Nicolo Paganini: His Life and Work Part 5

In the early summer of 1837, Paganini's health having improved, he gave several concerts in Turin, both for the benefit of the poor, and on his own behalf. Later in the year, however, he was in Paris, living in the greatest seclusion. The CASINO PAGANINI was opened, apparently in October, 1837. The building was situated in the Rue Mont Blanc, and was supposed to be a kind of Club of Art and Literature. An orchestra of some fifty performers was engaged for concerts, which were open to subscribers only. In the grounds a bra.s.s band played to those a.s.sembled, and admission there apparently was free to the public. The object of the undertaking was not made known. A French paper stated by way of a joke that Paganini's part in the proceedings was to walk round the garden when the weather was fine. The Government refused to license the place as a gambling-house, and the management had to rely upon the concerts alone. It would appear that Paganini had signed a contract to play at the concerts, but the wretched state of his health was the excuse for his not doing so. He had been in Paris off and on from 1837 to some time in 1839. In 1838, certainly before April, he was there, and went to hear a newly invented instrument termed the Harmoniphone. This was the work of an ingenious musician, Jacques Reine Paris. It was a small key-board instrument designed to imitate the oboe, and intended as a subst.i.tute for it, in places where oboe players were not available. A distinguished company was invited to meet Paganini, who was greatly interested and pleased with the invention. Then, in December, Paganini witnessed what Berlioz described as the ma.s.sacre of his "Benvenuto Cellini" at the opera. In the same month was inaugurated a society for the production of cla.s.sical compositions, and for the encouragement of musical artists, and at this brilliant function, held in the Salle Erard, Paganini was present, with Meyerbeer, Auber, De Beriot, Donizetti, and a host of other celebrities. On the 16th of the month Paganini attended the concert given by Berlioz at the Conservatoire, when the symphony, "Harold," was performed. Paganini heard it for the first time, and at the close of the concert occurred the affecting incident of Paganini kneeling on the stage and kissing the hand of Berlioz, the demonstration being followed by a magnificent donation of 20,000 francs. Paganini seems to have had a transient recovery, for the papers spoke of his becoming corpulent.

Still, he did not play at the Casino Concerts, and a crisis soon arose.

Early in 1839, the directors of the Casino brought an action against Paganini for breach of contract, and he was decreed to pay damages to the amount of 20,000 francs. This decision so much displeased both plaintiffs and defendant that they appealed against it. The case did not come on again for some time, and Paganini sought rest and change in the south of France. He stayed for some time at Ma.r.s.eilles, where, at the house of a friend, he once more abandoned himself to his art, devoting his time alternately to his violin and his guitar. Fetis states that notwithstanding his feeble health, Paganini attended a performance of Cherubini's _Requiem_ for men's voices; and on June 21st went to one of the churches to take part in the performance of Beethoven's Ma.s.s in C.

But his malady could only be alleviated by frequent change of clime.

Accordingly, in October we find him at Genoa, in the vain hope that his native air would prove beneficial; but he was prostrated by a violent nervous attack almost immediately following his arrival. He must, soon after, have left for Nice, which he never quitted alive. Nice, though a pleasant place, was not regarded as at all a favourable retreat for persons suffering from pulmonary or bronchial affections, and it proved fatal to the great artist. But we must, for the moment, return to Paris.

The rehearing of the Casino case came before the _Cour Royale_, Paris, on January 3rd, 1840. Paganini could not, of course, attend in person, but he was represented by Counsel, and it may be of interest to name the man who was entrusted with his defence. It was a certain Mons.

Chaix-d'Est-Ange. From accounts of the proceedings, this legal luminary addressed the Court at great length. He described the prayers and entreaties of the proprietors of what he termed "this catchpenny establishment" to induce the grand _Maestro_ to lend his mighty arm and name to their speculation. He had promised, in writing, to play nowhere but at their concerts; but as he had played nowhere else, the proprietors could have no legal right to such excessive damages. The counsel for the plaintiff, Mons. Barillon, declared that as Paganini's defection had ruined the speculation, the damages ought to be proportionate to his transcendent talent. Going into details, he stated that Paganini was installed in a splendid suite of apartments at the Casino, one boudoir being lined with flannel expressly for him; and that when he was complaining of his wretched health, he accepted a dinner offered him by the musicians of the orchestra, and gave toasts in both French and Italian. After that, he allowed bills to be printed, announcing that he would play at the Casino concert. Hundreds of tickets were eagerly bought at twenty francs each, when suddenly Paganini refused to play. Entreaties were in vain; Paganini, in his own room, with closed doors, would practise, but would not play at the concert.

Recourse was had to the musicians of the Grand Opera, so as not to disappoint the audience, but the prefect of police would not allow the _employes_ of the opera to be taken from their theatre, and ordered the Casino to be closed. Ruin stared the proprietors in the face, and 20,000 francs was no adequate compensation. The former decision was reversed, and Paganini was condemned by the Court in 50,000 francs[30] damages, and ten years imprisonment in default of payment.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Plate XI.--See Appendix._

THE HOUSE IN WHICH PAGANINI DIED.]

Whether the fine was actually paid, I have found no evidence to prove, but the imprisonment was certainly not enforced. In a few months' time, the gaoler whom none can deny, touched Paganini with his icy hand, and the troubled spirit left its frail earthly tenement on May 27th, 1840.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Plate XII.--See Appendix._ TABLET ON HOUSE IN WHICH PAGANINI DIED.]

But not to rest were the mortal remains consigned. No peaceful grave for the wandering, restless being whose fitful fever of life was over at last. Paganini died without receiving the last Sacrament of the Church.

He had indeed been visited by a priest, sent by the Bishop of Nice; but not deeming his end so near, made no confession, nor prepared himself for death according to the rite of the Church of Rome. The doubt as to his faith caused the Bishop of Nice to refuse burial in consecrated ground. The son, the friends of Paganini, and the princ.i.p.al artists of the place solicited the authorisation of a solemn service for his eternal repose, but in vain; all that was conceded was the offer of an authentic record of death, with leave to transport the corpse whither they might wish. This compromise was not accepted, and the matter came before the Court of Justice, when the decision was in favour of the Bishop. There was no alternative but to appeal to Rome, when the Bishop's decree was annulled, and the Archbishop of Turin was charged, conjointly with the Canons of the Cathedral of Genoa, to inst.i.tute an inquiry into the Catholicism of Paganini. Meanwhile the remains--stated by the _Athenaeum_ to have been embalmed for interment at Genoa--were subjected to shocking indignities. The landlord wanted to let the house where the artist had died, and the corpse was laid in the cellar until a more fitting resting-place was found. Then it is said to have been moved to the hospital of Nice, thence by sea to the _Lazzaretto_ of Villa Franca, and finally to a country house Polcevera, near Genoa, part of the property of the heir of the ill.u.s.trious artist. There the body remained four years. Rumours spread abroad of piteous moans and other lamentable noises being heard at night. To put a stop to these unpleasant reports, the young Baron Achille made an application for permission for a solemn service to be celebrated at Parma, in virtue of Paganini having been a knight of St. George. This was not fruitless. The service was celebrated in the church of _La Steccata_, appropriated to that order of chivalry. After the solemnity the friends of the deceased obtained the permission of the Bishop of Parma to bring the body within the boundary of the Duchy, when it was transferred to the _Villa Gajona_, for interment in the Communal cemetery. So, at last, in May, 1845, the mortal remains of the ill.u.s.trious violinist were laid in the grave; by order of the government, there was no display of any kind, no outward symbol of homage. The mourners might, however, hope at least for the repose of the casket that once enclosed the fiery, turbulent, soaring spirit of one who knew no rest in life. But, alas! even that was not the end. In the letter addressed by Paganini to the Editor of the Paris _Revue Musicale_, the closing sentence breathed a prayer that, however calumniated he might be in life, the world would at least allow his ashes to repose in peace. That appeal was not granted. It has been shown that five years elapsed between his death and his burial; fifty years more, and the repose of the grave was broken. The _Athenaeum_ of September 7th, 1895, contained this paragraph:--

"In the Communal Cemetery of Parma the mortal remains of the great violin player, Paganini, have just been exhumed. The violinist was buried there fifty-five years ago, nevertheless his face has been found to be well preserved and easily recognizable. It is proposed to show the body to the public before it is re-interred."

Horrible! But first note the mistake. The body was buried fifty, not fifty-five, years before. Those terrible five years seem to have been unnoticed in this country, and I have been unable to find any reference to the mournful function of May, 1845.[31]

Now, what was the reason for exhuming the remains? For the purpose of removal to a more prominent site! Thus is homage paid to genius! Such, too, was the fate of Beethoven. His remains were removed in 1888 to the Central Cemetery at Vienna, and lamentable incidents attended the exhumation. Schubert, who, by his own desire, was buried by the side of the great master, did not escape the doom; but Mozart was mercifully spared; he was buried in a pauper's grave, and his body has remained undiscovered. The story of the preservation of his skull may be dismissed as apocryphal. But what are gorgeous monuments? Does the true artist value the case more than the instrument? Why seek ye the living among the dead? The artist does not die--he puts off the "muddy vesture of decay"; he lives in his art-work.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Plate XIII.--See Appendix._

THE TOMB OF PAGANINI AT PARMA.]

FOOTNOTES:

[29] Pergolesi.

[30] The _Athenaeum_ puts the amount at 52,000 francs.

[31] In the _Musical World_ of February 16th, 1843, there is a paragraph stating that Paganini's remains were still unsepulchred, the corpse lying in an uninhabited house.

CHAPTER VIII.

Having traced the career of Paganini "from the cradle to the grave," let us now look a little more closely at the man, the artist. Glimpses of his character have already been revealed, but so curiously interesting a personality will repay further study. Totally uneducated, he yet made himself so much a man of the world, as to enjoy the personal friendship of such notabilities as Lord Byron, Sir Thomas Clifford Constable, Lord Holland, Prince Metternich and others. In his official positions at Court he comported himself with dignity. He had the pride of the artist, and would not play if the conditions were not suitable. One instance has already been given. Here is another, which also occurred in Paris.

Paganini was asked to play at a Court concert at the Tuilleries. He went the day before to inspect the _salon_ where the function was to take place, and found the heavy draperies so numerous that the tones of his violin would be deadened, and the effect of his playing would be lost unless the curtains were removed or rearranged; he acquainted an official with his wish to alter them. To that august personage a "fiddler" was a mere n.o.body, and Paganini was given to understand his proper place. Highly offended with the manner of the official, Paganini resolved not to play. The Court was a.s.sembled for the concert, but the great violinist was absent. A messenger was sent to his hotel, and was informed that the Signor had retired to rest very early.

Mobbed by ill-mannered crowds whenever he appeared in the streets, (and this especially in London, when strangers not only spoke to him, but even felt him, to ascertain if he was really flesh and blood), Paganini, with his sensitive nature, shrank more and more from contact with the outer world. He was not a Milton, "whose soul was like a star, and dwelt apart," but he was essentially a solitary, a recluse. His character was the result of his environment. Accustomed to brutal treatment in his childhood, he became hardened; set free from restraint, he tasted the wild joys of youth, only to find them turn to Dead Sea apples. Schumann, in his "Advice to young musicians," wrote: "The laws of morality are also the laws of art." But Paganini had no mentor, and learnt by bitter experience the lesson of life. He was accused of avarice, and many ridiculous stories were told of him. When at Prague, it is said that even the members of the theatre were struck off the free list, and he was annoyed that the police who watched the upper galleries could not be made to pay for their places! He beat down a London laundress a halfpenny in her charge for washing his shirts, and Moscheles gives currency to the story, though he cannot vouch for its truth, that Paganini gave his servant a gallery ticket for one of his concerts on condition that the man served him gratuitously for one day! All these wretched things may have been true, more's the pity. But there is one little story that appears to have been overlooked. The father of Nicolo Paganini was avaricious, and compelled his son to minister to his avarice, even robbing him of the first-fruits of his own earnings; Nicolo in turn became avaricious, but it was for the sake of his little son, whose life he desired might be better than his own. "He saves for his yet uneducated child," wrote Guhr, in 1829. Yes, this man, proud, scornful, despising the crowds whose money made him rich, in the recesses of his heart nourished a love, pure and unselfish. That was the fine gold; his wealth was dross. His affection for the child was boundless, and he allowed the little fellow to tyrannise over him completely. There are pretty stories of his playing with the boy, but there is nothing about teaching the boy to play--the violin. The memory of his own childhood was quite sufficient to deter him from any attempt to force instruction on his boy, and cloud the sunshine of his young life.

The world gave Paganini its plaudits and its money; but there never seemed to be any bond of sympathy between the artist and the public. Yet Paganini could appreciate kindness. Moscheles relates that the father of his wife rendered Paganini some important service before the visit to England. When Paganini first called upon Moscheles he was profuse in expressions of grat.i.tude, and taking down a miniature portrait of his benefactor he covered it with kisses. "Meantime," Moscheles writes, "we had leisure to study those olive-tinted, sharply defined features, the glowing eyes, the scanty, but long black hair, and the thin, gaunt figure, upon which the clothes hung loosely, the deep sunken cheeks, and those long, bony fingers." Moscheles was of service to Paganini during his first days in London, and, to use his own words, he was paid with quite as many honied epithets as his father-in-law received. But he suspected the Italian to be rather too sweet to be genuine. Indeed, the friendship was too fervent to last long, and money was the cause of the rupture. Mori commissioned Moscheles to write a piece "Gems a la Paganini," taking the precaution of obtaining the violinist's consent.

His style is imitated, and he expresses his admiration of the piece. A second and third book of "Gems" are published, and down comes Paganini with the charge of musical piracy. His permission extended only to the first book. A lawsuit was commenced, but Paganini effected a compromise with Moscheles, conceding the free sale of the three books of "Gems" in return for pianoforte accompaniments to twelve small violin pieces.

Moscheles reluctantly consented to write the accompaniments, but refused to allow his name (which Paganini wanted) to appear on the t.i.tle-page.

Mori had to pay something by way of damages, and Moscheles at last rejoiced at being quit of an episode so little worthy of an artist, and at having done with those dreadful lawyers.[32]

But quite enough has been said in reference to Paganini's avarice: it has been shown that he had a motive for saving money. Is it as easy to account for other traits of his character? That aloofness, that scorn of the world, that hard bargaining: "Take me or leave me," revealing callous indifference, was there no cause for all that? There is a very graphic, and at the same time, appalling, account of the impression produced by Paganini among the Parisians, which is translated at length in Dubourg's "The Violin." Berlioz wrote of the weird genius making his appearance in France during the uproar of the collapse of a dynasty, and arriving in Paris--with the cholera. The terrors of the scourge were powerless to check the tide of curiosity: the people were mad for the time being. This is the conclusion of the notice just mentioned: "Of such a public, and such an artist, how saddening is the sight!... The public, made up of idlers--of beings isolated, cold, corrupt--must be _amused_, forsooth! and the artist exhausts his taste and his sentiment, and well nigh perspires blood and water, to comply with their exactions--to _amuse_ them! and if he attain this end, the public clap their hands, the manager of the theatre counts out to him a heap of gold, and he goes away, with his ears deafened at the noise which has surrounded him, and which, for a moment, it may be, has made his heart beat high;--he goes away, with a loving grasp tightened over the coin he has so hardly won; and now inwardly exclaims, with a smile of pity, 'The blockheads--the barbarians! who is there among them that can comprehend me--that can _feel_ my intentions!' and then the home-returning public, selfish to the very soul, indemnify themselves for their finger's-end applause by sottish contempt, by remarks that are empty, or worse--that are scornful, bitter, shocking, disgusting even--such as those which may have been buzzed into one's ears in Italy or in Paris, but varied in a hundred ways, and aggravated at will, just as _he_ varies and enlarges, twists and turns, beneath his magic bow, a subject of apparently the most simple and insignificant kind. And now the voices most distinguishable among the ebbing crowd murmur out the words, 'Gambler, Libertine'! or worse.... And the privileged public resort again to the theatre, to admire the talent of him who they comprehend not; and the artist returns, in like manner, to _amuse_ those who provoke his pity, and whom he beholds so far below him! Thus we have contempt on one side, compa.s.sion on the other; applause from hands chilled with the touch of gold, on the one part,--on the other, sounds that borrow their animation from no social sympathy! Such are the relations between the public and the professor--such the bonds that connect them!" Unhappy artist; miserable public! How shall we account for this pitiful state of things, this gulf between the performer and the auditor? We must seek the explanation in the letter to the _Revue_, referred to more than once, but now claiming our attention more directly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Plate XIV.--See Appendix._

PAGANINI IN PRISON.]

The pictures of "Paganini in Prison," exhibited so lavishly while the artist was in Paris in 1831, provoked him to remark that there were some "honest fellows" making money of a calumny that had pursued his steps for the last fifteen years. He then referred to the different versions of the crime imputed to him: that he killed a rival whom he found in company with his mistress; or that it was his mistress who had been the victim of his jealous fury; the only point of agreement was the imprisonment. "Let me tell you," the letter continued, "what happened to myself in Padua about fifteen years ago (1816), on this very subject. I had given a concert with some success: the next day I went to a table-d'hote; I entered the room late; was, perhaps, the sixtieth guest, and took my seat unnoticed. One of the company expressed himself in flattering terms of the effect produced by my performance the evening before. His next neighbour agreed in the praises bestowed on me, but added, 'n.o.body ought to be surprised at Paganini's ability: he owes it all to an eight years' solitary imprisonment in a dungeon, with nothing but his violin to occupy his time, or soften the rigours of his confinement. He was condemned to this long incarceration for having a.s.sa.s.sinated a friend of _mine_, who was unfortunate enough to be his rival.' As you may easily believe, every one was loud in denouncing the enormity of my crime; when I addressed myself to the speaker, begging him to inform me where and when this tragical adventure had occurred.

All eyes were in an instant turned upon me, and you may judge the astonishment of the company at finding the hero of this tale of murder and imprisonment one amongst them. The relater of the story was not a little embarra.s.sed. 'It was not a friend of his own that had fallen--he had heard--he had been told--he believed--but after all it was very possible he might have been deceived,' etc. Now see, Sir, how easy it is to play with the reputation of an artist merely because men, inclined to indulge in idleness themselves, cannot conceive it possible that he may have studied as closely in his own chamber and in full possession of his liberty, as he would if he had been chained up in a dungeon."

There was an occurrence that gave rise to these reports, and which Paganini related in the same letter. "A violin player, named D----i,[33]

who was at Milan in 1798, a.s.sociated himself with two other men of bad character, and engaged with them in a plot to a.s.sa.s.sinate, by night, the curate of a neighbouring village, supposed to be in possession of much wealth. Luckily for the curate the heart of one of the conspirators failed him, and he denounced his companions. The gendarmes watched the spot, and took D----i and his accomplice into custody at the moment they arrived at the curate's dwelling. They were condemned to twenty years'

confinement in irons, but General Menou, after he had been appointed governor of Milan, at the end of two years restored the violinist to liberty. Would you believe it, Sir? this is the sole foundation upon which the whole history of my incarceration has been erected. A violin player, whose name ended in _i_, had been engaged in a murder and imprisoned--it could only be _Paganini_--the a.s.sa.s.sinated party was converted into either my rival or my mistress, and it was I, _Paganini_, who had been so many years loaded with chains, and immured in a dungeon. Solely with the view of wringing from me the secret of my new system, have they complimented me with fetters, whose only effect would have been to paralyze my arms."

Paganini further stated that he called on the Italian amba.s.sador resident in Vienna, to testify that he had known the artist for nearly twenty years, during all which time his conduct has been that of an honest man. He also pointed out that having been constantly before the public from the age of fourteen, he must have had a mistress and a rival when he was seven! for there was no room for an interval of eight years afterwards. It was at Vienna that one of the audience, while Paganini was playing "The Witches' Dance," distinctly saw the devil close to the violinist, guiding his fingers and directing his bow; the said devil was dressed in red and had horns and a tail, and the striking likeness of the countenances of the two, plainly proved the relationship between them. That pretty story followed Paganini everywhere: and, as has been seen, in Prague he had to publish a letter from his mother disproving the rumour of his Satanic parentage. There is something intensely pathetic in Paganini's conclusion: "I see nothing else for it but to leave malignity at liberty to disport itself at my expense."

In this prosaic, materialistic twentieth century, which believes in little besides money, there is no fear of any of our violin wonders being a.s.sociated with the arch-fiend. They may be regarded as physic problems, but the supernatural is eliminated from the study. But Paganini did not live in the twentieth century, and in his day the devil was a very real personage, notwithstanding the temporary overthrow of much belief through the French Revolution, and the enthronement of the "G.o.ddess of Reason" in the Church of Notre Dame, Paris. It may seem absurd, now, even to recall these calumnies; but we have to deal with the environment of a great genius, to study the cause of his failing to become great as a man; for surely he had the making of a fine character.

That he should traverse the greater part of Europe, pursued by tales of devilry and murder, is one of the saddest comments on that period; that the "iron entered into his soul," and the man capable of affection became a miser and a misanthrope, is more mournful still. He was the "Flying Dutchman" of the violin.

How was it that the devil and the violin came into relationship? We have it on the authority of Martin Luther that the devil hates music. Luther not only believed in the devil, but he fancied he saw him: and in the room of the Castle of Wartburg may still be seen the mark on the wall, where he threw his inkpot at the fiend, who tried to thwart his work of translating the Bible. It is curious that the only instrument which, to the present writer's knowledge, Satan has been represented as playing upon, is one of the precursors of the violin. There is a piece of sculpture in the Cathedral of Amiens, depicting Satan playing on an oval three-stringed Vielle, of the thirteenth century.[34] The story of Tartini and his dream, when the devil played so marvellously on the violin, is known to everyone, and is, moreover, perpetuated in the sonata _Il Trillo del Diavolo_. It is related of Thomas Baltzar, the first great violinist ever heard in England, that when he played at Oxford he astonished everyone by "running up his fingers to the end of the finger-board." John Wilson, the Oxford Professor of Music, "the greatest judge of musick that ever was," according to Anthony a Wood, "did, after his humoursome way, stoop down to Baltzar's feet, to see whether he had a huff on, that is to say, whether he was a devil or not, because he acted beyond the parts of man." As this took place in 1658 there was some excuse for the grim pleasantry; moreover music had suffered an eclipse, and performers in this country were comparatively few. Even the gentle and polite Corelli forgot himself so far as to apply the term, devil, to another violinist. As the story may not be so well known as the foregoing, I shall briefly repeat it. Nicolaus Adam Strungk (or Strunck), violinist to Ernest Augustus, Elector of Hanover, when in Rome (_circa_ 1684) made it his business to see Corelli.

Introducing himself to the Italian master as a musician, Corelli asked what was his instrument. Strungk replied that he could play upon the harpsichord, and a little upon the violin; but he particularly wished to hear Corelli on the latter instrument, his fame being widely known.

Corelli obligingly consented, and played a piece to the harpsichord accompaniment of Strungk. Strungk afterwards played a toccata, with which Corelli was so much taken that he laid aside his instrument in his transport of admiration. When Strungk had finished at the harpsichord, he took up the violin, and began handling it in a careless manner, whereupon Corelli remarked that he had a good bow-hand, and wanted nothing but practice to become a master of his instrument. At that moment Strungk put the violin out of tune, and played on with such dexterity, attempering the dissonances occasioned by the mistuning with such amazing skill, that Corelli cried out in broken German: "I am called Arcangelo, a name that in the language of my country signifies an Archangel; but let me tell you, that you, Sir, are an Arch-devil!"

There is nothing malicious in these stories of the devil and the fiddler; and if Paganini had experienced nothing worse than what has just been related, he might have treated the matter as a joke. But that which malice or envy originated, a "reptile press" promulgated. Innocent of crime, Paganini was branded as a felon; gifted with genius of the rarest order, cultivated to a perfection absolutely unique, his skill was attributed to the aid received from the devil. Add to this his wretched health, and there is both mental and bodily suffering. In his later years he was cut off from intercourse with others, like Beethoven--but with this difference: Beethoven employed a tablet or note-book for his friends to convey their words to him; Paganini transmitted, through a similar medium, his thoughts to others. He was dumb! Is there no brighter side to this picture? If there be, let us turn to it.

It is, perhaps, fortunate that no man can be consistent throughout his life; the morose must smile at times, and the misanthrope mitigate his hatred of mankind. Paganini was but human, and his life was not all shadow. Though his intimate friends were few, there were some who were able to place on record details of the private life of the great violinist. Of such, the most useful to biographers was George Harris. He was an Englishman, attached to the Court at Hanover then connected with Britain; a dramatist of a certain order, he accompanied Paganini on his tours in Germany, acting for a time as his secretary, and apparently he was with him when in England. From him we learn a good deal.

Paganini was always on the move, and travelling in his day was not the rapid, comfortable, even luxurious process it is now. In the post-chaise Paganini stowed his luggage, which was of the simplest--and shabbiest--description. A dilapidated box held his beloved violin, his linen, cash and jewellery; a carpet-bag and a hat-box completed his outfit. He was philosophically indifferent to comfort, but in his later years he always had the windows of his carriage closed. When he arrived at his quarters, the windows of his room were thrown open, and he indulged in a sun-bath--again antic.i.p.ating modern medical advice.

Paganini, when travelling, was fond of taking a stroll when the horses were changed. It was a relief to stretch his legs after the close confinement of the post-chaise, but sometimes his rambles were so prolonged that there was weary waiting for him when all was ready to resume the journey, and drivers became exasperated. Paganini was made to suffer on one occasion. That was when travelling from London to Birmingham. He had already tried the patience of his coachman by causing loss of time, and the man declared he would drive on without him, rather than wait again. At the next stopping place Paganini walked off as usual, leaving Harris asleep in the vehicle. The horses being changed, the driver started, leaving Paganini behind. This caused some trouble, for a post-chaise had to be sent from the next station in search of the derelict, and Paganini in his rage refused to pay the extra expense. He was summoned before the Birmingham magistrates, and the case going against him he was compelled to discharge the debt. Poor Paganini, he always suffered when he came into contact with the law.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PLATE 15. (_See Appendix._)]

[Ill.u.s.tration: PLATE 16. (_See Appendix._)]

[Ill.u.s.tration: PLATE 17. (_See Appendix._)]

In his personal habits Paganini was simplicity itself. Frugal to a degree in his repasts, a cup of chocolate sufficed for a meal when starting early on a journey, and often he would fast until evening. When in a happy mood after a concert, he would join the table d'hote and do as others did, but the slightest indulgence was punished the next day.

He preferred solitude, but when he mixed with others he would join freely in the conversation; if music were touched upon he became silent, or left the room. So long as he could find accommodation that was quiet, he cared little for its quality. Scenery had no charms for him, and all climates but his own were equally indifferent to him. His accounts were kept in a little red pocket-book (found under his pillow after his death), in a kind of arithmetical shorthand only decipherable by himself. He never had been taught the science of numbers, or he might have been made a first-rate mathematician.

Harris stated that all the time he was with Paganini he never heard him play a single note except before an audience. That may have been correct so far as Germany was concerned, but the Rev. John Edmund c.o.x, in his "Musical Recollections," has something very different to say about Paganini. "During his career he visited my native town,[35] and as I had the good fortune then to be able to converse in French, the friends who had engaged him for a round of concerts in that place and its vicinity placed me in direct communication with him somewhat in the capacity of a secretary; so that I not only travelled in his company and heard him at every concert at which he appeared, but I lived in the same hotels and lodgings which had been secured for him. This kind of semi-official position necessitated my seeing much of him during his leisure hours, when he threw off the suspicious restraint which was always apparent in his manner when he was among strangers, whom he imagined were bent upon getting as much as possible out of him for their own advantage. Then, indeed, he would evince anything but a hard and ungenerous nature, his manner being not only kind but courteous; whilst any attention that was afforded to his wants or to his comforts was sure to elicit not only looks but words of grat.i.tude. In public he confined himself almost exclusively to the performance of his own music,--... but in private--for he had his violin constantly in his hand--he would sit and dash off by the hour together s.n.a.t.c.hes from the compositions of the best masters, and give readings of such originality to pa.s.sages that had been heard again and again, as apparently have never been supposed to be possible by any other player. As an instance in point, he one morning, whilst I was writing several notes for him, commenced the first _motivo_ of Beethoven's magnificent violin concerto.

To write was then impossible; and he, perceiving how entranced I seemed, asked whether I knew what it was. On my replying in the negative, he promised, if it could be managed, that I should hear the whole of that movement before we separated." The promise was redeemed. The above is valuable as showing that Paganini was not quite so wanting in knowledge as was generally supposed. He could converse in French, though at that time--1831--he had only spent a few weeks in France. Education, proper, he had none; but the statement that he could speak no language but his own, is evidently incorrect. The allusion to strangers bent upon getting as much as possible out of him for their own advantage, finds an ill.u.s.tration in the story of the Englishman who is said to have followed Paganini for some six months, watching his every movement, lodging at the same hotels, and employing every means to get at the great secret of the violinist's art. At last his perseverance seemed about to be rewarded. Looking through the keyhole of Paganini's door, the Englishman saw the violinist take his instrument from its case--raise it to his shoulder, even shift the left hand up and down the neck; but not the ghost of a sound. It was just a study of positions, and the violin was then restored to its place. In despair, the inquisitive amateur gave up the quest.

The concerts Paganini gave for the poor were evidence of his natural goodness of heart. It is true, such efforts cost him little; he gave a few hours' time: the public found the money. One day, when walking in Vienna, he saw a poor little Italian boy playing the violin in front of a large house. He drew from him a touching story of poverty, and a sick mother; and emptying his pockets into the boy's hands, he took from him his violin and began to play. He was soon recognised, and a crowd a.s.sembled; the people were immensely diverted, and gave a generous response when the hat was handed round. With "Take that to your mother,"

Paganini sent the boy off rejoicing, and turning to the companion of his walk, he remarked, "I hope I've done a good turn to that little animal."