Biographical Notice Of Nicolo Paganini With An Analysis Of His Compositions And A Sketch Of The History Of The Violin — Nicolo Paganini Part 2

In May, 1821, Paganini left Rome to return to Naples.

Kandler met him here during the summer.

He gave concerts at the Fondo, and at the Teatro Nuovo.

This literary musician has given an account in the “Morgenblatt” (1821, No. 290) of the extraordinary impression this “Hercules of Violinists,” as he called him, made upon him.

The account is filled with expressions of unbounded admiration.

From Naples Paganini went to Palermo, and gave concerts, which were but poorly attended, attributed by the correspondent of the “Leipziger Musikalische Zeitung” to the indifference of the Sicilians for instrumental music.

His stay here was of short duration, for we find him at Venice, then at Placentia, at the commencement of 1822. In April of the same year he gave concerts at Milan, his return being hailed with the warmest tokens of delight, and with a success surpassing all his former visits.

He was now seriously preoccupied with his visit to Germany, as projected by Count Metternich; but during an excursion to Pavia, he again fell seriously ill, in January, 1823, and his life was despaired of.

He had scarcely recovered when he proceeded to Turin, where a similar welcome and success awaited him.

His health was, however, extremely delicate, and the necessity of repose so manifest, that he was obliged to return to his native air.

Some months of inaction and calm, passed at Genoa, renewed his health and strength sufficiently to enable him to give concerts at the Theatre Saint Augustin, to which his fellow-townsfolk flocked in crowds.

These concerts took place in the month of May, 1824, after which he repaired to Milan.

Here he played at La Scala, on the 12th of June of the same year, and was received with acclamations which denoted the intense interest his health had excited.

Some days after, he returned to Genoa, and gave two concerts, the first on the 30th of June, the second on the 7th of July following.

Paganini seemed to have recovered all his pristine health and strength, for in the month of November in the same year his talent seemed to be greater than ever at the concerts he gave at Venice.

The title of “Filarmonico,” which then followed his name on his concert bills, gave rise to polemical discussions.

Enemies, which great talent invariably creates, pretended that the Genoese violinist sought to induce the belief that he was a member of the Academy of Philharmonics of Bologna;

although such was not the case, his admirers replied that the Academy would be honoured if Paganini condescended to become one.

He terminated the discussion by declaring that his assuming the addition to his name was merely a declaration of his love for the art.

In January, 1825, Paganini gave two concerts at Trieste; thence he proceeded to Naples, for the third time, and met with a renewal of his former triumphs.

In the summer he returned to Palermo, and this time his success was unparalleled.

The delicious climate of Sicily was so agreeable to him that he remained here a year, giving here and there occasional concerts, but enjoying long intervals of repose.

This lengthened sojourn in such a favourable climate restored him to better health than he had experienced for a long period, and he returned to his project of quitting Italy.

However, before doing so, he wished to return to several towns of which he retained so many delightful reminiscences, and went to Trieste in the summer of 1826, then to Venice, and finally to Rome, where he gave five concerts at the Theatre Argentina, each of which was a separate ovation.

On the 5th of April, 1827, Pope Leo the Twelfth decorated him with the Order of the Golden Spur, in token of his admiration of his great talent.

From Rome he went to Florence, where he was detained by a disease in one of his legs, which remained uncured for a very long period.

He went to Milan, where he was warmly received by his friends, and on the 2nd of March, 1828, he quitted this town and proceeded to Vienna, where he arrived the 16th of the same month.

On the 29th of March, the first concert of this great artist threw the Viennese population into an indescribable paroxysm of enthusiasm.

“The first note he played on his Guarnerius (says M. Schilling, in poetical style, in his “Universal-Lexicon der Musik”)--indeed, from his first step into the room--his reputation was decided in Germany.

Acted upon as by an electric spark, a brilliant halo of glory appeared to invest his whole person; he stood before us like a miraculous apparition in the domain of art.

” The Vienna journals were unlimited in hyperbolical expressions of admiration; and the immense crowd whom he had enchanted at this concert, unceasingly poured forth hymns of praise to the glory of the enchanter, for two months.

The most eminent artists of the Austrian capital, Mayseder, Jansa, Slawich, Léon de St. Lubin, Strebinger, Böhm, and others, all admitted his performance to be incomparable.

Other concerts given on the 13th, 16th, 18th, of April, etc. , created universal intoxication.

Verses appeared in every publication--medals were struck--the name of Paganini engrossing all;

and, as M. Schottky remarks, everything was à la Paganini.

Fashion assumed his name.

Hats, dresses, gloves, shoes, etc. , bore his name.

Cooks designated certain productions after him; and any extraordinary stroke at billiards was compared to a bow movement of the artist.

His portrait appeared on snuff-boxes and cigar-cases; in fact, his bust surmounted the walking-sticks of fashionable men.

After a concert given for the benefit of the poor, the magistrate of Vienna presented to Paganini the large gold medal of St. Salvador, and the Emperor conferred upon him the title of virtuoso of his private band.

A lengthened sojourn in the capital of Austria, and numerous concerts, did not in the least diminish the impression Paganini had created on his arrival.

The same ovations were showered upon him in every town of Germany.

Prague, from certain traditionary opposition to the musical opinions of Vienna, alone received him coldly; but Berlin so amply avenged this indifference, that he exclaimed at his first concert, “Here is my Vienna public!

” After an uninterrupted series of triumphs, during three years, in Austria, Bohemia, Saxony, Poland, Bavaria, Prussia, and in the Rhenish provinces, after unceasing ovations of Vienna, Dresden, Berlin, and Frankfort, the celebrated artist arrived at Paris, and gave his first concert at the Opera, the 9th of March, 1831. His studies for the Violin, which had been published there for some time--a species of enigma which had perplexed every violinist;

the European fame of the artist, his travels and triumphs, raised the curiosity of the artists and the public.

It is impossible to describe the enthusiasm his first concert created--it was universal frenzy.

Tumultuous applause preceded and followed all his performances, the audience rose _en masse_ to recall him after each, and nothing was heard but general approbation and amazement.

The same enthusiasm prevailed during his entire stay in Paris.

Towards the middle of May he left this city, and proceeded to London, where he was expected with the utmost impatience, but not with that artistic and perceptive interest with which he had been received at Paris.

The high prices of admission charged for his concerts drew down the reprobation of the English journals, as if the artist was not privileged to put what price he pleased upon his talent, or that they were perforce obliged to go and hear him.

The concerts at London, at which Paganini performed, and his professional tour through England, Scotland, and Ireland, produced an immense amount of money; this was a large fortune, to which he added considerably afterwards, during his visits to France and Belgium.

He has been reproached with having sold himself to an English speculator for a certain time and a definite sum: a system which many artists have since adopted, though it is repugnant both to art and the dignity of the artist.

Yet the great care necessary for the organisation of concerts, the difficulties encountered by an artist in England, certainly offer some apology for its adoption.

The scandalous manner in which the managements plunder the artists--the toll claimed by the band, charitable institutions, printers, advertisements, lighting, servants, &c. , &c. , &c. , offer so many interruptions to the calm serenity necessary for the display of talent, that the artist can scarcely be blamed for ridding himself of these annoyances by concluding a compact by which he is assured a specific sum.

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After an absence of six years, Paganini again set foot on his native soil.

The wealth he had amassed in his European tour, placed him in a position of great independence.

He sought to place this to advantage, yet was undecided what part of the Peninsula he would select as his place of abode.

His former predilection was for Tuscany; but, among the various properties he purchased, was a charming country house in the environs of Parma, called la Villa Gajona--here he decided on residing.

Various projects occupied him at this period, the most important of which was the publication of his compositions--a publication which was ardently desired by all violinists, under the impression that they would arrive at the secret of his marvellous talent.

During his stay in London, M. Troupenas, one of the most eminent publishers in Paris at that time, arrived there for the purpose of purchasing the copyright of his manuscripts; yet, although M. Troupenas was accustomed to pay large sums to celebrated authors, whose works he published, particularly Rossini and Auber, he could not come to terms with the great violinist.

M.

Troupenas has frequently told me that the sum asked by Paganini for his manuscripts was so considerable, that a continuous sale during ten years would not have reimbursed him.

Afterwards, at Brussels, Paganini told me he contemplated publishing his works himself; but, not having yet abandoned giving concerts, he conceived the singular idea of arranging his music for the Pianoforte.

On returning to Italy, where he was almost worshipped by his countrymen, from the great triumphs he had obtained, and the honours conferred on him by foreign potentates, he was received with the most marked degree of respect.

On the 14th of November, 1834, he gave a concert at Placentia, for the benefit of the poor.

The following 12th of December, he played at the Court of Maria Louisa, Duchess of Parma, from whom he received the imperial Order of St. George.

During the year 1835, Paganini alternately resided at Genoa, Milan, and at his retreat near Parma.

The cholera, which was then raging at Genoa, gave rise to the rumour that he had fallen a victim to the infection.

This event was announced in the public papers, in which there appeared necrological notices; but, although his health was lamentably bad, he escaped the cholera.

In 1836, some speculators induced him to lend the aid of his name and talent to establish a casino, of which music was the pretext, but gambling the real object.

This establishment, which was situated in the most fashionable locality of Paris, was opened with considerable splendour at the end of November, 1837, under the name of Casino Paganini; but the Government refused to authorize its opening as a gambling house, and the speculators were reduced to give concerts, the proceeds of which were far exceeded by the expenses of the undertaking.

Under the necessity of meeting the engagement entered into for this purpose, the great artist withdrew from his country house near Parma, and proceeded by way of Piedmont.

At Turin, together with the guitarist Legnani, he gave a concert on the 9th of June, for the benefit of the poor; and he then proceeded by way of Lyons, notwithstanding his ill state of health, and arrived at Paris oppressed with fatigue and suffering.

The decline of his health was manifest; and his wasted strength precluded the possibility of his playing at the Casino.

As the price of his painful journey to Paris, and the loss of his health, a law suit was commenced against him, which he lost; the judges, without having heard his defence, condemned him to pay 50,000f.

to the creditors of the speculation, and he was to be deprived of his liberty until that amount was paid.

When this decision was pronounced, Paganini was dying--his malady, which was phthisis of the larynx, had increased since the commencement of 1839. The medical men advised him to proceed to Marseilles, the climate of which they considered favourable to his health.

He followed their advice, and travelled by slow stages to the south.

His great energy struggled against the illness.

In retirement at the house of a friend, near the gates of the city, he still occupied himself with his art, and alternated between the Violin and the Guitar.

One day he seemed to revive, and performed a quartett of Beethoven, his particular favourite, with the greatest energy.

Despite his extreme weakness, he went, some few days after, to hear a requiem for male voices, by Cherubini, finally, on the 21st of June, he attended in one of the churches at Marseilles, to take part in a solemn mass by Beethoven.

However, the love of change, inherent in all valetudinarians, induced him to return to Genoa by sea, fully impressed that the voyage would recruit his health.

Vain hope!

In the commencement of October of the same year, he wrote from his native city to M. Galafre, a painter, and an esteemed friend of his: “Being in much worse health than I was at Marseilles, I have resolved on passing the winter at Nice.

” Thus he believed he was flying from death, and death was pursuing him.

Nice was destined to be his last abode.

The progress of his malady was rapid--his voice became almost extinct, and dreadful fits of coughing, which daily became more frequent, finally reduced him to a shadow.

The sinking of the features, a certain token of approaching death, was visible in his face.

An Italian writer has furnished us with a most touching description of his last moments in the following terms:-- “On the last night of his existence, he appeared unusually tranquil.

He had slept a little; when he awoke, he requested that the curtains of his bed should be drawn aside to contemplate the moon, which, at its full, was advancing calmly in the immensity of the pure heavens.

While steadily gazing at this luminous orb, he again became drowsy, but the murmuring of the neighbouring trees awakened in his breast that sweet agitation which is the reality of the beautiful.

At this solemn hour, he seemed desirous to return to Nature all the soft sensations which he was then possessed of; stretching forth his hands towards his enchanted Violin--to the faithful companion of his travels--to the magician which had robbed care of its stings--he sent to heaven, with its last sounds, the last sigh of a life which had been all melody.

” The great artist expired the 27th of May, 1840, at the age of 56, leaving to his only son, Achille--the fruit of his liaison with the cantatrice, Antonia Bianchi, of Como--an immense fortune, and the title of Baron, which had been conceded to him in Germany.

All had not ended with the man whose life was as extraordinary as his talent.

Whether from the effect of certain popular rumours, of which mention will be made hereafter, or whether, from the fact of Paganini having died without receiving the last rites of the Church, he had left doubts as to his religion, his remains were refused interment in consecrated ground by the Bishop of Nice, Monsignor Antonio Galvano.

Vainly did his son, his friends, and most of the artists of the city, solicit permission to celebrate a solemn service for his eternal rest, on the plea that, as in all cases of phthisis, the sufferer never believed his end was approaching, but had died suddenly; the Bishop remained inexorable, but proffered an authentic act of decease, with permission to remove the body wheresoever they pleased.

This was not accepted, and the matter was brought before the tribunals.

At Nice, a verdict was returned in favour of the Bishop.

Recourse was then had to Rome, which remitted the Bishop’s decision, and charged the Bishop of Turin, conjointly with two Canons of the Cathedral of Genoa, to institute an inquiry with reference to the catholicity of Paganini.

All this time the body was lying in one of the rooms of the hospital at Nice; it was afterwards removed by sea from the lazaretto of Villa Franca, near the city, to a country spot named Polcevera, near Genoa, which belonged to the family of the illustrious artist.

It was rumoured that piteous and extraordinary tones were heard there at night.

To end these popular reports, the young Baron Paganini resolved on defraying the expense of a solemn service to the memory of his father, as Chevalier de St. George, which was celebrated at Parma in the church of the Steccata, belonging to that chivalrous order.

After this ceremony, the friends of the deceased obtained permission from the Bishop of Parma to bring the body into the Duchy, to remove it to the Villa Gajona, and to inter it in the village church.

This funeral homage was rendered to the remains of the celebrated man, in the month of May, 1845, but without pomp, in conformity with the orders which had emanated from the Government.

By his will, made on the 27th of April, 1837, and opened on the 1st of June, 1840, Paganini left to his son, legitimized by deeds of law, a fortune estimated at two millions (£80,000 sterling), out of which two legacies were to be paid, of fifty and sixty thousand francs, to his two sisters, leaving to the mother of his son Achille an annuity of 1,200 francs.

Independently of his wealth, Paganini possessed a collection of valuable instruments, among which was an incomparable Stradiuari, estimated at upwards of 8,000 Austrian florins, a charming Guarnieri of the smaller pattern, an excellent Amati, a Stradiuari Bass, equally prized with his Violin of this master, and his large Guarnieri, the only instrument which accompanied him in his travels, and which he bequeathed to the town of Genoa, not being desirous that any artist should possess it after him.

The frenzied admiration which Paganini’s prodigious talent excited wherever he went, and the wealth he amassed, were painfully compensated for, by the distressing state of his health during the greater part of his life.

His biographers attribute this delicate state to the excesses of a stormy youth; but the immoderate use, during more than twenty years, of the quack medicine of Le Roy, exerted an equally fatal influence over his physical constitution.

He rarely consulted the faculty, and less frequently followed their advice.

His confidence in this favourite panacea was unshaken; he resorted to it on every occasion, convinced that no ill with which humanity is afflicted, could resist its action.

The powerful agitation it excited was looked upon as a salutary crisis.

Its frequent use subjected the intestinal functions to frequent disturbance, induced irritation, which became chronic, and produced nervous attacks, which often almost deprived him of the power of speech.

It was not only by his almost constant indisposition that Paganini expiated his glory and his success, for the malignity of his enemies pursued him for more than fifteen years with calumnious imputations, which everywhere left their traces, and compromised his honour.

Crime was even imputed to him.

The versions varied, as regards the deeds laid to his charge; according to one, his liaisons, unworthy of his talent, led him in his youth to the commission of highway robbery; others attributed to him a maddening and vindictive jealousy in love affairs, which frequently brought him to the verge of murder.

Now his mistress, now his rival, had fallen victims to his irrepressible fury.

It was even said, a long incarceration in prison had expiated his crime.

The long intervals which took place between his concerts, either for the re-establishment of his health or for repose and meditation, favoured these calumnious reports.

The qualities even of his talent were but weapons for his enemies, and it was said that the solitude of a prison, and the impossibility of replacing the strings of his Violin which had broken, led to his marvellous performance on the fourth, the only one that remained upon his instrument.

When Paganini visited Germany, France, and England, envy pursued him, greedy of collecting odious calumny, to oppose his success, as if it were decreed that genius and talent should ever expiate the advantages which nature and study had endowed them with.

Paganini was frequently driven to defend himself in the columns of the press; vainly had he appealed to the testimony of the ambassadors of the foreign powers; vainly did he call upon his enemies to cite, with precision, the facts and dates which they had vaguely propagated; but no advantageous results were derived from this.

Paris, especially, was hostile to him, although that city contributed principally to his fame.

Apart from the real public, who entertain neither hatred nor prejudice, and who yield to the pleasure which talent provides for them, there is, in that city, a hunger-starved population, which exists on the ill it does and the good it prevents.

This contemptible world speculated upon the celebrity of the artist, and persuaded itself that he would purchase their silence.

Lithographic prints presented him a prisoner; journals attacked his morals, his humanity, his integrity.

These reiterated attacks--this pillory to which he saw himself attached, as actor and as spectator--affected him deeply.

He confided his sorrows to me, and took counsel from me, satisfying me perfectly of their unjust malice.

I requested him to furnish me with some notes to enable me to write a letter, which I published with his signature, and was copied into most of the Paris journals.

The facts, related in that letter, possess so much interest for the history of the most extraordinary man of our age, that I deem it important to give it a place here.

I conceive it, besides, a duty to omit nothing that may avenge the calumnies which attached to one of the most dazzling glories of the musical art:-- “SIR,--So many proofs of kindness have been showered upon me by the French public, so much encouraging approbation has been bestowed upon me, that I cannot avoid believing in the fame which it is said preceded me in Paris, and that I fell not short of my reputation at my concerts.

But, if any doubt of that kind existed in my bosom, it would be removed by the eagerness evinced by your artists to produce my likeness, and by the great number of portraits of Paganini--faithful resemblances or not--which cover the walls of your city; but, sir, it is not only simple portraits that speculators of that nature stop at--for, while walking yesterday on the Boulevard des Italiens, I saw in a shop, where engravings are sold, a lithograph representing Paganini in prison.

‘Oh!

’ I exclaimed, ‘here are some honest folks who, after the fashion of Basile, make a profit out of certain calumnies which have pursued me for the last fifteen years.

’ However, I examined laughingly this mystification, with all the details that the imagination of the artist had conjured up, when I perceived that a large number of persons had congregated around me, each of whom, confronting my face with that of the young man represented in the lithograph, verified the change that had taken place in my person since my detention.

I then saw that it was looked on in a serious light by those you call, I believe, louts, and that the speculation was a good one.

It struck me that, as everybody must live, I might furnish the artists, who are kind enough to consider me worthy of their attention, with some anecdotes--anecdotes from which they could derive subjects of similar facetiæ to the subject in question.

It is to give them publicity, that I claim from your kindness the insertion of this letter in the ‘Revue Musicale.

’ “They have represented me in prison; but they are ignorant of the cause of my incarceration; however, they know as much of that as I do myself, and those who concocted the anecdote.

There are many stories in reference to this, which would supply them with as many subjects for their pencils; for example, it is stated that, having found a rival in my mistress’ apartment, I stabbed him honourably in the back, while he was unable to defend himself.

Others assert, that, in the madness of jealousy, I slew my mistress; but they do not state how I effected my bloody purpose.

Some assert I used a dagger--others that, desirous of witnessing her agony, I used poison.

Each has settled it in accordance with his own fancy.

Why should not lithographers have the same privilege?

I will relate what occurred to me at Padua, nearly fifteen years since.

I had played at a concert with great success.

The next day, seated at the table d’hôte (I was the sixtieth) my entrance in the room passed unobserved.

One of the guests spoke of the great effect I had produced the previous evening.

His neighbour concurred in all that was said, and added, ‘There is nothing surprising in Paganini’s performance--he acquired his talent while confined in a dungeon during eight years, having only his Violin to soften the rigours of his confinement.

He was condemned for having, coward-like, stabbed one of my friends, who was his rival.

’ As you may imagine, every one was shocked by the enormity of my crime.

I then addressed myself to the person who was so well acquainted with my history, and requested to know when and where this had taken place.

Every eye was directed towards me.

Judge the surprise when they recognised the principal actor in this tragical history!

The narrator was embarrassed.

It was no longer his friend who had been assassinated.

He heard--it had been affirmed--he believed; but it was not improbable he had been deceived.

This is how an artist’s reputation is trifled with, because indolent people will never comprehend that one may study at liberty as well as under lock and key.

“A still more ridiculous report, at Vienna, tested the credulity of some enthusiasts.

I had played the variations entitled “Le Streghe” (the Witches), and they produced some effect.

One individual, who was represented to me as of a sallow complexion, melancholy air, and bright eye, affirmed that he saw nothing surprising in my performance, for he had distinctly seen, while I was playing my variations, the devil at my elbow directing my arm and guiding my bow.

My resemblance to him was a proof of my origin.

He was clothed in red--had horns on his head--and carried his tail between his legs.

After so minute a description, you will understand, sir, it was impossible to doubt the fact; hence, many concluded they had discovered the secret of what they termed my wonderful feats.

“My mind was disturbed for a long time by these reports, and I sought every means to prove their absurdity.

I remarked that from the age of fourteen, I had continued to give concerts, consequently was always before the public; that I had been engaged as leader of the orchestra, and musical director to the Court of Lucca; that if it were true, I had been detained eight years in prison, for having assassinated my mistress or my rival, it must have taken place before my appearance in public; that I must have had a mistress and a rival at seven years of age.

At Vienna I appealed to the ambassador of my country, who declared he had known me for upwards of twenty years as an honest man, and I succeeded in setting the calumny aside temporarily; but there are always some remains, and I was not surprised to find them here.

How am I to act, sir?

I see nothing but resignation, and submit to the malignity which exerts itself at my expense.

I deem it, however, a duty, before I conclude, to communicate to you an anecdote, which gave rise to the injurious reports propagated against me.

A violinist, of the name of Duranowski, who was at Milan in 1798, connected himself with two persons of disreputable character, and was induced to accompany them to a village, where they purposed assassinating the priest, who was reported to be very rich.

Fortunately, the heart of one failed him at the moment of the dreadful deed, and he immediately denounced his accomplices.

The gendarmerie soon arrived on the spot, and took Duranowski and his companion prisoners at the moment they arrived at the priest’s house.

They were condemned to the galleys for twenty years, and thrown into a dungeon; but General Menou, after he became Governor of Milan, restored Duranowski to liberty, after two years’ detention.

Will you credit it?

--upon this groundwork they have constructed my history.

It was necessary that the violinist should end in _i_, it was Paganini; the assassination became that of my mistress or my rival; and I it was who was sent to prison,--with this exception, that I was to discover there a new school for the Violin: the irons were not adjudged against me, in order that my arms might be at perfect liberty.

Since these reports are persisted in, against all probability, I must necessarily bear them with resignation.

One hope remains: it is, that after my death, calumny will abandon its prey, and that those who have so cruelly avenged my triumphs, will leave my ashes at rest.

--Receive, &c. , “PAGANINI.

” As just stated, Paganini was deeply mortified by these reports which affected his honour.

He wrote to the editors of the journals in Vienna;

and when Mr. Schottky, of Prague, formed the project of writing his biography, to crush his calumniators, Paganini, who rejoiced at the idea of such a publication, urged his friend to hasten his labours.

He wrote to him from Berlin:--“It is high time I should write to you.

I

have no bad news to communicate, though I suffer slightly with my eyes, which inconveniences me a good deal.

You have probably seen the Dresden journals.

I met with all kinds of gratifications at Dresden, which the extreme kindness of the royal family completed.

It is true, I learned that you had in one of your contributions promised my biography, but I have not heard anything since.

My curiosity is at its utmost pitch.

My relation, of whom I spoke to you, joined me at Dresden; he is also extremely anxious.

Do let us see some portion of your work.

My honour is in your keeping.

How fortunate to have found an avenger, whose name alone suffices to crush the basest calumnies!

Your integrity and your talents will drive my enemies to despair, and to you will remain the gratification of having done a generous action.

” Nothing can be more honourable or more natural than the indignation felt by Paganini at the calumnies which his success engendered; but it would seem that he was deceived as to the means of silencing them: for the publication of the chronological order of his life would easily have demonstrated the absurdity of the reports propagated against him.

It is a fact, that until he was nearly fifteen years of age, he remained under the paternal roof.

Hence he proceeded to Lucca, where he unfortunately formed an acquaintance with some disreputable persons, who, taking advantage of his inexperience, robbed him of the fruits of his industry, and drove him to Pisa, Arezzo, and Leghorn, where he gave concerts to repair the inroads his losses had made, and improve his pecuniary position.

He was at this latter place in 1801, and was then only seventeen years of age.

This date is authentically established by Gervasoni, who was his contemporary.

Some months after, his predilection for the Violin changed, and he took up the Guitar, acquired a mastery over that instrument nearly equal to the Violin, and wrote for it several distinguished compositions, which are still sought for in Italy.

In 1804, we find him at Genoa, giving instructions to the young Catarina Calcagno, who became a most worthy pupil.

The following year, he enters the service at the Court of Lucca, remains in that town until 1808, then undertakes a professional tour, arrives at Leghorn, and plays at several concerts.

In 1809, Blangini meets him at Turin.

In the same year he returns to Florence, where Bartolini executes his bust.

In 1810, he travels through the Romagna, and performs particularly at Rimini, an inhabitant of which furnished an account to M.

Conestabile.

It is afterwards that his adventure at Ferrara occurs;

and the 16th of August of the following year he gives concerts at Parma, as confirmed by M. Gervasoni.

Returning to Florence, he remains there during 1812, where, at the beginning of 1813, the affair takes place which drives him from Court.

In the same year he gives thirteen concerts at Milan.

In 1814 he is at Genoa, his native place.

He then returns to Milan, gives eleven concerts there, and proceeds to Bologna, where he meets Rossini.

In 1815, he makes his second professional tour in Romagna, and plays at Ancona, returning again to his native place.

In March, 1816, he goes to hear Lafont at Milan, receives the challenge, gives concerts, and proceeds to Venice in the summer of the same year.

He remains there nearly a year, according to the report of a correspondent of the “Leipziger Musikalische Zeitung,” from which period until his death the public journals teem with accounts of his brilliant successes.

It is manifest, and beyond contradiction, that during an existence constantly before the public, no period can be found where he could have suffered a detention of eight years, or even the time necessary for undergoing a criminal procedure.

Paganini, with the design of confounding his vilifiers, should have collected the testimonies of those he had known previously to and during all this period, and have published the chronological table which has been thus sketched: the whole matter would then have been set at rest.

Human credulity is prone to feed on outrageous absurdities.

Not only was his dignity as a man attacked, for endeavours were ever made to deprive him of this, and to grant him only a fantastic existence.

The almost insuperable difficulties he had overcome as a violinist, were not the only motives which gave birth to the reports circulated.

The extraordinary expression of his face, his livid paleness, his dark and penetrating eye, together with the sardonic smile which occasionally played upon his lips, appeared to the vulgar, and to certain diseased minds, unmistakable evidences of satanic origin.

It has been seen by his letter, which has been given _in extenso_, what he himself related on that subject.

But these ridiculous ideas were not entertained in Germany only, for there are traces of them even in Italy, and they probably had some effect upon the difficulties which attended his obsequies.

M.

Amati, a distinguished writer, has furnished M. Schottky with an anecdote which has reference to his acquaintance with Paganini at Florence.

It will be seen what impression the extraordinary aspect of this singular being had upon nervous temperaments.

Thus speaks the narrator:--“Near the gate of Pitti, at Florence, there is a steep hill, on the summit of which stands the ancient Fiesole, formerly the rival of the capital of Tuscany, but divested of its former splendour.

Here the purest air is inhaled, and the beauty of the prospect produces rather the effect of a dream than of reality.

One beautiful May morning, when the flowers and verdure lay smiling, kissed by the sun’s rays, and all nature was beaming with youth, I ascended this hill by its most rugged path, from whence the most beautiful view is obtained.

In front of me was a stranger, who, from time to time, stopped to recover his breath, and admire the enchanting landscape, which met his eye in every direction.

Insensibly I approached him.

Believing himself alone, he spoke aloud, and accompanied his monologue with rapid gesticulations and loud laughter.

Suddenly he checked himself; his lynx-like eye had perceived in the distance a charming object, which soon after also attracted my attention.

It was a young peasant girl, who was approaching towards us slowly, carrying a basket of flowers.

She wore a straw hat; her hair, dark and lustrous as jet, played upon her forehead; and the regularity of her handsome features was softened by the mildness of her looks.

With a beautifully formed hand she constantly replaced her shining ringlets, which the refreshing zephyr displaced.

The stranger, astonished at so much beauty, fixed his ardent looks upon her; when she had got near to him, she seemed transfixed at the appearance of the individual who stood before her, grew pale, and trembled.

Her basket seemed ready to fall from her hands.

She, however, hurried on, and soon disappeared behind a projection.

During this period, I contemplated the stranger, whose eyes were fixed in the direction the girl had taken.

Never had I seen so extraordinary a face.

He merely cast upon me a passing glance, accompanied by a most singular smile, and pursued his way.

“The next day, dark clouds, driven by the winds, rolled along like the sea waves; scarcely was the sun visible, yet, despite the weather, I went out, and having traversed the bridge Delle Grazie, outside the gate which bears that name, I directed my steps to the right, towards the hill, on the summit of which I already perceived the ruined castle with its drawbridge.

I approached the remains of this ancient edifice, through the dilapidated walls of which the wind was whistling.

Here everything bore the impress of destruction.

Here, contemplating the fearful ravages of time, and listening to the mournful melodies of the hurricane, the moanings of a human voice struck upon my ear, and made me shudder.

It seemed as if the voice proceeded from a subterranean cavity near which I was standing.

I rushed forward to its mouth, where I found a man--pale and with haggard looks, lying upon the moss.

I

recognised the stranger of the previous day; his searching look was fixed upon me; I recoiled from it, and perceiving the stranger was in no need of assistance, I withdrew.

“On the following evening, I was walking by the side of the Arno, the moonlight flickering as it rose.

The nightingale’s note, and the warbling of birds of every kind preparing to roost, were saluting the departing rays of day.

Sounds of a totally different nature suddenly intermingled with these harmonized melodies of nature.

Attracted by this exquisite and unknown music, I followed the direction from whence they seemed to proceed, and I again found myself near the singular being who had occupied all my thoughts for the last three days.

Carelessly lying beneath a tree, his features were now as calm as they had appeared troubled the day previous, and as he listened with impassioned expression to the fury of the tempest in the old castle, so did he now seem to enjoy the concert of the feathered tribe, whose notes he was whistling with most astounding imitation.

I could not explain the strange destiny that led me constantly into his presence.

“My astonishment had not yet ceased, for, on returning the following evening from a long walk, just as the stars began their first scintillations, I sat down to repose myself under the Loggie degli Uffizi.

A joyous party passed me, and sat down on a marble seat some distance from me; soon after, celestial sounds struck upon my ear, by turns joyful and plaintive, evidently produced by the hand of a superior artist.

Silence succeeded to the hilarious shouts of the merry party, all of whom seemed as transfixed by the divine music as I was myself.

They all rose, silently, to follow the artist, who continued walking while he played.

I also followed, to discover what instrument it was I heard, and who the artist might be that discoursed so enchantingly upon it.

Arrived at the square of the Palazzo Vecchio, the party entered a restaurant.

I followed them.

Here they regained their former merriment, and the leader, more than his companions, displayed extraordinary animation.

To my great surprise, the instrument was a guitar (which seemed to have become magical), and the performer, I discovered to be the stranger I had so continuously met.

He was no longer the suffering being he had seemed: his eyes beamed, his veins swelled with exultation, his coat and waistcoat were both unbuttoned, his cravat loosened, and his gesticulations those of a madman.

I

inquired his name.

‘None of us knows it,’ replied the individual, one of the party, to whom I addressed myself; ‘I was in company with my friends, who were singing and dancing to my guitar, when this singular man pushed in among us, and snatching the guitar from my hands, commenced playing without saying a word.

Annoyed at the intrusion, we were about to lay hands upon him, but without noticing us in the least, he continued playing, subjugating us by his exquisite performance.

Each time we inquired his name, he resumed his playing without making any reply.

He occasionally ceased for a while, to relate to us some extraordinary anecdote.

In this manner he has brought us hither, without more knowledge of him than you possess.

’ “Some days after, Paganini was announced to give a concert.

Eager to hear the incomparable artist, whose fame was so universal, and whom I had not yet heard, I went to the theatre, which was literally crowded to suffocation.

The utmost impatience was manifested until the concert commenced with a symphony, which, although by a composer of eminence, was listened to with indifference.

At last the artist appeared.

I was astonished at recognising in him the stranger who had so mystified me for some days, whom I had met at Fiesole, etc. I will not attempt to describe the effect his performance produced--the transports of frenzy his incomparable talent excited.

Let it suffice to say, that on that one evening, he seemed to conjoin all the delightful impressions of the graceful appearance of the peasant girl of the mountain, the hurricane in the ruins, the warbling of the feathered songsters on the banks of the Arno, and the inspiring delirium of the evening at the Loggie.

”