III.

Love-making was also among the diversions which Paganini began early

to practice. Like nearly all great musicians, he was an object of great

fascination to the fair sex, and his life had its full share of amorous

romances. A strange episode was his retirement in the country château of

a beautiful Bolognese lady for three years, between the years 1801

and 1804. Here, in the society of a lovely woman, who was passionately

devoted to him, and amid beautiful scenery, he devoted himself to

practicing and composition, also giving much study to the guitar (the

favorite instrument of his inamorata), on which he became a wonderful

proficient. This charming idyl in Paganini's life reminds one of the

retirement of the pianist Chopin to the island of Majorca in the company

of Mme. George Sand. It was during this period of his life that Paganini

composed twelve of his finest sonatas for violin and guitar.

When our musician returned again to Genoa and active life in 1804, he

devoted much time also to composition. He was twenty years of age,

and wrote here four grand quartets for violin, tenor, violoncello,

and guitar, and also some bravura variations for violin with guitar

accompaniment. At this period he gave lessons to a young girl of Genoa,

Catherine Calcagno, about seven years of age; eight years later, when

only fifteen years old, this young lady astonished Italian audiences by

the boldness of her style. She continued her artistic career till the

year 1816, when she had attained the age of twenty-one, and all traces

of her in the musical world appear to be lost; doubtless, at this period

she found a husband, and retired completely from public life.

In 1805 Paganini accepted the position of director of music and

conductor of the opera orchestra at Lucca, under the immediate patronage

of the Princess Eliza, sister of Napoleon and wife of Bacciochi. The

prince took lessons from him on the violin, and gave him whole charge of

the court music. It was at the numerous concerts given at Lucca during

this period of Paganini's early career that he first elaborated many of

those curious effects, such as performances on one string, harmonic

and pizzicato passages, which afterward became so characteristic of his

style.

But the demon of unrest would not permit Paganini to remain very long

in one place. In 1808 he began his wandering career of concert-giving

afresh, performing throughout northern Italy, and amassing considerable

money, for his fame had now become so widespread that engagements poured

on him thick and fast. The lessons of his inconsiderate past had already

made a deep impression on his mind, and Paganini became very economical,

a tendency which afterward developed into an almost miserly passion for

money-getting and -saving, though, through his whole life, he performed

many acts of magnificent generosity. He had numerous curious adventures,

some of which are worth recording. At a concert in Leghorn he came on

the stage, limping, from the effects of a nail which had run into his

foot. This made a great laugh. Just as he began to play, the candles

fell out of his music desk, and again there was an uproar. Suddenly the

first string broke, and there was more hilarity; but, says Paganini,

naively, "I played the piece on three strings, and the sneers quickly

changed into boisterous applause." At Ferrara he narrowly escaped an

enraged audience with his life. It had been arranged that a certain

Signora Marcolini should take part in his concert, but illness prevented

her singing, and at the last moment Paganini secured the services of

Signora Pallerini, who, though a danseuse, possessed an agreeable voice.

The lady was very nervous and diffident, but sang exceedingly well,

though there were a few in the audience who were inconsiderate enough to

hiss. Paganini was furious at this insult, and vowed to be avenged. At

the end of the concert he proposed to amuse the audience by imitating

the noises of various animals on his violin. After he had reproduced the

mewing of a cat, the barking of a dog, the crowing of a cock, etc., he

advanced to the footlights and called out, "Questo è per quelli che

han fischiato" ("This is for those who hissed"), and imitated in an

unmistakable way the braying of the jackass. At this the pit rose to

a man, and charged through the orchestra, climbed the stage, and would

have killed Paganini, had he not fled incontinently, "standing not on

the order of his going, but going at once." The explanation of this

sensitiveness of the audience is found in the fact that the people of

Ferrara had a general reputation for stupidity, and the appearance of

a Ferrarese outside of the town walls was the signal for a significant

hee-haw. Paganini never gave any more concerts in that town.

As he approached his thirtieth year his delicate and highly strung

organization, already undermined by the excesses of his early

youth, began to give way. He was frequently troubled with internal

inflammation, and he was obliged to regulate his habits in the strictest

fashion as to diet and hours of sleep. Even while comparatively well,

his health always continued to be very frail.

Paganini composed his remarkable variations called "Le Streghe" ("The

Witches") at Milan in 1813. In this composition, the air of which was

taken from a ballet by Sussmayer, called "Il Noce de Benevento," at the

part where the witches appear in the piece as performed on the stage,

the violinist introduced many of his most remarkable effects. He played

this piece for the first time at La Scala theatre, and he was honored

with the most tumultuous enthusiasm, which for a long time prevented the

progress of the programme. Paganini always had a predilection for Milan

afterward, and said he enjoyed giving concerts there more than at any

other city in Europe. He gave no less than thirty-seven concerts here

in 1813. In this city, three years afterward, occurred his interesting

musical duel with Lafont, the well-known French violinist. Paganini

was then at Genoa, and, hearing of Lafont's presence at Milan, at

once hastened to that city to hear him play. "His performance," said

Pagani-ni, "pleased me exceedingly." When the Italian violinist, a week

later, gave a concert at La Scala, Lafont was in the audience, and the

very next day he proposed that Paganini and himself should play together

at the same concert. "I excused myself," said Paganini, "alleging that

such experiments were impolitic, as the public invariably looked upon

these matters as duels, in which there must be a victim, and that it

would be so in this case; for, as he was acknowledged to be the best of

the French violinists, so the public indulgently considered me to be

the best player in Italy. Lafont not looking at it in this light, I was

obliged to accept the challenge. I allowed him to arrange the programme.

We each played a concerto of our own composition, after which we played

together a duo concertante by Kreutzer. In this I did not deviate in the

least from the composer's text while we played together, but in the solo

parts I yielded freely to my own imagination, and introduced several

novelties, which seemed to annoy my adversary. Then followed a 'Russian

Air,' with variations, by Lafont, and I finished the concert with my

variations called 'Le Streghe.' Lafont probably surpassed me in tone;

but the applause which followed my efforts convinced me that I did not

suffer by comparison." There seems to be no question that the victory

remained with Paganini. A few years later Paganini played in a similar

contest with the Polish violinist Lipinski, at Placentia. The two

artists, however, were intimate friends, and there was not a spark

of rivalry or jealousy in their generous emulation. In fact,

Paganini appears to have been utterly without that conceit in his own

extraordinary powers which is so common in musical artists. Heine gives

an amusing illustration of this. He writes: "Once, after listening to a

concert by Paganini, as I was addressing him with the most impassioned

eulogies on his violin-playing, he interrupted me with the words, 'But

how were you pleased to-day with my compliments and reverences?'" The

musician thought more of his genuflexions than of his musical talent.

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