CHAPTER V.
THE GERMAN SCHOOL.
“Plain, without pomp—and rich, without a show.”—Dryden.
Germany and Italy may each be regarded as an abiding realm of sweet sounds, a special nursery and home of music. They are the two countries from which, since the days of modern civilization, the great supplies of musical thought and feeling have been diffused abroad, for the delight of nations;—the feeling, for the most part, proceeding from Italy, and the thought from Germany, comformably to the characteristics of the two people respectively. Impulse and passion predominate on the Italian side—intellect and fancy on the German, and the division into two great schools, or systems, marked severally by these opposite qualities, takes its date from about the commencement of the 18th century. The two musical natures, thus distinguished from each other, have found each a different channel for its expression—that of Italy becoming essentially vocal, that of Germany, instrumental. Italian music is fresh from the heart, spontaneous, and glowing with melody: German music, true to the spirit of its birth-place, is either grave and solid, or wild and fantastic. Less simple than the Italian in its elements, the German musical genius has sought its chief glory amid the intricate combinations of orchestral science, where its laborious and meditative turn can have fullest exposition.
Passing from these general remarks to a consideration of the German School of the Violin, in particular, we may observe, that, although derived originally, like all the others, from that of Italy, and contracting no inconsiderable obligations to it in its progress, it has been, on the whole, much less indebted to the Italians for resources and support, than the School either of France or England. The cause of this arises out of the admitted fact, that the Germans are essentially a more musical people[50]—are more deeply imbued with a musical character of their own—than the natives of the two latter countries. They have been less willing, as well as less needing, than these, to incur the debt to Italy—and certainly less willing to add to its amount. The love of the instrument diffused itself very speedily among them (the Germans), and their own powerful musical organization enabled them not only to modify more promptly, after their own character, the hints which they received from its original Italian cultivators, but to be satisfied with a smaller quantity of confirmation from the same source. Their comparative independence, however, or disinclination to borrow, has been somewhat unfavourable to the completeness of their success as performers on the violin. They have, as it were, impressed their own stamp and character upon it —that is to say, they have attained an honest solidity of execution, of high value in orchestral playing; but, with a few prominent exceptions, such as Kiesewetter and Mayseder, they seem to have neglected, as uncongenial to them, the lighter graces and refinements which have been so readily caught up by the more imitative Frenchman. As violinists of display, therefore, they must be content to rank below the French. They are below them in that which their dignity has not thought proper to make the subject of competition—the “manual exercise” of the instrument. They are inferior in execution, and therefore less effective as solo-players; for though the German violinists have, in recent times, enjoyed some repute for their skill in fingering difficult passages with the left hand, they have frequently been deficient with the right; that is to say, indifferently versed in the dexterities of the bow.
The ingenious author of “A Ramble among the Musicians of Germany” has considered the Violin School of that country, at present, to be inferior, not only to the French—which there is no contesting—but also to that of England. In this latter notion I cannot help thinking him mistaken—and I would appeal to his own declaration, that although in Germany “one may find no band equal to that of the Philharmonic Society, fifty may be found, only inferior to it.” This fact supposes of necessity a very large body of good sound violin-players, whose united merits render it scarcely possible to regard the state of the art in their country as inferior to what it is in ours.
The Germans have, after all admitted drawbacks, a high renown in connection with that leading instrument which it is the business of these pages to celebrate. They have the renown that justly attaches to the production of the greatest writers of all for the Violin Family. Their compositions for the instrument, in its single state, are perhaps over-laboured, over-full of chromatic passages, and wanting in the broad, simple, vocal character of the Italian music of the same class;—they have been content, individually, to talk with the violin, whilst the Italians have sung with it;—but—they have tasked their own genius to find scope for its powers in the aggregate—to develop its resources in combination with those instruments that are its immediate relatives; and, in this collective character, they have given new triumphs to it. The names of Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven, at once suggest themselves, and assert for their country, under this view, a superiority which the world does not seek to dispute. In the quartetts, and other instrumental pieces, up to symphonies inclusive, which have been produced by these great men, all the higher capabilities of bowed instruments are consulted and brought forward, with a nicety of discernment, and a richness, variety, and grandeur of effect, which excite equally our surprise and gratification.—Let us now consider, in their order, the principal German masters whose eminence relates particularly to the violin.
It is hardly necessary to enumerate all the early performers mentioned with commendation by Walther in his Dictionary, since their fame and influence do not appear to have travelled beyond their own country. We will therefore commence with David Funk, originally a singer at Reichenbach, where he was born in the early part of the seventeenth century. He was an excellent musician, and a capital performer on the violin and the viol-da-gamba, besides displaying talent on the harpsichord and the guitar. He was, moreover, a general scholar, and one of the most elegant versifiers in Germany. Independently of his excellence as a practical musician, he obtained credit as a composer, in a variety of styles; and his compositions for the church and the chamber were much admired. His talents, brilliant and diversified as they were, suffered some tarnish from his immoral conduct. It was in 1670 that he began to shine as a composer, by the publication of a collection of pieces for the viol-da-gamba. He was under the patronage of the Princess of Ostfrise, during seven years. That Princess, however, dying in 1689, Funk, then more than sixty years old, returning to the place of his nativity, succeeded in obtaining several appointments; but these he had scarcely retained for a year, when the extreme irregularity of his life deprived him of them, and reduced him to the necessity of quitting the town as hastily as possible. It was in the depth of winter; and in his flight, through frost and snow, he arrived at the gate of the castle of Schleitz. The sordid state of his habiliments made so repulsive an impression on the porter, that he refused him admittance; but his good fortune, prevailing, brought to the spot the chapel-master, Liebich, who, acquainted with his merit, though previously a stranger to his person, expressed his desire for the honor of his friendship, and, in the name of the lord of the castle, whose favour and protection he himself enjoyed, invited the fugitive to his patron’s table. The Count was so delighted with his musical talents and various knowledge, that he retained him as his friend and companion, till letters arrived from Wohnsiedel, claiming him as a moral delinquent, to answer for some part of his past conduct. The Count, disposed to favour him as much as the nature of the case would admit, advised him to depart secretly, and afforded him every assistance for his journey. Funk, once more a wanderer, with out knowing whither to go, was, a few days afterwards, found dead, behind a hedge, in a field near Arnstadt!
It is doubtful whether any of the violin compositions of this master are extant; but, among his sacred instrumental pieces, there is one which has received the encomium of all real judges of music: it is a drama passionale, the words of which, as well as the music, were his own.
Thomas Baltzar, born at Lubeck about 1630, was esteemed the finest performer on the violin of his time. He came to England in 1658, at which time the instrument had not yet been enabled to manifest its real powers among us, nor to emerge (as it shortly afterwards did) from the low estimation in which it was held. Baltzar may be considered as having helped in no small degree to prepare the way for its rescue from humility in this country. He lived, for about two years after his arrival here, in the house of Sir Anthony Cope, of Hanwell, in Oxfordshire. He is said to have first taught the English the practice of shifting (that is to say, of what is termed the whole-shift), and the use of the upper part of the finger-board—in like manner as Geminiani is believed to have been our first instructor in the half-shift.[51] It is certain that the power of execution and command of the instrument, exhibited by Baltzar, were matter of novelty among us, although we had a native performer, of no mean abilities at that period, in the person of Davis Mell, who, in delicacy of tone and manner, seems even to have exceeded the more potent and renowned German. Baltzar was of a Bacchanalian turn in his habits, and was believed to have brought his end somewhat the nearer thereby. His remains obtained the honor of a place in Westminster Abbey, in the year 1663. Dr. Burney has characterized his compositions as discovering “genius and a strong hand.”
Henry John Francis Biber, vice-chapel-master to the Bishop of Salzburg, seems to have been one of the best violin-players of his time; and his solos, which he published in 1681 (with a bass), are stated by Dr. Burney to comprise more of fancy, as well as of difficulty, than any music of the same period. One of the pieces is written on three staves, as a score for two violins and bass, but is designed to be played (as regards the violin) in double stops. Others are played in different tunings of fourths and fifths, as for a treble viol.
Godfrey Finger, a Silesian, was a voluminous composer for the violin; in a style of less power than that of Baltzar, but of more polish, and approaching somewhat to the Italians, Bassani and Torelli. He was some years resident in England, having received, in 1685, the appointment of chapel-master to King James II. On returning to Germany, he became chamber-musician to the Queen of Prussia in 1702, and, in 1717, chapel-master to the Court of Gotha.
John Gottlieb Graun, brother of the celebrated chapel-master of that name, and born about the year 1700, was an excellent performer on the violin, and a respectable composer, of the old school. He was concert-master to the King of Prussia, and there are extant of his writings, several overtures, symphonies, concertos, a “Salve Regina,” and some masses. He transmitted, through several good pupils, the serviceable solidity of his talent.
Francis Benda, usually commemorated as the originator of a distinct style of violin-performance in Germany, was a native of Bohemia, and born in the year 1709. At the age of seven, he commenced vocal studies, and, two years afterwards, became a sopranist in the choir of St. Nicholas, at Prague. He soon afterwards went to Dresden, where he was immediately received among the élèves of the Chapelle Royale, in which situation he continued eighteen months. About this period he began to practise the violin, and had no other resource than that of engaging himself with a company of itinerant musicians, who attended fêtes and fairs. While thus situated, he formed an acquaintance with a blind Jew, of the name of Loebel, a virtuoso of no mean order, who became his master and his model. At length, tired of this wandering life, he returned to Prague, and took lessons of Kouyezek, an excellent violinist of that town. He was now eighteen; and, eager in the pursuit of professional excellence, resolved to visit Vienna, where he soon found an opportunity of profiting by the example of the then celebrated Franciscello. After a residence of two years in that city, he went to Warsaw, where he was nominated Chapel-Master. In 1732, at the recommendation of Quantz, the Prince Royal of Prussia (afterwards Frederic II) received him into his band. Anxious for further improvement in his art, he became the pupil of Graun, for the violin; then studied harmony under his brother; and afterwards learned composition of Quantz himself. In 1732, he replaced Graun as the King’s Concert-Master, which situation he held till his death, at Potsdam, 1786.
Of the peculiar qualities of Benda, as a violinist, Dr. Burney, in his Travels, thus speaks:—“His manner was neither that of Tartini, nor of Veracini, nor that of any other leader; it was purely his own, though founded on the several models of the greatest masters:”—and Hillar, in his Biography, tells us “that his tones were of the finest description, the clearest and most euphonious that can be imagined. The rapidity of his execution, and the mellow sweetness of his altissimo notes, were unequalled. With him, the violin had no difficulties. He was master of all its powers, and knew when to use them.”
John Stamitz, Concert-Master and Chamber-Musician at Mannheim, and regarded, like the preceding artist, as the founder of a distinct class of German violinists, was born in 1719, at a small town in Bohemia, where his father was a school-master. Besides the high repute he enjoyed as regards the formation of pupils, Stamitz has attained a just celebrity by his written works. These (which include a curiosity in art—a duett for one violin) consist principally of symphonies or overtures, concertos, quartetts and trios. Though exhibiting a masterly character, they convey the impression, at this period, of belonging too peculiarly to the old school, and have been considered, by some critics, to savour too much of the Church style.
The successors of Benda and Stamitz, still adding some improvements to the precepts or the practice inculcated by those eminent directors, may be said to have created a school of their own, at the head of which we should place Leopold Mozart (author of “Der Violinschule”), Fraenzl, and Cramer, who made some approach to Tartini, his contemporary, and flourished long in England, as a concerto-performer and leader. Of the first and the last of these three professors, some account shall here be subjoined.
Leopold Mozart, father of him who, in the fullest sense permitted to sublunary credit, may be called, “The Undying One,” was born at Augsburg in 1719. After having completed his studies, and particularly a course of jurisprudence, at Salzburg, young Leopold entered the family of the Count of Thurn, in the somewhat odd quality of Valet-de-Chambre Musicien. The situation of a violinist having become vacant in the chapel of the Prince Bishop of Salzburg, he obtained it in 1743. His compositions made him favourably known in Germany but his reputation was extended principally by the Method for the Violin, which he published in 1756, and which, for half a century, was considered as the best work of the kind.
In 1762, Leopold Mozart obtained the post of Second Chapel-Master at the Court of Salzburg. Of seven children whom he had by his marriage, there remained to him only the son, afterwards so famous, and a daughter, whose success in childhood promised a talent which was never realized. The musical education of the children occupied all the time which his duties and his works left to the father. A little while after his nomination as Second Chapel-master, he commenced long tours with his son and daughter, visiting the principal courts of Germany, Holland, England and France, and passed many years in Italy. Returning to Salzburg, rich in the hopes that centered on his son,—but with an exchequer nearly exhausted by the charges attendant on so much itinerancy—he did not again quit the residence of his Prince till 1775. Anxiously careful about ameliorating the condition of his family, he failed to secure that object, and became more and more impoverished. The forms and practices of a scrupulous devotion furnished him, however, with some consolation in his griefs, and alleviated his sense of suffering from the gout. He died at Salzburg, in 1787.
Of the Symphonies composed by Leopold Mozart, it suffices for their commendation to say, that some of them have been attributed to his son. His Method for the violin is entitled “Versuch einer Gründlichen Violinschule,” Augsburg, 1756, 4to., with a portrait of the author, and four plates representing the different positions for holding the bow and the violin. This work, composed according to the doctrine of Tartini, contains (says M. Fétis) some excellent things, and will always be read with profit by such violinists as are disposed to reflection on the subject of their art. The second edition, completed, appeared, under the title “Gründliche Violinschule,” in 1770. A third edition was published in 1785. It has since been frequently reprinted, and translated into several languages.
William Cramer was a native of Mannheim, and born in the year 1730. Influenced by an early passion for music, and aided by the bounty of Prince Maximilian, he soon acquired excellence on his favourite instrument, and, at the age of twenty, obtained a situation in the chapel of the Elector Palatine. Not, however, receiving on the Continent encouragement commensurate with his continual and rapid improvement, he, in 1770, came to England, where he soon obtained the situations of Leader of the Opera-House band, and of the King’s Concerts. In 1787, under John Bates, the Conductor, he led the performances given at Westminster Abbey in commemoration of Handel, and led them in a style that proved his thorough comprehension of the music of that great master. Though Cramer failed to obtain in Germany sufficient patronage to induce his remaining in that country, his claims were admitted there by all real judges of executive talent; and in England he was esteemed the first violinist of his time. It used to be asserted of him that he joined the emphatical expression of Benda with the brilliancy of Lolli. The decision and spirit which characterized his playing, gave him great advantage as a leader.—The latter days of Cramer were somewhat clouded. The emoluments arising to him from the Opera House, and from his employment as a private teacher of the violin, had been considerable during many years; but talent is too frequently a bad economist, and his was one of the cases in which it proved so. The embarrassment he sustained in his affairs, and the transfer of the post of leader of the Opera-band to the greater Viotti, combined to exercise an injurious effect on his health and spirits. His death occurred in October 1799. Cramer was twice married, and had two sons by his first wife—John-Baptist the great Pianiste, and François, of whom presently.[52]
John Peter Salomon was born at Bonn, in 1745. Director, purveyor, composer and performer, he was one of those whom the musical historian must delight to honour. He was educated for the law; but the voice of music was too powerful within him to be restrained. While very young, he became a performer in the Electoral Chapel at Bonn. In 1781 he went to Paris, with a result of more fame than profit. His enterprising spirit, regulated by discretion, found a happier field in London, where his cheerful disposition, polished manners, good sense, and general attainments, soon obtained for him the friendship of all who at first patronized him for his professional talents. His concerts in 1791 form an epoch in musical history—for, to them we are indebted for the production of Haydn’s twelve Grand Symphonies, known everywhere as “composed for Salomon’s Concerts.” Salomon had formed his project, and digested its details, in the previous year. In order to give every possible effect, as well as éclat, to his concerts, he determined to engage that “par nobile,” Haydn and Mozart, not only to write exclusively for them, but to conduct their compositions in person. For this purpose he went to Vienna, where, after several interviews with both these great musicians, it was mutually agreed that Haydn should go to London the first season, and Mozart the next. They all dined together on the day fixed for the departure of the two travellers. Mozart attended them to the door of their carriage, wishing them every success, and repeating, as they drove off, his promise to complete his part of the agreement the following year. This, however, was an abortive hope. L’homme propose, Dieu dispose:—Mozart, who had filled a short life with durable deeds, was carried, within that stipulated interval, to the grave!—The terms on which Haydn undertook so long a journey and so responsible a duty, were, £300 for composing six grand Symphonies, £200 for the copyright of them, and a benefit, the profits guaranteed at £200. Salomon re-engaged Haydn for the season 1792, on the same terms, except that, for the copyright of the last six Symphonies, the increased sum of £300 was paid. In the first concert of this year, Yaniewicz played a Violin Concerto. At the first of the series in 1793, Viotti made his début in London, in his favourite Violin Concerto. In 1794 and 95, Haydn, having visited London a second time, was again at the same post of pianoforte president. In 1796, Salomon’s discriminating judgment brought out of obscurity, and placed in their proper sphere, the extraordinary vocal powers of Braham. Of Salomon’s subsequent subscription concerts, engagements at private music parties, attendances at the Prince of Wales’s Carlton-House Concerts, compositions of canzonets, songs, glees, &c. it is not requisite here to treat. His public career extended to the period of the formation of the Philharmonic Society, in 1813, of which he was one of the original and most zealous promoters and assistants. He died Nov. 28th, 1815. His remains, followed to the grave by a long train of professional and other friends, were interred in the great Cloister of Westminster Abbey.
Salomon was one of the few whose right to contend for the honour of being considered the greatest performer in Europe on the violin, was manifest. His taste, refinement, and enthusiasm, as Dr Burney has observed, were universally admitted. His profound knowledge of the musical art served to add solidity to his fame. His judgment and vigour, as a leader, are traditionally well known. Among his pupils, Pinto proved the extent of his master’s skill, and his ability in communicating it. Unfortunately, this extraordinary young man, whose musical progress reflected so much honour on his teacher, possessed qualities that are but too frequently the regretted concomitants of genius, and he perished just as he was ripening into finished excellence. Salomon, besides other works, published two Violin Concertos, arranged for the pianoforte, with full accompaniments; and six Solos for the violin, printed first in Paris, afterwards in London. Among his unpublished compositions, are some Violin Quartetts, Trios, and Concertos.
Charles Stamitz, eldest son of Stamitz the famous, was born at Mannheim, in 1746. He was made a violinist by his father, and his father’s pupil, Cannabich; and was afterwards engaged in the chapel of a German Prince, till the year 1770, when he went to Paris, and made a durable impression there, both as a concerto-player on the violoncello and tenor, and as an instrumental composer. His writings had all the fire and spirit of those of his father, as well as an admixture of later improvements, without servility of imitation, as relating to any style. Many of them were published at Paris, Berlin, and Amsterdam. This artist died at Jena, on his journey to Russia, in 1801.
John Frederick Eck, born at Mannheim, in 1766, became Concert Director to the Court of Munich. Noted as an artist in his day, he is further noted as having assisted to develop the great faculty of Louis Spohr.
Andreas and Bernard Romberg, cousins to each other, and scions of a family of some note in the annals of music, were for several years joint participants in labours connected, immediately or incidentally, with the violin. About the year 1790, the two cousins held situations in the court-chapel of the Elector of Cologne, at Bonn, where Andreas was already distinguished by his excellent performance on the violin, and his compositions, both vocal and instrumental; and Bernard no less for his violoncello-playing, and the pieces he had written, either for his own instrument, or the full orchestra[53].
When the French armies entered Bonn, at the commencement of the revolutionary war, the Elector’s musical establishment was broken up, and the two cousins proceeded to Hamburgh, where they readily obtained engagements in the orchestra of the German Theatre. In 1795, they left Hamburgh, and, continuing their mutually beneficial compact, made journeyings together through several cities of Germany and Italy, establishing everywhere the reputation of being among the best violin and violoncello players of the day. Their duetts and concertante performances, in particular, had that perfect harmony of finish which the constant habit of studying and playing together could perhaps alone bestow. The familiar interchange of ideas was likewise of advantage to them in the compositions which they produced, whether conjointly or separately. They may be styled, by no very forced parallel, the “Beaumont and Fletcher” of the musical world.
In 1797, they returned to Hamburgh, where Andreas remained; while Bernard, two years afterwards, made a separate excursion through England and Spain, to Lisbon, and, returning to Hamburgh about 1803, obtained subsequently a situation in the Royal Chapel at Berlin. Andreas had, in the mean time, turned his attention more extensively towards composition, and produced works involving larger combinations, and full orchestral agency, such as it is not requisite here to specify. Both the cousins, moreover, are best known as voluminous, and at one time highly popular, composers for their own particular instruments. Their chief instrumental works, as an English critic has remarked, will always be heard with pleasure, although without the excitement which attends Beethoven, or the deep admiration which waits upon Mozart. Of these works it may suffice here to enumerate:—
Four Concertos for the violin—two Quintetts—twenty-four Quartetts (comprised in eight sets)—a Quartett for the pianoforte and stringed instruments—nine Duetts—and a set of three Studios, or Sonatas for the violin—by Andreas Romberg.
A set of three Quartetts—four single Quartetts—a Trio for violin, tenor, and violoncello obligato, in F—six Concertos, and several Concertantes and Airs with Variations, for the violoncello—two Quartetts for pianoforte and stringed instruments—by Bernard Romberg.
François Cramer, second son of William Cramer, was born near Mannheim, in 1772. He commenced his labours on the violin under regular tuition, at a very tender age, and was no novice in the art of handling it, when, in his eighth year, he left his native country, to join his father and his brother John, who were settled in England. A long suspension of his practice, however, was rendered necessary by feeble health; and the extent of delay prescribed by Horace with regard to a poem—“nonum prematur in annum”—was nearly enforced as to young Cramer’s violin, which he had to keep in reserve during a lapse of seven years. On recommencing, he found himself under the disadvantage of having to toil over all the elementary ground anew. He did this, however, with good heart, and then worked his way into close acquaintance with the Solos of Geminiani and Tartini, and the Capriccios of Benda and old Stamitz. At the age of seventeen, he was placed, as a gratuitous member, in the Opera band, by his father, who was its leader. In the course of a few years, he rose in the ranks of the orchestra, and was appointed principal second violin under his father, not only at the Opera, but at all the principal concerts, as the King’s Concerts of Ancient Music, the Ladies’ Concerts, and the great provincial musical festivals. On the death of his father, he was appointed leader of the Ancient Concerts, and came into very general employment as an orchestral leader, during many years—a position for which his steadiness of direction, and his solid style of playing, well qualified him. It was on his capacity as a leader, especially for the lofty music of Handel, that his fame rested. As a solo-player, he never had much importance—his powers of execution not being of the kind that ensures the uniform triumph over difficult passages.
Friedrich Ernst Fesca, born at Magdeburg, in 1789, was brought up in the midst of music, and took to the study of the violin in his ninth year, under M. Lohse, first violinist of the Magdeburg Theatre. Fesca made rapid progress, and was speedly delighted at being enabled to join in quartetts of Haydn, Boccherini and Mozart. In his eleventh year, he exhibited in a concerto on the violin, publicly, at Magdeburg. His first essay in composition was a concerto for the violin, performed by himself at Leipsig. Introduced by Marshal Victor to Jerome Buonaparte, he became first violinist at Cassel. His forte in instrumentalizing lay principally in the adagio, that true touchstone of a performer’s abilities and it was in giving effect to this that his inmost soul shone forth. His compositions, also, showed superior delicacy in the adagio. Fesca afterwards became first violin of the Court Theatre at Carlsruhe, and at a later period was concert-master to the Grand Duke of Baden. He died in 1825, leaving a character highly esteemed and respected, especially for its exemption from the alloy of professional envy. He was distinguished in other compositions besides the instrumental. His quartetts possess great merit, but are by no means to be ranked with those of Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven. They are marked by grace and feeling, more than by invention.
Christoph Gottfried Kiesewetter was born in 1777, at Anspach, where his father was first violinist at the Royal Chapel. His own devotion to the instrument was repaid by the high reputation he acquired, rather than by pecuniary success;—for music in Germany, like virtue everywhere, is, in a certain qualified sense, its own reward. In that country, where the practice of the musical art is so extensively diffused, the individual professor has not the opportunity of rendering it so lucrative to himself, as it is where talent is concentrated among a very few of the community. Holding the appointment of leader of the band to the Hanoverian Court, Kiesewetter found himself too poor for the maintenance of a wife and eight children. In 1821, he came to London, and at once established a reputation here by his spirited playing at the Philharmonic Concerts. His execution was considered to be sometimes quite amazing, but not always perfect. It was particularly remarked that in quick playing he had a sort of jerking squeak in his high notes, that was somewhat anti-musical, and was one of the consequences of his too frequent use of the extra shifts. These squeaking notes, and marked slidings of the finger up the strings, as it has justly been observed, may shew a certain kind of mechanical skill that partakes of the nature of practical wit, but they also betray the weaker part in the instrument, and are apt to be (except when insured by the skill of a Paganini) more provoking than pleasing. There existed a similar cause of deduction from the praise due to another German violinist, M. Hauman, who played at the Philharmonic in 1829. Kiesewetter, when in Germany, was fond of introducing Russian airs into his performances, which he did with happy effect. His action in playing was not graceful: this was probably to be attributed, in some degree, to the effect of a pulmonary complaint under which he suffered.
Mr. Gardiner has described the painful circumstances attendant on the last two performances of this accomplished artist, which took place at Leicester. On both occasions he was supported into the orchestra, and placed in a chair, by his brother professors,—his debility being so distressingly apparent that many persons apprehended he would expire in the room. The audience, with one voice, entreated that he would abandon the idea of playing; but he persisted; and though the withering hand of death had so visibly touched him, he had yet enough of energy remaining, to exhibit a few scintillations of his taste and style; but his fire and vigor were gone. He died in London, in September 1827, receiving unremitting attentions at the close of his career from his pupil, Oury. His death may be in some sort regarded as a loss to our English violinists—for the animation of his performance, beyond what is common either in his own country or here, afforded a useful example, which might have been prolonged with advantage.
Louis Spohr, the most highly gifted and accomplished of living German musicians, is the son of a physician at Seesen, in the Brunswick territory, where he was born in 1784. In his juvenile days, he was less forward in the exhibition of the musical faculty than has been the case with many whose powers, at maturity, have been far below his. The late Duke of Brunswick, however, who was himself a performer on the violin, interested himself in the success of young Spohr, and received him as a musician in the Chapel Royal. The Duke afterwards enabled him to accompany a distinguished player, Francis Eck, on a tour to Russia, by which means he acquired much important musical knowledge. On his return, he applied himself very closely to violin-practice, and then travelled through various parts of Germany, exciting enthusiasm by the fine qualities of his playing; for by that time he had already impressed on the instructions derived from his master the seal of his own organization and fine meditative powers. In 1805, he became concert-master, violinist, and composer, to the Duke of Saxe Gotha. In 1814, Spohr was in Vienna during the Congress, on which conspicuous occasion Rode and Mayseder had likewise resorted thither; and a story was current which represented each of these eminent performers as having played in succession, in a quartett of his own composition, at a private party, with the result of a unanimous preference for Mayseder, both as to the composition and the performance. This tale is not accredited by the judgment formed of the respective competitors by the public: and any belief of it must be greatly at the expense of the musical discernment among the “private party.”—A tour through the principal Italian cities, where he gained general applause, occupied Spohr in 1817; and he was subsequently director of the music at the Theatre of Frankfort-on-the-Main. In 1820, he was in England, exhibiting his admirable powers at the Philharmonic Concerts, where he introduced two fine symphonies and an overture, of his composition; but, neither here nor in France, which country he also visited, was he appreciated to the full extent of his merits: The cause of this has been well suggested by an able English critic, whose remarks, somewhat abridged, I here subjoin:—
“We had the traces, in Spohr’s execution, of a mind continually turning towards refinement, and deserting strength for polish. His tone was pure and delicate, rather than remarkable for volume or richness; his taste was cultivated to the highest excess; and his execution was so finished, that it appeared to encroach, in a measure, upon the vigour of his performance. But he was very far from being deficient in the energy necessary to make a great player. The fact seems to be, that this quality, which for its inherent pre-eminence is most distinguishable in other violinists, was, in Spohr, cast into secondary importance, and rendered less discernible, by the predominating influence of his superior refinement. His delicacy was so beautiful, and so frequent an object of admiration, that his force was lowered in the comparison. And as it is frequently the consequence of a too subtle habit of refining to obliterate the stronger traces of sensibility, so his expression was more remarkable for polished elegance, than for those powerful and striking modifications of tone that are the offspring of intense feeling. It is probably owing to this softening-down of the bright and brilliant effects, that he failed (if such a man could be ever said to fail) in eliciting the stronger bursts of the public approbation which attend those exhibitions of art that are directed against, and that reach, the affections of a mixed audience. Thus, though in the very first rank of his profession and of talent, Spohr perhaps excited a lower degree of interest than has frequently attended the performance of men whose excellences were far below standard. Such is the common fate of all extreme cultivation and polish. It transcends the judgment of the million. The Roman critics remarked the pre-eminent beauty with which Spohr enriched his playing, by a strict imitation of vocal effects. They said he was the finest singer upon the violin that ever appeared. This, perhaps, is the highest praise that can be bestowed. The nearer an instrument approaches the voice, the nearer is art to the attainment of its object.”
In the autumn of 1839, Spohr was at the Norwich Musical Festival, where his appearance, after a lapse of sixteen years, excited much interest. He was then described as “a tall and stout man, with a noble head, a pleasing aspect, and a presence in which much simple dignity was engagingly blended with gentleness and modesty.” His Violin Concerto, played on that occasion was a newly-written work, exhibiting no mean share of his genius as a composer. It was remarked that in his playing he made no use of the more artificial resources of the modern school—not introducing into any of his highest flights a single “harmonic note,” a single touch of the instrumental falsetto—but producing every note in those flights by fairly stopping the string, in perfect tune, and with the utmost parity of tone. Great command of the bow, and lively rapidity of fingering, were also obvious.
Broad and large in dimensions as in design, and marked by high creative genius, are some of the works that illustrate the name of this potent artist—works that summon to their exposition vocal and instrumental multitude:—but these it is hardly requisite here to particularize. It more concerns me to state that, of his active and intelligent career, one of the best results has been the formation of many a well-trained pupil, now holding honorable position in this or that great city of Europe. The principles and details of his mode of instruction—so far as the breathing soul could convey them through the medium of inanimate paper—are found in his great didactic work, “Der Violin-Schule” published at Vienna by Haslinger, and subsequently translated into French. For the benefit of English students, a version, prepared by Mr. John Bishop, of Cheltenham, and bearing the author’s own attestation of its fidelity, has been issued by Messrs. Robert Cocks and Co.
With reference to the violin-compositions of this great master, the following warm (and perhaps but little exaggerated) tribute has been rendered by a critic in the “Spectator:”—
“The writers of violin concertos are, for the most part, only known as such; but Spohr’s compositions for his instrument display not only the brilliancy of their author’s execution, but the elevated character of his mind: we listen not only to the principal performer with wonder, but to the whole composition with delight. They have a character of their own—unlike and beyond that of any similar productions of any age or country.”
Charles William Ferdinand Guhr, “Chef-d’Orchestre” of the Theatre of Frankfort-on-the-Main, was born at Militsch, in Silesia, in 1787. His father, a singer at the principal church of that city, undertook the musical education of his son. At fourteen years of age, Guhr entered, as a violinist, the chapel in which his father was employed. His youth, and want of experience in the art of writing, did not deter his ambition from composing many concertos, quatuors and other pieces for the violin. When he had attained the age of fifteen, his father sent him to Breslau, to continue his studies there, under the direction of the chapel-master, Schnabel, and the violinist, Janitschek. His progress was rapid, and he soon returned to Militsch. When Reuter took the direction of the theatre of Nuremberg, he placed Guhr in the post of Chef-d’Orchestre. His talents in the art of directing introduced in a short time considerable ameliorations into the state of music in that town. He performed several concertos of his own composition, and had some of his operas performed with success at the theatre. Having passed several years at Nuremberg, and having, while there, married Mademoiselle Epp, a singer at the theatre, Guhr accepted the direction of the music at the theatre of Wisbaden; but the war of 1815 having ruined this as a place of residence, Guhr went to Cassel, where the Prince named him director of the music of his chapel, as well as of the theatre. Vacating this post in the year following, he remained without employ up to the year 1821. At that period, an engagement for 22 years was offered him as director of the orchestra of the theatre at Frankfort-on-the-Main with a salary of 5,000 florins, which he accepted.
In Germany, M. Guhr was very advantageously known as a violinist; and he is said also to have possessed considerable skill on the piano. In the earlier steps of his progress on the violin, following the example of Rode, he aimed principally at precision and purity in his playing; but, after having heard Paganini, he entirely changed his model, and made a special study of the peculiarities of that extraordinary man’s execution. We are specially indebted to him for a work (already alluded to) on this subject, which was received with much interest; it is entitled “Ueber Paganini’s Kunst, die Violine zu spielen.”
Joseph Mayseder, a violinist of a high order, and, in a certain limited line, an original composer of acknowledged merit, acquired a considerable share of popularity in a comparatively short time. Residing principally at showy and dazzling Vienna, where the present musical taste does not conform, in point of solidity, to the accustomed German standard, he exercised the peculiarities of his style with unchecked freedom. As a composer, his ambition was generally to sparkle, and his habit was nearly all gaiety, or, as one of our musical critics has termed it, a tricksy mixture of gaiety and melancholy. His writings, full as they are of ingenuity, and containing much that cannot fail to please, are chargeable with a somewhat too flimsy character, and with too evident a tinge of what may be called the coquetry of composition. His playing, which was touched with the jerking manner observed in Kiesewetter, was also distinguished by much brilliancy and great powers of rapidity.
Bernhard Molique, Concert-master to the Court, and second leader of the orchestra to the Opera, at Stuttgard, was born at Nuremberg, Oct. 7, 1803. His father, a town musician, was his first master, and taught him to play, not one, but many instruments; the violin was, however, that which the young artist preferred, and on which his progress was most rapid. At the age of fourteen, he was sent to Munich, and placed under the direction of Rovelli, first Violin of the Chapel Royal. Two years afterwards, he went to Vienna, where he obtained a place in the orchestra of the theatre “An der Wien.” In 1820, he returned to Munich, where, although but seventeen years of age, he succeeded his master, Rovelli, as First Violin to the Court. During the two subsequent years, Molique laboured to impart to his talent a graceful and energetic character. In 1822, he found himself sufficiently advanced in his art to be in a condition to travel, in the quality of artist, and give performances in great cities. He obtained leave of absence, and visited with good success, Leipzig, Dresden, Berlin, Hanover and Cassel.
In 1826, Molique was engaged at the Court of Stuttgard, as Concert-Master. There he obtained renown for the development of a new talent, the direction of an orchestra, in which post he was equally remarkable for precision, sentiment, and accurate appreciation of the slightest effects of instrumental colouring.
In 1836, M. Molique made a journey to Paris, and executed one of his concertos for the violin, at the Concerts of the Conservatoire. The journals which spoke of the effect of this composition, did justice to its beauty: but, according to their account, the execution does not appear to have produced upon the audience such an effect as ought to have resulted from the talent of the artist. It has been a subject of remark, that something of the same sort has happened in the case of most of the violinists of the German School who have performed before audiences at Paris; and that Spohr and Lipinski, who have had a great reputation elsewhere, produced but little sensation in that city. Must not the cause of this be sought in the diversity of national taste?—The published works of M. Molique have for many years contributed to the extension of his renown.
Vainly, oh, Pen! expectant here thou turn’st To trace the doings of Teutonic Ernst— To shew what praise he won, what hearts he moved, What realms he traversed, and what trials proved. Wanting the records that should speak his fame, Prose fails—and Verse, alas! but gives his name. So, in life’s common round, when just aware That one whom we have longed to know, is near— To see him, hear him, chat with him, prepared, We find he’s gone, and has but left his card!
Under the German branch of our subject, as more analogous to that than to any one of the others, may perhaps be most fitly presented some particulars concerning the remarkable Norwegian artist, Ole (or Olaus) Bull, who, in 1836, came hither to dazzle and animate us, like a coruscation from those “northern lights” that are often so conspicuous in his own land. His advent to our shores was immediately preceded by a visit to our lively neighbours on the southern side of the Channel. The following sketch—of which the earlier and more picturesque portion is chiefly derived from a French account, written by a medical professor and musical amateur at Lyons—will furnish some idea of the powers and peculiarities of this individual.
It chanced, on a certain day, during the time when the cholera was ravaging the French capital, that one of the numerous diligences which were then wont to make their return-journey in an almost empty state, deposited, in the yard of a coach-office, a young northern traveller, who came, after the example of so many others, to seek his fortune at Paris. Scarcely arrived at his twentieth year, he had quitted his family, his studies, and Norway, the land of his home, to give himself wholly up to a passion which had held sway within him from his infancy. The object of this pervading passion was music, and the violin. Deeply seated, active, and irresistible, the bias had seized him when he quitted his cradle, and had never ceased from its hold upon him. At six years old, he would repeat, on a little common fiddle bought at a fair, all the airs which he had heard sung around him, or played in the streets: and, two years afterwards, he had astonished a society of professional men, by playing at sight the first violin-part in a quartett of Pleyel’s—though he had never taken a lesson in music, but had found out his way entirely alone! Destined afterwards by his family to the ecclesiastic life, and constrained to the studies which it imposes, he had still kept his thoughts fixed on his beloved violin, which was his friend, his companion, the central object of his attachment. At the instance of his father, the study of the law became subsequently his unwilling pursuit: and, at length, these struggles ended in his yielding to the impulse of his love for the violin; and banishing himself from Norway, in order to devote all his days to the cultivation of music.
In the midst of a mourning city—a mere atom in the region of a world—what is to become of the young artist? His imagination is rich, but his purse is meagre: his whole resource lies in his violin—and yet he has faith in it, even to the extent of looking for fortune and renown through its means. Friendless and patronless, he comes forward to be heard. At any other moment, his talent must have forced public attention in his behalf; but, in those days of desolation, when death was threatening every soul around, who could lend his ears to the charmer? The young artist is left alone in his misery—yet not quite alone, for his cherished violin remains like a friend to console him. The cup of bitterness was soon, however, to be completely filled. One day, in returning to his miserable apartment in an obscure lodging-house, he found that the trunk, in which his last slender means were contained, had disappeared. He turned his eyes to the spot where he had placed his violin ... it was gone! This climax of disaster was too much for the poor enthusiast, who wandered about for three days in the streets of Paris, a prey to want and despair, and then—threw himself into the Seine!
But the art which the young Norwegian was called to extend and to embellish, was not fated to sustain so deplorable a loss. The hand of some humane person rescued him from this situation. His next encounter seemed like another special interposition of Providence; for he became the object of benevolent attention to a mother who had just lost her son through the cholera, and who found in the young stranger so remarkable a resemblance to him, that she received him into her house, and, though possessed but of moderate means herself, furnished relief to his necessities. The cholera, in the mean time, ceased its ravages, and Paris resumed its habitual aspect. Supplied with bread and an asylum, and soon afterwards with the loan of a violin, Ole Bull was again enabled to gratify his devotion for music. By degrees his name began to be heard, and he arrived at some small reputation. Thus encouraged, he ventured the experiment of a Concert; and fortune smiled on him for the first time, for he gained 1200 francs—a large sum, considering the position in which he then was.
Possessed of this unexpected, and almost unhoped-for, little fortune, he set out for Switzerland, and went thence into Italy.
At Bologna, where his first great manifestation appears to have been made, he had tried vainly to obtain an introduction to the public, until accident accomplished what he had begun to despair of. Full of painful emotion at the chilling repression which his simple, inartificial, unfriended endeavours had been fated to meet with, he one day sat down with the resolution to compose something; and it was partly amidst a flow of obtrusive tears that his purpose was fulfilled. Taking up his instrument, he proceeded to try the effect of the ideas he had just called into life. At that moment, it chanced that Madame Rossini was passing by the house in which his humble apartment was situated. The impression made on her was such, that she spoke in emphatic terms upon it to the director of a Philharmonic Society, who was in a critical predicament, owing to some failure in a promise which had been made him by De Beriot, and the syren, Malibran. Madame Rossini’s piece of intelligence was a burst of light for the “Manager in distress:” he had found his man. The artist was induced to play before the dilettanti of Bologna, and his success was complete.
At Lucca, Florence, Milan, Rome, and Venice, the impression he made was yet greater and more decisive. On each occasion, he was recalled several times before the audience, and always hailed with the utmost enthusiasm. At the Neapolitan theatre of San Carlo, he was summoned back by the public no less than nine times—thrice after the performance of his first piece, and six times at the end of the second. It was a perfect furore.
Our Norwegian artist now revisited Paris, under happier auspices. Welcomed and introduced with eager kindness by the composer of “Robert le Diable,” he was several times listened to with delight on the stage of the Opera, and obtained the greatest success that has been known since the displays made by Paganini.
Opinions were not agreed as to the extent to which Ole Bull was to be considered an imitator of Paganini. It appears certain that the example of the latter first led him to attempt the more strange and remote difficulties of the instrument. It was during the time of his distressed condition, that he found means to hear the great Italian artist, by actually selling his last shirt, with the produce of which he joined the crowd in the saloon of the French Opera. Every one around him, after the electrifying strains of the magical performer, was exclaiming that he had reached the farthest limits of what was possible on the violin. Ole Bull (says the writer of the French account), after applauding like the rest, retired in thoughtful mood, having just caught the notion that something beyond this was yet possible; nor did the idea cease to occupy his mind, but gathered fresh strength during his rambles in Switzerland and Italy, until it impelled him, at Trieste, to abandon the old track, and resign himself to the dictates of his own genius.
In justice to Paganini, it must never be forgotten that he was the first who, in modern days, conceived the principle of its being possible to extract a variety of new effects from the versatile instrument that had been supposed to have surrendered all its secrets to the great antecedent Masters; and that his practice lent marvellous illustration to what he proceeded, under that impulse, to explain;—nor does the supremacy of Paganini in the nouveau genre, for the reasons previously touched upon in these pages, seem likely to be seriously shaken by any who may seek the encounter of a comparison. It may certainly be averred, how ever, that, of all who have attempted to follow in the direction taken by the great Genoese genius, Ole Bull has been, owing to the fire and enthusiasm of his own temperament, decidedly the farthest removed from servility of imitation. It speaks much for the originality of the Norwegian artist, that, in the early practice of his instrument, instead of a fostering excitement, he had to encounter the decided opposition of adverse views; and, instead of the open aid of a master, had only for his guide the secret impulses of his own mind. On the whole, he must be acknowledged a man of fine genius, who forced his way through no common difficulties to a distinguished rank in the musical art, and who presents, to the contemplation of the persevering student, one of the most cheering of those examples which the history of human struggles in pursuit of some absorbing object is so useful to enforce. It must add not a little to our admiration of him, to find that, in the mysteries of composition, he has discovered and shaped his own course. The ingenuity of construction evident in the orchestral accompaniments to his pieces, would suggest a methodical study of the harmonic art: yet it was said, on the contrary, that he was quite unacquainted with even the elementary rules of that art; and that it would have puzzled him to tell the conventional name of any one chord. How then did he arrive at the power of writing music in parts? He opened a score, studied it, thought over it, made a relative examination of its parts after his own way, and then, setting to work, as the result of this progress, became a composer himself. In the character of his compositions, we may trace the effect of this unusual and (it must be confessed) somewhat too self-dependent “moyen de parvenir.” They are impulsive and striking—enriched with occasional passages of fine instrumentation, and touched with sweet visitations of melody—but they are deficient in coherence of structure, and in the comprehensiveness of a well-ordered design. They may serve as fresh examples to illustrate the old maxim—that genius itself cannot with safety neglect that ordinary discipline which gives familiarity with the rules and methods of art.
The most surprising thing (amounting indeed to an enigma), in connection with Ole Bull’s powers of execution, was the very small amount of manual practice which he stated himself to have been in the habit of bestowing on the instrument—a thing quite at variance with all the received notions, as well as usage, on the subject. His labour was, it appears, in by far the greater part, that of the head; and a very limited application of the hands sufficed to “carry out” what he ex-cogitated—to work out his purposes and “foregone conclusions.” It sounds nobly, as a proposition, that it is “the mind’s eye,” and not the blind gropings of practice, that should shew the violinist the way to greatness, and give him the knowledge which is power: but, alas! common natures—nay, all that are not marvellously uncommon—find it necessary to draw to the utmost on both these resources, and cannot spare their hands from the neck of the instrument. This comparatively trifling amount of manual cultivation, however, while it remains on the whole “a marvel and a mystery,” may be accepted as a proof in itself of how little trick (setting aside his extravagant “quartett on one string”) there was in Ole Bull’s performance: for the successful display of tricks is essentially dependent on the most assiduous manipulation;—the charlatanerie of the instrument being the triumph of the hand, as distinguished from that of the mind. To particularize the various merits which belong to his execution, would lead beyond the limit here proposed—else might his sweet and pure tone—his delicate harmonics—his frequent and winning duplicity of notes and shakes—his rapid and exact staccato, &c. be severally dwelt upon in terms of delight.—I cannot forbear referring, however, to the “ravishing division” of his consummate arpeggios, forming a finely regulated shower of notes, rich, round, and most distinct, although wrought out by such slight undulations of the bow, as to leave in something like a puzzle our notions of cause and consequence. To suit the wide range of effects which his fancy sometimes dictated, it appears (another marvel!) that he subjected his violin to some kind of alterative process; for which purpose he would open it (to use his own expression) like an oyster!
The manners and conversation of this young artist, at the time when he was exciting attention in England, bore an impress of genius which it was impossible to mistake; and his occasional sallies of enthusiasm served to impart an increased interest to the abiding modesty which tempered and dignified his character. In describing the state of his own mind, under the immediate domination of musical ideas, he pictured it under the forcible figure of an alternate heaven and hell; while he would speak of the object and intention of his playing as being to raise a curtain, for the admission of those around him, as participants in the mysteries open to himself. In his habits, he was very temperate—wisely avoiding to wear out, by artificial excitements, the spontaneous ardour of his eminently vital temperament.
All the ordinary arts and intrigues by which it is so common, and is sometimes thought so necessary, for men to seek professional advancement, seemed completely alien to the nature of this child of the north. In person, he was tall, with a spare but muscular figure, light hair, a pale countenance, and a quick, restless eye, which became extremely animated whilst he was in the act of playing. When I add that he entertained an invincible antipathy to cats—exhibiting unequivocal signs of distress whenever one of those sleek and sly animals was discovered in the social circle—I shall have furnished all the information I am able to give (his latter career being unknown to me) concerning a man well entitled to commemoration.
Before concluding this chapter, a few words of record are due to the two sons of one of the most gifted musicians of the present day. I allude to the associate brothers Labitsky, who, after a training in the Musical Conservatory at Prague, and subsequent studies prosecuted at Leipsig, have become candidates for public favour in England, where (for the present, at least) they appear to be settled. Their first appeal to notice in this country took place at Her Majesty’s Theatre, during the progress of the late Grand National Concerts. Their style is said to be characterized by firmness and evenness in the bowing, with a correspondent fulness and purity of intonation.