Nicolo Paganini: His Life and Work

by Stephen S. Stratton

Let us consider, for a moment, the performances on the G string. It is certain that Paganini was not the originator of that manner of playing, for Leopold Mozart wrote of Esser[44] as playing on the G string alone with the greatest ease. Compositions for a single string were also written before Paganini's day, for Friedrich Wilhelm Rust (1739-1796) composed a violin sonata for the E string. But Paganini made such a feature of this species of performance because it pleased the public, and, in giving the audiences that which they preferred rather than that which his artistic conscience should have prompted, he became the pupil of his age, and fell from his high estate. On the other hand, he may be said to have discovered the powers of the fourth string, to which, by the employment of harmonics, he gave a compass of three octaves. He was censured for his partiality in this direction, but in these days every violinist plays a solo on the G string. Is not Bach's "Aria" played everywhere as a fourth string solo? Yet, as musicians know, it was not written for that string, nor as a solo, forming, as it does, the theme of the slow movement of the "Overture in D," for strings, two oboes, three trumpets, and drums. Moreover, in Mozart's Violin Concerto in E flat, No. 6, composed in 1766, there is in the slow movement, an eight-bar period for the G string, and also one of the same length in the Finale. In Beethoven's Violin Concerto the principal theme of the Rondo is assigned to the G string, and also when it recurs after the second subject. This work was composed in 1806, a short time after Paganini wrote his "Napoleon Sonata," but was heard in public years before Paganini's was so performed. These two compositions are mentioned merely to show that the charm of the fourth string was not unknown in early days; to refer to later works would be superfluous.

Now, as to Paganini's tuning his instrument a semitone higher than the ordinary pitch. It will be conceded that the different keys have distinctive qualities, to which some musicians are more sensitive than others. Some term it key-colour: I prefer the expression key-character. On the violin some keys are more sonorous than others. The effect may be partly mental, and I believe—though I may be wrong—that a violinist plays with a different feeling in the key of E, to that which would be excited by the key of E flat, and this apart from the æsthetic import of the composition itself.[45] In many concertos the chorus violins—if I may so call them—sometimes play the same notes with the soloist, and so absorb the tone of the latter that the listener can only hear the mass of violin tone. It is on record that Paganini was never overpowered by the tutti in any of the pieces he played, though some writers say his tone was not remarkable for volume. The explanation may be found in what follows. Paganini had an almost morbidly keen musical organisation, an acute sense of hearing, in which he resembled Mozart and Berlioz. Paganini wrote the solo part of his first concerto in D (tuning his violin a semitone higher), and the orchestral parts in E flat. Why? Not because D was an easier key to play in, nor because some passages if viewed as in E flat were marvels of execution; but because he felt the difference in the "power" of the two keys. Mozart's Concertante for violin and viola, with orchestra, is in E flat, but the viola part is in D, and the instrument was to be tuned a semitone higher. This was done "both to give it a clear sound and to make the execution easier."[46] Mozart's piece was probably written in 1780, so here is one of the expedients ascribed to Paganini as a trick made use of by a great master before the famous violinist was born. Berlioz never heard Paganini play, but he was the first among his contemporaries to understand and appreciate Paganini's intention in this respect. In his Soirées de l'Orchestre he wrote: "He (Paganini) has known how to render distinct and dominating the tones of a solo violin by tuning its four strings a semitone above those of the orchestra; which enabled him to play in the brilliant keys of D and A, while the orchestra accompanied him in the less sonorous keys of E flat and B flat." Berlioz knew, if any one did, what was the distinctive character of a key. It is highly improbable that either he or Paganini ever heard, or even knew anything of Mozart's "Concertante" just mentioned. So much by way of clearing Paganini from the charge of charlatanry. Artistic faults and failings he had, and these no attempt has been made to conceal; but every succeeding generation of violinists has been deeply indebted to the great Genoese for opening up new possibilities, by the way in which he advanced the character and power of the violin. Leaving now the technical side of his art, let us hear what his great contemporaries have to say of his playing from the æsthetic standpoint. We need not refer again to Lafont and Lipinski, but will begin with Spohr. It has been mentioned that Spohr met Paganini at Venice, in 1816. Spohr wished to hear the great Italian play something, but the latter declined. He afterwards explained to Spohr that his style of playing was calculated for the great public only; and that if he were to play to Spohr he must play in a different manner, for which he was not then inclined. So it was not until 1830 that Spohr heard Paganini at Cassel. This is what he wrote: "In June, 1830, Paganini came to Cassel and gave two concerts in the theatre, which I heard with great interest. His left hand, and his constantly pure intonation were to me astonishing. But in his compositions and his execution, I found a strange mixture of the highly genial and childishly tasteless, by which one felt alternately charmed and disappointed, so that the impression left as a whole was, after frequent hearing, by no means satisfactory to me." Paganini was playing to his "great public," and in that respect lost Spohr's esteem; but can a great violinist, of strong personality, be perfectly just to a contemporary of a different temperament? Schumann, as a composer, could look upon Paganini from a different point of view. This is what he says: "When I heard him for the first time, I expected him to begin with a tone such as had never been heard before. But with how small, how thin a tone he commenced! Then he began to weave his spells; invisibly he threw out his magnetic chains among the public; they oscillated above and around. And then the rings became more and more intricate; even the audience seemed to contract, while he interlaced his tones until they seemed melted into one—one with the master himself, all counterbalancing each other with sympathetic influence." This is not criticism; it is scarcely description: it is as fanciful as Heinrich Heine's description, but it is a proof of the great violinist's power to touch the imagination. Ignaz Moscheles, a virtuoso pianist, complains of his utter inability to find language capable of conveying a description of Paganini's wonderful performance. "Had that long-drawn, soul-searching tone lost for a single second its balance, it would have lapsed into a discordant cat's-mew; but it never did so, and Paganini's tone was always his own, and unique of its kind. The thin strings of his instrument—on which alone it was possible to conjure forth those myriads of notes and thrills and cadenzas would have been fatal in the hands of any other violin player, but with him they were indispensable adjuncts." Again: "Nothing could exceed my surprise and admiration; his constant and venturesome flights, his newly discovered source of flageolet tones, his gift of fusing and beautifying subjects of the most heterogeneous kind; all these phases of genius so completely bewildered my musical perceptions, that for several days afterwards my head seemed on fire and my brain reeled. I never wearied of the intense expression, soft and melting like that of an Italian singer, which he could draw from his violin." Yet, later, Moscheles had to say: "I find both his style and manner of playing monotonous." Liszt, many years later said: "No one who has not heard him can form the least idea of his playing." Paganini indeed could soar to the Empyrean, but he had not the Peri's pure gift which would open the gate of Paradise!

François Joseph Fétis, who befriended Paganini when first he visited Paris, certainly held no brief for the celebrated artist, but rather presided over him as judge. He stated that the art of Paganini was an art apart, which was born with him, and of which he carried the secret to the grave. He further stated that Paganini often assured him that his talent was the result of a secret discovered by himself, a secret he intended to reveal, before his death, in a method for the violin, which should have but few pages, but which should throw all violinists into confusion. Fétis questions the existence of the secret, and thinks the great artist was labouring under a delusion. Yet he has to acknowledge that there was something extraordinary and mysterious in the power that Paganini possessed in the execution of unheard of difficulties in an infallible manner. His intonation was always perfect.[47]

William Gardiner, the Leicester amateur, who became acquainted with Paganini, wrote: "There was no trick in his playing; it was all fair, scientific execution, opening to us a new order of sounds, the highest of which ascended two octaves above C in alt."

An Italian physician, Francesco Bennati,[48] made a physiological study of Paganini, accounting for his wonderful executive powers as due not so much to his musical genius as to his peculiar physical formation. In particular, the flexibility of his wrist, and the great lateral extension of his finger joints, enabled him to execute passages impossible to others. But there must have been something beyond technique. I have heard many persons, professional and amateur, speak of his playing as something beyond conception, not only in regard to execution, but in the power of swaying an audience, playing upon their emotions; the whole man was an instrument. No other artist was so widely quoted by his contemporaries. Mendelssohn, Chopin, and others make reference to Paganini whenever anything wonderful is spoken of. Chopin was a great admirer of Slavik, and considered him only second to Paganini. Every volume of reminiscences down to the present day includes the name of Paganini, if only to relate that somebody once heard him play. But not only musicians, poets also sang his praises. Is there anything more beautiful than the tribute paid him by Leigh Hunt? A few lines may be quoted:

So played of late to every passing thought
With finest change (might I but half as well
So write!) the pale magician of the bow,
Who brought from Italy the tales made true,
Of Grecian lyres, and on his sphery hand,
Loading the air with dumb expectancy,
Suspended, ere it fell, a nation's breath.

He smote—and clinging to the serious chords
With godlike ravishment, drew forth a breath,
So deep, so strong, so fervid thick with love,
Blissful, yet laden as with twenty prayers,
That Juno yearn'd with no diviner soul
To the first burthen of the lips of Jove.
The exceeding mystery of the loveliness
Sadden'd delight; and with his mournful look,
Dreary and gaunt, hanging his pallid face
'Twixt his dark and flowing locks, he almost seem'd,
To feeble or to melancholy eyes,
One that had parted with his soul for pride,
And in the sable secret liv'd forlorn.

But true and earnest, all too happily
That skill dwelt in him, serious with its joy;
For noble now he smote the exulting strings,
And bade them march before his stately will;
And now he lov'd them like a cheek, and laid
Endearment on them, and took pity sweet;
And now he was all mirth, or all for sense
And reason, carving out his thoughts like prose
After his poetry; or else he laid
His own soul prostrate at the feet of love,
And with a full and trembling fervour deep,
In kneeling and close-creeping urgency,
Implored some mistress with hot tears; which past,
And after patience had brought right of peace,
He drew as if from thoughts finer than hope
Comfort around him in ear-soothing strains
And elegant composure; or he turn'd
To heaven instead of earth, and raise a prayer
So earnest-vehement, yet so lowly sad,
Mighty with want and all poor human tears,
That never saint, wrestling with earthly love,
And in mid-age unable to get free,
Tore down from heaven such pity.