Nicolo Paganini: His Life and Work. Stephen S. Stratton

well as to perform at Court three times a week, and to get up a public concert for the higher circles every fortnight. Whenever these were visited by the Princess, she never remained to the close, because the flageolet tones of my violin were too much for her nerves. On the other hand there was another fascinating creature … who, I flattered myself, felt a penchant for me, and was never absent from my performances; on my own side, I had long been her admirer (Paganini was now twenty-three years of age, susceptible, and possibly himself fascinating.) Our mutual fondness became gradually stronger and stronger; but we were forced to conceal it, and by this means its strength and fervour were sensibly enhanced. One day I promised to surprise her at the next concert, with a musical joke, which should convey an allusion to our attachment; and I accordingly gave notice at Court that I should bring forward a musical novelty, under the title of 'A Love Scene.' The whole world was on tiptoe at the tidings; and on the evening appointed, I made my appearance, violin in hand; I had previously robbed it of the two middle strings, so that none but E and G remained. The first string being designed to play the maiden's part, and the second (fourth) the youth's, I began with a species of dialogue, in which I attempted to introduce movements analogous to transient bickerings and reconciliations between the lovers. Now my strings growled, and then sighed; and anon they lisped, hesitated, joked and joyed, till at last they sported with merry jubilee. In the course of time, both souls joined once more in harmony, and the appeased lovers' quarrel led to a pas de deux, which terminated in a brilliant coda. This musical fantasia of mine was greeted with loud applause. The lady, to whom every scene referred, rewarded me by looks full of delight and sweetness, and the Princess was charmed into such amiable condescension, that she loaded me with encomiums—asking me, whether, since I could produce so much with two strings, it would not be possible for me to gratify them by playing on one. I yielded instant assent—the idea tickled my fancy—and, as the Emperor's birthday occurred some weeks afterwards (August 15th,) I composed a sonata for the G string, which I entitled 'Napoleon,' and played before the Court to so much effect, that a cantata, by Cimarosa, given the same evening, fell through without producing any impression on its hearers.[7] This is the genuine and original cause of my prejudice in favour for the G string. People were afterwards importunate to hear more of this performance, and in this way I became day by day a greater adept at it, and acquired constantly increasing confidence in this peculiar mystery of handling the bow." More of the "Napoleon Sonata" later.

      

Plate IV.—See Appendix. Caricature published 1831.

      When the Princess became Grand Duchess of Tuscany, the Court removed to Florence, and Paganini, as a matter of course, was in the retinue. His official career, however, came to an abrupt termination in the early part of 1813. When appointed Court Musical Director, Paganini was accorded the rank of Captain in the Royal Guard, and, as such, was permitted to wear a brilliant uniform. Appearing in this garb at a State function at Florence, in 1813, the artist was "commanded" to change it for the ordinary dress suit. This request Paganini construed as an insult, and refused compliance; whereupon there was a sudden rupture, and instant resignation of office. Paganini, at different times, obtained leave of absence, and undertook various professional tours; and as he met with some strange experiences, we will follow him in his wanderings.

CHAPTER III.

       Table of Contents

      In 1808 occurred the first of these excursions. Paganini went to Leghorn, the scene of his early triumphs. He had not been there for seven years, but his first concert, this visit, was attended with some unpleasant mishaps. He had run a nail into his heel, and came limping on the stage, whereupon the audience set up a titter—an incident quite enough to upset a sensitive artist. Then, just as he was commencing his concerto, the candles fell from his music-stand, and the laughter was unrestrained; after a few bars of his solo, the first string of his violin snapped, and the merriment became uproarious; but he finished the performance upon the three strings, and the artist soon converted the audience to a demonstration of a more grateful character. Thus his "one string" experience served him in good stead.

      At Ferrara something worse befell. For his concert there, Paganini had engaged a vocalist, Signora Marietta Marcolini; but at the last moment, the lady, either from indisposition or caprice, refused to sing. Paganini went to his hostel boiling with rage, but was somewhat mollified on being told there was a lady occupying an apartment in the same house, who might perhaps take the place of the recalcitrant singer. This was Signora Pallerini, the principal dancer at the theatre, who had a very agreeable voice, but who made no pretension to being a singer, although she was not without training and talent. Paganini lost no time in seeking the young dancer, and by dint of perseverance obtained her consent to his wish.

      But when the Signora came on to sing she was seized with stage-fright. Her voice failed her, and her song produced no effect. Paganini offered his arm to conduct her behind the scenes, but just before they reached the wing, a shrill whistle was heard—equivalent to a hiss in England. This was too much; the poor débutante lost consciousness, and fell into the arms of her friend. Pale with rage, Paganini promised himself a signal vengeance. The concert was drawing to a close when the angry artist whispered to Signora Pallerini, "Come! Listen!" He rushed on the stage, and announcing to the audience that he would conclude the concert with a musical jest, proceeded to imitate the cries of various animals, the chirping of birds, the howling of dogs, and the crowing of cocks; then, with a stolen glance towards the wing, as if to make known the carrying out of his revenge, he advanced to the footlights, rested his bow on the "chanterelle," close to the bridge, and with a single stroke brought it violently on the "G," producing distinctly the sound of the donkey's hee-haw! "This is for the man who whistled," he exclaimed, with an air of triumph, and for the second time gave his imitation—with added energy. Then he awaited the shouts of laughter that should assail the poor whistler, but something quite different happened. The pit rose to a man, and howling, whistling, and stamping, the audience proceeded to storm the stage; and only precipitate flight by means of a private door, saved the unlucky artist's life.

      The explanation came to Paganini later. The inhabitants of the villages around Ferrara had from time immemorial a strong prejudice against their Capital. The citizens they alleged were stupid in their nature, and deserved the sobriquet "hee-haw." If a countryman, returning from Ferrara, were asked where he came from, he replied by throwing back his head and braying like an ass! Paganini had no knowledge of local history; he was not a reader, he never even glanced at the papers, except when they contained something concerning himself. His revenge caused quite a tumult, in what way can be well perceived: and the magistrate, to restore quiet, advised Paganini not to give his second concert in the town, so that the offenders were really punished all round.

      It is not necessary to enter into details concerning all Paganini's tours. It appears to have been in 1810 that he wrote the "Napoleon Sonata," and he performed it in public at a concert given by him at Parma, August 18th, 1811. His fame was spreading beyond his own country, and Schilling states that from 1812 the German musical journals bestowed much attention upon him. He was at Milan in 1813, and his success there was greater than ever. For that city he appeared to have a predilection, for he was there, with the exception of a short stay at Genoa, until the autumn of 1814. At that time he was by no means a recluse. He visited the theatre, La Scala, and witnessed a performance of Vigano's ballet, "Il Noce di Benevento," to which Süssmayer wrote the music; and from a certain scene he took the theme of his variations known as "Le Streghe." At a theatre he was inspired to write one of his finest movements. He went to hear Demarini, Italy's greatest tragedian, and was so affected by one scene that he could not sleep, and his emotion ultimately found expression in music. This will be dealt with when noticing his compositions.

      In October, 1814, Paganini went to Bologna, and there met Rossini for the first time. Rossini, nine years the junior of Paganini, had already produced a dozen operas—two in Milan that year. By Court favour Rossini had just escaped the conscription, and had hastened away to Bologna. The meeting of these artists was of importance to both. Meyerbeer went to Italy in 1815, and was there