If the astonishing success of Paganini, the immense popularity of his name, and the influence he exercised over the talent of some of the violinists of the younger school, be considered, the high interest attached to the publication of the works with which the great artist astonished Europe, will be understood. At all events, these considerations will afford but a very imperfect idea of the importance of their long-withheld publication. Their value can only be understood after a long and close examination. For more than twenty years every violinist has looked forward to the production of these works with anxiety and curiosity, under the impression of being able, with them, to “do the Paganini,” and establish himself, if not in imitation, at least as a pupil of that illustrious man. But few imagined the great truths which would manifest themselves by the revelation of the secret of his music—none could foresee how much this great man would be elevated in their esteem when the prodigious difficulties he executed while playing, were placed before them. Some of his effects, the most easy of execution, were hastily copied, and the mystery of his talent was supposed to have been discovered. How much illusion will be dissipated by the examination and study of these anxiously expected works! I will not speak of the simply curious effects by which Paganini dazzled the million—of his pizzicato and bow feats—of the modifications in tuning the instrument, and of the thousand combinations, the merit of which consisted principally in perfect execution. These will only have an exceptional existence, and will never hold a place in serious music. Besides, the sagacity of Guhr, a skilful violinist, and the able conductor of the Frankfort Theatre, has penetrated, to a certain extent, the secret of these things, and has cleverly exposed the theory in a work especially devoted to this purpose.[Q] That which most struck me on reading the MSS. of Paganini, that which raised him immensely in my estimation, was the conviction that the mechanism of the art was never carried to the same extent—that he was never equalled in surmounting difficulties—and never was such infinite variety displayed in brilliant passages. The double notes for instance, always the test of great Violinists, as respects true intonation and precision—particularly when the left hand descends to its natural position—form a salient feature in the rapid passages of his compositions. The intervals are ever varying—sometimes in thirds, sometimes in sixths, eighths, and tenths—passing with rapidity from one kind of interval to another—jumping incredible distances—always in double notes—with unerring certainty and perfect intonation. His hand was a geometrical compass which divided the finger board with mathematical precision—his fingers falling exactly where the intonation of the intervals of the double notes was to be found. I do not speak of the varieties of bowing, by which he rendered these difficulties more complicated, I merely look at the double-note passages alone,—I therefore say, that these passages, which were trifles to Paganini, will be impracticable to any other violinist whomsoever he may be, if he would execute them with the same rapidity and with the perfect intonation of the author. As a study, it is a new world for the perseverance of young artists, the results of which will be the acquisition of certainty, which only a small number of performers possess, and the enlargement of the great resources of the instrument.
It may be asked why new difficulties are introduced into art; and it may be remarked, with reason, that the aim of music is not to surprise with marvellous feats, but to delight the feelings. This principle I perfectly coincide with; yet I would observe, on the one hand, that certain artists will never be prevented from endeavouring to overcome difficulties, however apparently insurmountable, nor the public from applauding the happy result of their efforts: on the other hand, that the study of difficulties conduces to certainty in what is more simple. If any violinist can play, with perfect intonation, and in the prescribed time, the passages of Paganini’s concertos, he will necessarily attain imperturbable certainty in ordinary music.
Is it imperative, I may ask, that these new and varied forms of passages in Violin concertos are to be excluded? Admirable in sentiment, as avowedly the concertos of Viotti are, their weakness consists in the monotony of the rapid passages—and the same may be said of nearly all other known concertos. Art is evidently limited in this species of composition, to things which cannot be considered as the last essay of the artist’s skill—more may be boldly attempted, and that by varied means. Let the happy darings of Paganini be studied, and it will be found that something is gained.
FOOTNOTES
[A]“Osservazzioni su due Violini esposti nelle sale dell’ I. R. Palazzo di Brera uno de’ quali di forma non commune.” Milan, 1832, in 8vo.
[B]“Mémoire sur la construction des instruments à cordes et à archet, lu à l’Academie des Sciences le 31 Mai, 1819.” Paris: Déterville. One vol. in 8vo.
[C]“Nuova Teoria di Musica,” &c. Parma, 1812. 1 vol., in 8vo (page 214). Gervasoni adds that no teacher could have conducted such an artist to the sublime height Paganini attained, and that nature alone could have directed him.
[D]This circumstance in the life of Paganini made very little impression upon me when he related it to me, as I was only interested in his artistic career: later, this anecdote appeared important to establish the chronological order of his life, as will be hereafter seen.
[E]Gervasoni, “Nuova Teoria di Musica,” page 103.