Beethoven made no secret of his opinions, and, regardless of giving offence, spoke out plainly against the French and Italian music of his day. To this Schindler, in his Biography of Beethoven, refers as follows: “At the beginning of the third decade of the present century, when the flood of Italian music was at its height, Beethoven was one day conversing with some friends on the almost desperate prospects of musical art, when we heard him say decisively, ‘But they cannot deprive me of my place in the history of art.’” This clearly shows that sure confidence about the future consoled him for the lack of present success.
Under such circumstances the generality of compositions were, of course, of an insipid kind, designed only for external effect. The famous pianists of the day—Field, Cramer, Klengel (pupils of Clementi), and Hummel (pupil of Dionys Weber)[68]—gradually disappeared from the scene of the triumphs of Field as a virtuoso, and of Hummel as a composer and tasteful player. Among a younger generation of musicians, Kalkbrenner bore the palm; after him came Moscheles, Herz, Thalberg, and Mendelsohn. Liszt had not made a name till some years later. Felix Mendelssohn had attracted attention by his instrumental works, but his fame was then merely in the bud. Franz Schubert[69] was only known in Vienna and Prague as a song-writer. In Vienna, where he was born and lived for the whole of his short life, people knew nothing, or cared nothing, about his C major Symphony.
AN ATTEMPTED MUSICAL REFORM. A little band of true lovers of art, men to whom music was something sacred, strove to bring about a reform, and shrunk not from material sacrifices in the cause of earnest music. Deeming the encouragement of young and struggling artists a desideratum they offered prizes for the best symphony, which were competed for from time to time, as, in 1834, when Lachner won the first prize. Attracted by the honour and pecuniary advantages there was no lack of competitors, but although most of the compositions displayed knowledge, industry, and conscientious work, none of them were illumined by the immortal spark of genius. It was at length perceived that no amount of prize-giving would produce genius, or even talent; that the true musician, like the poet, must be born; and the scheme was abandoned.
The German masters of that day were more successful in the domain of opera than in that of symphony; Winterʼs “Das unterbrochene Opferfest,” Weiglʼs “Schweizerfamilie,” Spohrʼs “Jessonda,” “Azor und Zemire,” and “Faust,” were favourably received for upwards of twenty years. Of Kreutzerʼs works, “Das Nachtlager von Granada” has alone been preserved, of Marschnerʼs (the greatest opera composer of the three we have mentioned) “Der Templar und die Judin” and “Hans Heiling” have remained on the stage. Lortzing, a writer of comic operas, came out later, as also did Flotow. Meyerbeer, whose “Robert le Diable,” and “Les Huguenots” have now been over the whole world, had then, with the exception of his “Ritter des Kreuzes,” only written operas for the Italian stage, but had been unable to compete with the highly-admired Rossini.
PAGANINIʼS PLAYING. Italy could no longer boast illustrious virtuosi like Corelli, Tartini, Viotti, Scarlatti, and Clementi, whose genius had attracted the eyes of all Europe; but she possessed a Paganini, the greatest violinist of the century, as Catalini was the greatest singer. Spohr, in his autobiography, says a great deal in disparagement of Paganini, not, indeed, from jealousy, for, being himself one of the greatest violinists musical history can produce, he adhered as closely to the principles of the Classic School as Paganini did to those of the Romantic. Those who heard them both say, that although they could not but admire Spohr, he never carried them away with the same force, or produced such a deep undying impression as Paganini.
In 1829, Paganini appeared at several concerts in Warsaw, and Chopin was entranced by his playing. He never ceased to speak with enthusiasm of the Paganini evenings, which seemed to carry him out of the real world into a land of happy dreams.
Lipinski,[70] who had made Paganiniʼs acquaintance at Piacenza, met him again in Warsaw, and the two artists greeted each other with the sincerest pleasure. In spite of all the honour paid to the great Italian, it was felt that Polish patriotism was in question, and this showed itself very warmly. A competition was proposed, which the two artists accepted; they each played their favourite pieces in turn, and concluded with a double Concerto by Kreutzer,[71] amid frantic shouts of applause.
The modesty of Chopinʼs character and his freedom from jealousy appear from a remark which he made on this occasion, “If I were such a pianist as Paganini is a violinist I should like to engage in a similar competition with a pianist of equal powers.” That evening he made up his mind to pay a long visit to Paganiniʼs fatherland; no less did the singers attract him “to the land where the citrons bloom,” for Italy had at that day a more brilliant array of vocal artists than any country in Europe. The mild climate of those happy regions is favourable to the development of fine voices; but the Italian singing masters understand also the art of bringing out the voice to the best advantage.
ITALIAN MUSIC. The Italian composers, Rossini, Mercadente, Vaccai, Bellini, and Donizetti wrote excellently for the voice, but they not only required a fine, rich organ, but an artistic culture, such as in these days, unfortunately, is rare. What a stimulus to fresh effort Chopin hoped to receive from hearing Rubini, Mario, Galli, Lablache, Tamburin, Pasta, Judith, Grusi, and Palazzesi!
In Poland, Italian opera was considered the finest in the world. Every great city, like London, Paris, Vienna, St. Petersburg, or Stockholm, had an Italian opera house; even in such cities as Dresden and Münich there was an Italian as well as a German opera, or at least Italian singers were engaged besides German ones.