, “who have heard that admirable talent in all its beauty, as it was displayed at the concerts of the Rue Feydeau, and at those of the Opera; but the artists who have enjoyed that pleasure, will never forget the model of perfection which then astonished them.”
As a writer for his instrument (it has been remarked), Rode merits a distinguished place. His musical education, as regards the principles of composition, had been neglected, so that he was at first obliged to derive from his friends the accompaniments to his Concertos; but his melodies are remarkable for sweetness; the plans of his compositions are well conceived; and he is not without originality. His Concertos are well known and admired, wherever the violin is played. Paganini has performed them at his concerts. His quartetts—which, are, in fact, brilliant solos for the first violin, accompanied by a second violin, tenor and bass—have also had great success, especially when his own skilful hand lent its aid to their execution.
Ten Concertos,—four Quartetts for two violins, tenor and bass,—three Airs with variations, for a full orchestra, and the same arranged as quartetts—three sets of violin Duetts—and a share in the compilation of the celebrated “Méthode d’Instruction,” adopted for the violin-students at the French Conservatory—are the principal labours of this master. He also wrote some detached pieces, as Andantes, Rondos, &c.
Rodolphe Kreutzer, the son of a German musician in the service of the King of France, was born at Versailles, in 1767, and, in consequence of his French birth-place and career, is claimed with superior right by the French School, although something of German intermixture, besides that of the blood, must be distinguished in the early lessons he received on his instrument, both from his father, and from a far more important preceptor, Anthony Stamitz.—Under the latter, his advancement was so rapid as to induce his début, at the age of thirteen, at the Concert Spirituel, where he performed a concerto, either of his own, or his master’s composition, as has been variously represented. From that time to the age of twenty, his compositions for the violin became frequent, though rather directed by innate genius than by the prescriptive rules of composition, of which he had acquired very little. His desires extended meanwhile towards the condition of a theatrical Composer, in which object he was assisted by the patronage of the Queen, Marie Antoinette, as well as by the appointment he received, in 1790, of First Violin at the Opéra Comique. Of his Lodoiska, and other achievements in operatic music, it is needless here to treat: but it may be noted as a curious fact, that his neglect of the study of harmony continued till after he had been the composer of at least three successful operas. He seemed to write by instinct; and his custom, while composing, was to walk about his room, singing his melodies, and playing on his violin, till he found an accompaniment which pleased him. When afterwards appointed a Professor at the newly-established Conservatoire, he fancied that to be a learned contrapuntist was necessary to the performance of his duties, and so entered, somewhat too late in life, on a course of study which had little other effect than to cripple his imagination. As a Professor, however, he is distinguished by the number of excellent pupils whom he has produced. His mode of instruction was signalized by the enthusiasm and confidence he instilled into his scholars. An energy that shrank from no difficulties, lived in the master, and was reflected in his disciples, who became distinguished, in general, for a brilliant execution.
Kreutzer made a tour, in 1798, through the north of Italy and Germany, and returned to Paris by the way of Hamburg and Holland, giving concerts in all the principal cities. After this, he wielded his instrument in the immediate service of Napoleon; and, on Rode’s departure for Russia, he succeeded him as Solo Violin at the Opera; which situation he exchanged, in 1810, for that of Chef d’Orchestre. Fourteen years afterwards, decorated with the insignia of the Legion of Honour, he changed his post to that of general Director of the Music at the Opera; and, after this accumulation of credit, he retired in 1826. Declining health led him to Geneva, where he died, in January, 1831.
Kreutzer’s compositions, independently of those for the stage (which exceed thirty in number), consist of two “sinfonie concertanti” for two violins—one sinfonia for violin and violoncello concertante—upwards of fifty concertos, duetts, trios and quartetts—five sets of sonatas for violin and bass—eight sets of studios and capriccios—and several airs with variations. The compilation of the Violin-system for the Conservatory was also in part effected by him.
Charles Philippe Lafont, one of the most excellent of recently living violinists, was born at Paris, where the beauties of his execution long continued to draw numerous audiences to the concerts he was in the habit of giving. His first lessons in the art were received from his uncle, Bertheaume. After having, successively, Berton, and Navoigille the elder, as masters in composition, and acquiring, by unaided study, a knowledge of singing, he travelled with his uncle, who procured him occasions for exhibiting his various powers in the principal cities of Europe. Returning to France in 1794, he first appeared at Paris as a vocalist; but was most admired as a violin performer, in which character he shone at the Opera concerts, and the Salle Olympique. He completed his studies under Kreutzer and Rode—to the latter of whom, in the sweet qualities of his style, he mainly inclined. His next journey was to Petersburg, where he resided several years, as the Emperor’s First Violin. In 1805 or 1806, he returned to his native city; and was appointed leader at the King’s Chapel.
A suavity and elegance, especially in cantabile movements—a tasteful selection of ornament—and an exemplary purity of tone—have been remarked as denoting this artist. The scene in his career which exhibits him in an indiscreet rivalry with Paganini, will be found under the memoir given of that extraordinary person.
Pierre Baillot, of high name in the French School, which he was partly enabled to acquire through Italian instruction, was born about the year 1770, near Paris, to which city the curious in coincidences will be delighted to find that they can trace the local origin of so many of those eminent violinists who have made it, also, the scene of their brilliant exertions. Baillot repaired early to Rome, where he remained some years under the tuition of Polani, an excellent Professor of the school of Tartini. His own feeling and intellect appear to have done more for his advancement, however, than the lessons of preceptors. An artist of a very high order, well versed in the mechanical resources of his instrument, he was also thoroughly embued with musical sentiment, and was a discriminating judge in matters of composition.
After his return from Italy, the sound and excellent qualifications he evinced were the cause of his succeeding Rode, about the year 1795, as Professor of the violin at the Paris Conservatory. He was the editor, and (with Rode and Kreutzer) a joint compiler, of the noted System of Instruction which has contributed so important an aid towards the successful formation of, perhaps, all the living French violinists. The System for the Violoncello, in use at the same institution, was likewise produced under his editorship.
Fine taste, variety of manner, admirable bowing, and forcible tone, marked the performance of Baillot. In playing solos, to accompany the dancers at the Opera, Baillot was, consciously, out of his element; but at the annual quartett-meetings, where the business was that of giving manifestation to the genius of Boccherini, Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, his soul was kindled, and his powers came forth.—His pupils have been many—including Habeneck and Mazas.
Alexandre Jean Boucher, born, “comme tant d’autres” of his class, in fiddler-fostering Paris, came into the world in 1770, and arrived at early excellence on “the leading instrument.” When seventeen years old, he went to Spain, where he was appointed Violinist of the Chamber and Chapel of Charles IV. During the time that monarch resided in France, Boucher was also in his suite. His mode of obtaining introduction to the “Majesty of Spain” was as remote from all the prescriptions of courtly etiquette as can well be imagined. It forms the subject of a good anecdote, thus translated from the “Souvenirs” of Blangini, the well-known musical composer:—
“Boucher, when a very young man, at Madrid, was without friends, nor had anything to depend on, save his bow and his strings. He knew that the King of Spain was passionately fond of music, and he was anxious that his Majesty should hear him play; but, having no friend who could help him to obtain an introduction at Court, he fell upon the following scheme for the attainment of his object. One day, he stationed himself in the doorway of the palace gate-keeper’s lodge. The man at first scrupled to allow him to remain there; but he at length consented, and Boucher began to play in his most exquisite style. After a little time, the rolling of the King’s carriage was heard at a distance; his Majesty was going out to take a drive, and, as he approached, Boucher played with increased energy and delicacy. The King, surprised at what he heard, stopped and enquired who was playing. On being informed, he ordered that Boucher should be presented to him. He directed him to go to the palace on the following day. Boucher of course obeyed the mandate. The King was enchanted with his talent, and, shortly after, he was appointed first violin of his Majesty’s Chamber Band.”
Shortly after the second restoration of the Bourbons to the throne of France, Boucher proceeded to St. Petersburgh, where he was engaged to give some concerts. Here again we derive from Signor Blangini an anecdote, which he states himself to have received from an individual of undoubted veracity, who had it from the violinist himself.
“Every one who has seen Boucher, must have been struck by his singular resemblance to the Emperor Napoleon: this resemblance was remarkable, not only in his countenance, but in his figure. During his stay at St. Petersburgh, he was one evening engaged to perform at a concert given by the Grand Chamberlain, Prince Narishkin. The Emperor Alexander was present, and in the course of the evening his Majesty stepped up to Boucher, and said, with the affability for which he was distinguished,
“Monsieur Boucher, I have a favour to ask of you.”
Boucher bowed.
“It is an affair,” continued the Emperor, “quite unconnected with the exercise of your profession.”
“I am wholly at your Majesty’s service.”
“Well, come to the palace to-morrow morning, at twelve precisely. You shall be immediately shown into my cabinet, and I will tell you what I have to request. It is a favour which will greatly oblige me.”
“Boucher puzzled himself the whole night, but without being able to form any probable conjecture of what the Emperor wanted. Next day, he repaired to the palace at the appointed hour. When he was ushered into the Emperor’s cabinet, the persons there, among whom was the Grand Duke Constantine, immediately withdrew. Alexander desired Boucher to follow him into an adjoining apartment. There he saw, on a sofa, a small three-cornered hat, a sword, a Colonel’s uniform of the chasseurs of the French Imperial Guard, and a cross of an officer of the Legion of Honour.
“Now,” said the Emperor Alexander, “I will explain to you the favour I have to request. All those objects which you see there, belonged to the Emperor Napoleon; they were taken during the campaign of Moscow. I have frequently heard of your resemblance to Napoleon; but I did not expect to find the likeness so strong as it is. My mother often regrets that she never saw Napoleon; and what I wish you to do—is to put on that dress—and I will present you to her.”
“The Emperor withdrew, and left Boucher to array himself in the imperial costume. When he had completed his toilette, he was conducted to the apartment of the Empress. The Emperor assured his mother that the illusion was complete, and that she might now say she had seen the great man. These were Alexander’s words.”
—Libon, born in 1775, was one of the pupils of Viotti. He became first violinist at the Chapel of the King of Portugal—and subsequently held a similar appointment at Madrid, under Charles IV. In this our Protestant country, where the violin holds no place in the musical service of the church, the mention of such engagements as these, represents hardly any definite idea to the mind. “What can the fiddle possibly have to do with religion?” is a question very likely, here, to precipitate itself from the lips of some honest mystified Englishman. It is a question which I do not undertake to answer, having no such experience on the subject as would give any value to my reply; but I recommend those who are anxious for a solution of the point, to travel abroad—to witness personally this kind of conjunction, as it exists there—and to test it by its effects upon heart and mind.—In 1803, Libon returned to Paris, and was successively first violinist to the Empresses Josephine and Maria Louisa, and to Charles X. He was the composer of several much-admired Studies, and of various pieces played at the Conservatoire. He died in 1838.
—Bellon, who presents oddly the example of a fine artist made out of a man of commerce, is one of the French violinists who have displayed their talents in our metropolis. The following notice of him was given in the Harmonicon, on the occasion of his performing, in 1826, a Concerto of Kreutzer’s, at the Philharmonic Concert:—
“The composition denotes a rich invention, united to great practical knowledge, and was played with a feeling, a firmness, a length of bow, and a breadth of tone, which, in these squeaking days, were as unexpected as delightful. M. Bellon is already a highly distinguished disciple of that fine school of the violin which boasts of Viotti as its head, and enumerates among its members, Rode, Baillot and Kreutzer; the latter of whom—the well-known composer of many admired operas—is his master, and has so well seconded his natural inclinations, that he has enabled him, in the short space of four years, to stand forward and be acknowledged as one of the greatest violinists of the day. His history is rather curious: he was a respectable tradesman in Paris, and was offered a violin in barter for one of his commodities, an umbrella. He agreed to the exchange, acquired some little knowledge of the instrument, became a pupil of Kreutzer, was accepted (though beyond the prescribed age) at the Conservatoire, and is now what we have described him.”
François-antoine Habeneck (the eldest of three brothers of this name) was born at Mezières, June 1st, 1781. Being the son of a performer in a regimental band who was a native of Manheim, but had taken service in France, he learned from his father to play the violin, and at the age of ten he played Concertos in public. After residing in several towns where his father’s regiment was in garrison, he went to Brest, and passed many years there, solely occupied with the care of developing his faculties, as far as he could do so, without model, and without master. While there, he wrote several Concertos and even Operas, without any other guide than his instinct, and without possessing any notions of the art of writing. He was more than twenty years of age when he arrived in Paris. Being admitted to the Conservatoire, as a pupil of M. Baillot, he was not long in placing himself in the first rank amongst the violinists who proceeded from that school; and, after a brilliant competition, he obtained the first prize in 1804, and was appointed répétiteur of his Master’s class. The Empress Josephine, after having heard him in a solo, testified her satisfaction by a pension of 1200 francs. About the same epoch, he obtained, as the result of a competition, a place among the first violins at the opera. Less fortunate in a second competition, which was shortly after opened, for the post of leader of the second violins at the same theatre, Habeneck saw preferred to himself a violinist of moderate ability, of the name of Chol, a very respectable man, but by no means equal to the young artist in talent. In a short time, however, this injustice was repaired, for he was trusted with the post of first violin adjoint for the solos; and when Kreutzer took the direction of the orchestra, after the retirement of Persuis, Habeneck succeeded him as first violin.
In 1806, he had become distinguished for that happy organization which specially qualified him for the direction of a concert-orchestra. At this period, it was the practice, for the violinists who had obtained a first prize at the concerts of the Conservatoire, alternately to direct the concerts of that school for a year. But the superior capabilities of Habeneck for this undertaking soon became so evident, that he remained in possession of the appointment till the temporary close of the Conservatory in 1815, after the entry of the allied armies into Paris. It was in these concerts that he caused to be played, for the first time, Beethoven’s First Symphony (in C). At a later period, when he was charged with the direction of the sacred concerts at the Opera, he continued to make the works of this great artist known to the few enlightened amateurs who came to hear them. But it was, especially, when a new Concert Society was organized at the Conservatory, in 1828, that these grand compositions excited the liveliest enthusiasm by the warmth and energy which M. Habeneck was able to impress upon the execution of them.
Appointed director of the Opera in 1821, Habeneck discharged the functions of that office until 1824. At this period, the Viscount of Rochefoucault changed the administration of that theatre; but, in order to indemnify M. Habeneck, he created for him the place of Inspector-General of the Conservatoire, which he never filled, and a third violin class; and caused Kreutzer to retire, in order to give to M. Habeneck his post of chef-d’orchestre to the Opera. After the revolution of 1830, M. Habeneck added to these appointments that of first violin in the King’s band. His best pupils at the Conservatory were M. Cavillon and M. Allard.
M. Tolbecque is one of the artists who have acquired reputation in France. In the season of 1831, he visited England, and performed at the Philharmonic Concert; since which time, he has become familiarized among us, with a reputation that stands higher for solidity than for brilliancy. M. Tolbecque has a younger brother, who is also a violinist of some skill, and is known in England.
Prosper Sainton, whose talents have been advantageously known to British audiences for several seasons past, was born at Boulogne, in 1814, being the son of a merchant in that town. His parents, who were no votaries of music, gave him an education that looked towards the law. His maternal grandfather, however, discerning something of the youth’s real bias, gave him some initiatory musical notions, and then succeeded, though with difficulty, in obtaining the paternal consent that his grandson should be provided, at college, with an instructor for the violin. Opposing fears represented that such an indulgence would wholly turn aside the pupil from his severer studies. Notwithstanding these prognostications, he gained an eminent position in his class, and was afterwards admitted Bachelor of Letters, with the fullest credit.
In 1830, the period at which young Sainton passed his examination for the University, the Revolution of July burst forth, and proved nearly the ruin of his father (then President of the Tribunal of Commerce at Toulouse), who became deeply involved in the commercial crisis that ensued. In spite of this disaster, he was anxious that his son should still maintain the jurisprudential complexion of his studies; but filial respect could not always hold in suppression the tendencies of struggling nature—and the son’s vocation for music became more and more manifest. The notion of entering, one day, the Paris Conservatory, had taken root in his mind. A permission to repair to the capital for legal purposes, led to the fulfilment of the cherished vision. In the trustful idea of being able, by his progress in a new direction, to furnish ground for a reversal of the paternal decree, he entered, with a beating heart, within the resonant walls of the Conservatoire. There, received, in 1832, into Monsieur Habeneck’s class, he commenced the only career that could satisfy his long-baffled inclination. For the first year, indeed, he managed to pursue his law-course, along with the very dissimilar course prescribed at the Conservatory;—but, after that vain trial of a somewhat Mezentian process, he surrendered himself entirely to his passion for the violin, and declined all further concern with Justinian and the Pandects. The dry was thus exchanged for the delectable—hard fact, for tender feeling. Law, by this arrangement, had one reluctant follower the less—and Music, one loving disciple the more.
Fortified with a potent plea—that of the second prize, which he obtained in 1833—the young aspirant succeeded in reconciling his father to his engagement in the artistic arena; and then, with powers fully emancipated, his progress was rapid, and the following year brought him to the attainment of the first prize.
The débût of Sainton in Paris was of a most encouraging success; but, without waiting to construct a fixed reputation there, he quitted the capital, to enter on a course of professional travel, to which mode of life, a youthful imagination, unshaded by experience, was lending the usual irresistible attractions. The result, however, shewed no disheartening contrast with hopes thus sanguine; for he met with favour everywhere. After visiting Italy, Germany, Russia, Sweden, Denmark and Spain, he returned to the place of his nativity, to share with parents, of whom he was then become the sole support, the fruits of his persevering labours.
In 1844, after the decease of his mother, Sainton made his first appearance in London, where his reception at the concerts of the Philharmonic Society was such as to induce his return in the year following;—since which time, he has only quitted our shores to add one more country to his travelling list—namely, Holland,—where new successes, crowned with presents from Royalty, gladdened his career. His residence in England has been followed by various appointments—those of Violin-Professor at the Royal Academy of Music, Leader at the Italian Opera and at the Philharmonic, and (in 1848) Conductor and Violin Solo-player in Her Majesty’s State Band.
Monsieur Sainton’s works for the violin, to the present time, comprise:—1. A Fantasia in A.—2. An Air with Variations, in D.—3. A Capriccio, with Piano Accompaniment.—4. A Concert Waltz.—5. A Concerto in A, Op. 9.—6. An Italian Thema, with Variations, Op. 10.—7. A Fantasia on Lindpaintner’s “Standard-Bearer.”—8. Fantasia on Lucrezia Borgia.—9. Souvenirs from the “Figlia del Reggimento.”—10. Air with Variations, in G.—11. Concerto in D minor.—12. Concerted Solo in E major.
Under the French School, as most nearly assimilating with it in character, may be included the able artists who, in recent days, have contributed to the honour of Belgium. At the head of these, stand De Beriot and Vieuxtemps;—of whom, as well as of their compatriot, Artot, some account shall here be introduced.
Charles Auguste De Beriot, conspicuous for the perfection of the qualities by which his playing has been distinguished—for remarkably just intonation—grace—refined taste—rich and charming tone—and for elegant bowing and wonderful execution, was born at Louvain, of noble parentage, in 1802. Left an orphan at the age of nine, he found, in M. Tiby, professor of music in that town, a tutor, a second father, and a master who laboured with zeal to develop his happy dispositions for music. Already had he arrived at a certain degree of skill on the violin; and his progress had been so rapid, that he was able to play Viotti’s Concerto in A flat (letter H) in such mode as to excite the admiration of his compatriots. Endued, besides, with a contemplative mind (says M. Fétis), and having no model immediately at hand that he could imitate, he sought within himself for that principle of the beautiful, whereof he could have no notion, except through the spontaneous strivings of his own individuality. As to the report that he was the pupil of Jacotot, it appears that the general attention of the Belgians had been directed for years to the prodigious results which were said to be derived from “Jacotot’s Method;” and that De Beriot, wishing to know what advantage he might obtain from its processes, had some conversations with its inventor, and then learned from it little more than two things, of gravity rather than of novelty; viz. that perseverance triumphs over all obstacles—and that, in general, we are not willing to do all that we are able to do. The young artist comprehended the truth contained in these oracular propositions, and turned it to his own profit. To this extent only can De Beriot be called the pupil of Jacotot.
A happy organization, moral as well as physical, an education well commenced—and labour regulated with the greatest judgment—could not fail to ensure for De Beriot the acquisition of a very remarkable talent. Nothing was still necessary but contact with fine talents of other kinds, in order to finish, to adjust, and to give determined character. De Beriot was nineteen years old, when (in 1821) he quitted his native town, and repaired to Paris; where his first object of care was to play before Viotti, at that time Director of the Opera. After hearing him with attention, “You have,” said the renowned artist, “a fine style; give yourself up to the business of perfecting it; hear all the men of talent; profit by everything, and imitate nothing.” This advice seemed to imply the recommendation to have no master. De Beriot, however, thought it necessary to take lessons of Baillot, and entered the Conservatory with this view; but he was not long in discovering that his talent had already a character of its own, which it would be difficult to modify, without injuring its originality. He continued therefore but a few months in the classes of the Conservatory, resumed the control of his own labours, and soon appeared at concerts with brilliant success. His first Airs with Variations, compositions full of grace and novelty, augmented his rising reputation.
From a brilliant career in Paris, De Beriot passed, in 1826, into England, where he met with a corresponding reception. In London, as well as in some of our provincial cities, he gave concerts, that were attended with transports of applause. Besides engagements at the Philharmonic Society, he was heard at some of the Musical Festivals, which take place annually in the principal towns of England. Of the impression he produced among ourselves, a marked individual instance is on record, in the fact (stated in the Harmonicon) of a certain gentleman travelling from Glasgow expressly to hear him play a Concerto at the Birmingham Musical Festival, and declaring himself amply recompensed by the result, for his trouble, time, expense and fatigue! To his performance during one of his later visits to England, the Harmonicon thus alluded:—
“We knew not which most to admire—his tone, his vigor, the determined manner in which he sprang to his extreme shifts, his staccato passages, the bow bounding from the string with an elasticity almost magical, or the boldness and certainty of his double stops.”
Returning to his native land, with a now brilliant renown, De Beriot was presented to King William, who, although he had little love for music, understood the necessity of assuring the independence of a young artist who gave such promise of becoming an honour to his country. He granted him a pension of 2000 florins, with the title of “first violin solo” in his private band. The Revolution of 1830 deprived De Beriot of these advantages.
It was at one time objected to this artist, that, bounding the scope of his talent to the composing and playing of Airs with Variations, he shut himself up within too confined a sphere. Of this reproach he cleared himself, by the composition of Concertos, which he played on various occasions, and wherein he discovered grander proportions, both as to conception and execution. The last of these Concertos is full of originality.
A marked incident in the life of this artist, was his hymeneal engagement with the celebrated Malibran; and the close opportunities thus possessed of hearing that accomplished woman, appear to have exercised the happiest influence on his own talent. At Naples, where he appeared at a concert given at the Theatre San Carlos, he obtained an enthusiastic success, very uncommon among the Italians; for that nation, passionate in its admiration of song, pays usually a lower degree of homage to instrumentalists.—An anecdote or two may serve to close our notice of this eminent artist. One of our own violinists, more noted for his execution than his feeling, was once complaining to him that he found he could produce very little effect with his (De Beriot’s) airs variés.—“C’est qu’il y faut de l’âme!” (“What they require, is soul”) was the laconic reply of the Belgian.
An auditor at one of the concerts here, in which De Beriot was to exhibit his powers being previously unacquainted with the person of the great artist, inquired of a neighbouring sitter (apparently French) whether that were De Beriot—indicating, at the same time, the individual on whom his supposition rested. The foreign gentleman made answer in the affirmative; adding, with enthusiasm, and in English of his own modification, “Sare, you may be sure dat dere is bot won De Ber-r-r-riot!”
Henri Vieuxtemps was born at Verviers, in 1820. His father, a soldier retired from the service, practised as a maker and tuner of musical instruments; and little Henry evinced, at an early date, his natural taste for music, by the pleasure he found in listening to the performances of his father on the violin. At two years of age, he amused himself for hours together by rubbing the hair of a violin-bow on the strings of a little instrument. At the age of four and a half, he began to read music. A zealous amateur, charmed with the child’s happy indications, offered to defray the expenses of his musical education, and placed him under the tuition of M. Ledoux, an able professor of the violin, who, by his lessons, developed the talents of the young violinist, destined soon to become one of the most distinguished artists of his day. So rapid was his progress, that he was enabled, at the age of eight years, to undertake, with his master, a tour for the purpose of giving concerts in the principal towns of Belgium. While at Brussels, he met with De Beriot, who, struck with his precocious skill, gratuitously gave him lessons for several months, In the spring of 1830, he went with his new master to Paris, and performed at a concert given in the Salle of the Rue de Cléry. The future eminence of the artist-child was then confidently predicted. Returning to Verviers, a short time after, Vieuxtemps resumed his studies. In 1833, he engaged with his father in a tour through Germany, during which he acquired, by the custom of playing in public, the assurance necessary to the unembarrassed display of talent. It was at Vienna that he obtained his first really important success. While there, he took some lessons of Simon Sechter, Organist to the Court, and then returned to Brussels, where he only stayed a few months. At the end of 1834, he went to Paris, and, finding no opportunity of exhibiting his talents in that city, he proceeded to London, where, however, his reception fell somewhat short of his expectations. Returning to Paris in the summer of 1835, he resolved to perfect his knowledge of music, and entered on a course of studies in composition, under Reicha. The superficial but rapid method of this professor was exactly that which best suited an instrumentalist, little anxious to acquire a profound knowledge of the forms of counterpoint, for which he considered he had no use. After this, he began writing his first compositions, and played them in the course of a tour in Holland, which he made in 1836;—he then went again to Vienna, and published his first works.
In 1838, Vieuxtemps played with success at the theatre at Brussels, and also in a concert given in the Church of the Augustins by the Philanthropic Society. His performances were “fantaisies” and fragments of Concertos, in which some happy ideas were noticeable, but mixed with incoherences. Immediately after this, he set out for Russia, giving concerts, by the way, at Prague Leipsig, Dresden, and Berlin. On quitting this last city for Petersburgh, he was seized with a serious illness, in a little Russian village, and was detained there more than two months. On his arrival at Petersburgh, he met with splendid success, as he did also at Moscow. It was in Russia that he wrote a new Violin Concerto, and a Grand “Fantaisie” (orchestral), the superiority of which, when compared with his foregoing productions, is so marked, that his detractors, both at Paris and Brussels, availed themselves of this fact to dispute the authorship. It is no unreasonable supposition, that his future works will give an emphatic denial to these jealous insinuations. After a stay of more than a year in Russia, Vieuxtemps returned to Brussels in 1840, and, the 7th of July following, he played his new Concerto and his “Fantaisie” in a grand concert given for the benefit of the musicians of the orchestra at the theatre. These pieces, in the execution of which the artist displayed the finest talent, excited transports of enthusiasm. Vieuxtemps played them again, with similar result, at the concerts given at Antwerp, on the inauguration of the statue of Rubens.
A Parisian success formed now the object of Vieuxtemps’ advancing ambition. This he obtained in the winter following, exciting no less interest by the merit of his later productions, than by his skill upon his instrument. He afterwards made a second tour in Holland, and then revisited Germany, and appeared, for the third time, at Vienna. Having travelled through Poland, he returned to Brussels in June 1843, and, in the fall of that year, was heard in America. His subsequent career has confirmed all the anticipations formed by the judicious as to the distinction he would attain.
Joseph Artot, born at Brussels in 1815, had for his first music-master his father, a player of the first horn at the theatre of that city. At the age of five, he solfa-ed with facility; and, with less than eighteen-months’ study on the violin, he was able to play at the theatre, in a Concerto of Viotti’s. Charmed with the felicitous aptitude of the child, M. Snel, at that time first violin-solo, undertook the task of developing it by his instructions, and not long afterwards sent him to Paris. There, Artot was admitted as a page at the Chapel-Royal; and when he had attained his ninth year, he passed under the direction of the elder Kreutzer, for the study of the violin. This distinguished artist conceived a regard for him, and often gave him lessons, out of class, at the Conservatory. On the retirement of Kreutzer, in 1826, his brother Augustus Kreutzer, who replaced him, evinced for Artot no less kindness than his predecessor. Artot had just completed his twelfth year, when the second violin-prize was awarded him, in the competition at the Conservatory. In the year following, he obtained the first prize. He then quitted Paris, to visit his own country—playing with success at Brussels, and making, some months after, a journey to London, where he was not less fortunate. Returning subsequently to Paris, Artot became attached to the orchestras of various theatres; but the desire of making himself known caused him to renounce these appoint ments, and travel in the south of France. The result was successful everywhere. He has written quatuors for the violin, and a quintett for piano, two violins, alto and bass, two airs with variations for the violin,—and other works.
Shifting the ground, and giving a fresh stir to our attention, let us now pass “from gay to grave, from lively to severe”—or, in other words, from France to Germany; in which latter country, will be found ample matter for observation and comment, as relates to the theme we are pursuing.