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 for some years, producing several operas. LaphalÉque tells a story to this effect: Meyerbeer was on the eve of leaving Florence to proceed to Naples to bring out one of his works. He did not yet know that place, and it offered a double attraction; he wanted to enjoy the beautiful blue sky as well as his artistic triumph. But he went to hear Paganini, and dreamt no more of Naples, nor of his opera. Paganini travelled all through Tuscany, and Meyerbeer followed; and not until he had heard Paganini eighteen times could he tear himself away from him.

Within the period of five years, Paganini returned to Milan five times, making a long stay on each occasion, and giving a great number of concerts. He played at Verona, Padua—where the "prison" stories seem to have originated—returned to Milan early in 1816, when he met the French violinist, Charles Lafont, with whom he played and of whom more will be said. Then to Venice, Trieste, and back to Venice in time to hear Spohr (October 18th), on whom he called both before and after the concert. Spohr greatly desired to hear Paganini play, but the latter excused himself.

Paganini must ere this have received invitations to visit other countries, for Spohr in his diary remarks, when referring to Paganini's first visit, that he had apparently abandoned his project of going to Vienna. In 1817, Paganini visited Piacenza, where he met the Polish violinist, Karl Joseph von Lipinski, who had gone to Italy expressly to hear Paganini. The Italian treated his Polish brother artist generously, and played with him at two concerts. Paganini was also again at Milan that year and paid a visit to his mother at Genoa. According to Anders, his father died in 1817. At the close of the same year Paganini was in Rome, where Rossini's opera "La Cenerentola" was produced at the opening of the Carnival season, December 26th. It is related that Meyerbeer was also in Rome at this time, and that Rossini's "Carnovale" was sung in the streets by the composer, Meyerbeer, and Paganini, who disguised themselves for the frolic. Paganini in the Palace of Prince von Kaunitz, the Austrian Ambassador, was introduced to Prince Metternich, who, charmed with his talent, pressed him to visit Vienna. But the violinist's health was in a precarious state. He suffered from an intestinal disorder, aggravated by his addiction to some quack remedy. He gave concerts in Rome, of which Schilling, who gives the date, however, as 1827, gives a very curious account. The first concert, though held in a Palace—such buildings being met with at every step—was in a room like a hay-loft. The orchestra consisted of some half-dozen shabbily dressed players, the singers were mechanics, members of the chorus of the Teatro Argentina, and the audience scarcely numbered fifty. Rome, professedly the first musical city of Italy, and of Europe, was ignorant of Paganini, the greatest violin virtuoso of Italy and the world. But his extraordinary genius kindled coldness into enthusiasm. At his second concert the attendance increased tenfold; at the third the success was even greater.

In 1818, and the following year, he gave concerts at Verona, Turin, Florence, and other towns. At Verona, the conductor of the theatre orchestra, one Valdabrini, persuaded himself that Paganini was little else than a charlatan, one who might play the pieces of his own repertory very well, but who could not execute a work such as a concerto of his, Valdabrini's, composition. Paganini was informed of this estimate of his abilities, and hastened to assure Valdabrini that he would be happy to reproduce the inspirations of the chef d'orchestre of Verona; and as this trial would be a powerful attraction, he would reserve it for his last concert. The day of rehearsal arrived, and Paganini was in his place. Instead of the music of the concerto, however, the artist improvised all kinds of fanciful passages, insomuch that the astonished orchestral players, lost in admiration, forgot to go on with their own work. The disappointed Valdabrini exclaimed: "My friend, this is not my concerto you are playing, I can recognise nothing of what I have written." "Don't distress yourself," replied Paganini, "at the concert you will recognise your work well enough, only now I claim a little indulgence."

The concert night arrived, and Paganini commenced with pieces of his own choice, reserving the concerto for the end. All were attention for the great event. Paganini came on at last, holding in his hand a Malacca walking cane. Everyone asked himself: What will he do with that? Suddenly he seized his violin, and, employing the cane as a bow, played the concerto (thought by the composer to be practicable only after long study) from beginning to end, not only rendering the most difficult passages, but introducing charming variations, never failing for an instant to display the purity, grace and verve that characterised his art.[8] This pleasantry was not to the taste of Valdabrini, we may be sure; but it was a rebuke to his presumption. Such amenities are scarcely possible now-a-days.

Paganini visited Naples in 1819 for the first time. When he arrived he found the local musicians badly disposed towards him, and he had something like a repetition of his experience at Verona, only he used the cane no more! These musicians affected to doubt the reality of the marvels fame attributed to Paganini, and proposed to amuse themselves at his expense. They engaged a young composer, Danna (Dana?)[9] fresh from the Conservatorio, to write a string quartet, filled with difficulties of every kind—for the first violin—persuading themselves that the great violinist could not overcome them. When all was ready—no doubt the other parts had been well practised—Paganini was invited to a musical rÉunion, where he found the violinists Onorio de Vito, Giuseppe Mario Festa, the violoncellist Ciandelli, and the composer Danna. Hardly had he arrived, when they placed the music before him, and invited him to play it at sight. Perceiving that they had set a trap for him, Paganini cast a hurried glance at the music, and played it off as though it had long been familiar to him. Confounded by what they heard, his assistants were prodigal in their admiration, and declared him incomparable.

Paganini's health now gave way to an alarming degree, and his landlord, fearing the malady was consumption—infectious, according to current opinion—proceeded to turn the violinist and his belongings into the street. Medical science has confirmed the views of the Neapolitans in respect to the contagious character of consumption, and the open-air treatment is now considered the proper method to adopt; but the landlord's rough and ready application of the remedy was highly objectionable, and so thought Ciandelli, who chanced to be passing at the time. He gave the landlord a severe thrashing, and conveyed Paganini to more comfortable lodgings, where he was carefully tended. Paganini repaid this act of kindness, as will be seen. These little scenes throw curious side-lights on life in Naples at that period.

In 1820, Paganini returned to Milan, where he founded an Amateur Society, Gli Orfei, and conducted its concerts for a time; but the roving habits he had acquired rendered a settled life irksome, and he was soon again on the move. The winter found him once more in Rome, where he must have stayed on and off for another year; for he was there in December, 1821, when Rossini was about to produce his opera, "Matilda di Sabran," at the opening of the Carnival season. On the day of the last rehearsal the conductor fell ill, and Rossini was in despair to replace him. Paganini, hearing of his friend's dilemma, offered to conduct the rehearsal and the first performance—his operatic experience at Lucca must not be forgotten—an offer Rossini gratefully accepted. Without a moment's preparation, Paganini set to work to communicate to an unskilled orchestra—it was at the Teatro d'Apollone—the composer's intentions and the manner in which they should be interpreted. Having no time for verbal explanation, he did everything by example, playing the first violin part an octave higher than it was written, and making himself heard above the strongest fortissimo. At a glance he penetrated the meaning of every movement, and he so worked upon the executants that they obeyed him as if by enchantment. This single rehearsal sufficed to bring about an irreproachable performance, the orchestra undergoing a veritable metamorphosis, to the astonishment of everyone, Rossini included. So far LaphalÉque. Sutherland Edwards[10] says Paganini conducted the first three performances, adding, "Never, it is said, did the band of the 'Apollo' play with so much spirit before."

For the next two years Paganini was constantly travelling, and in the year 1823 we have the first glimpse of him through the medium of an English musical journal.[11] This first reference is quite incidental. Giuseppe Rastrelli was playing in Naples in 1822 (or 1823), and was well received, "although his predecessor, the celebrated Paganini," was still fresh in the public remembrance. This assumes that Paganini was well known to English readers. He had indeed been mentioned in books published before this date. On his way to Pavia in 1823, Paganini was attacked with illness, and his life was despaired of. At that time he had again intended going to Austria, but a long rest was needed to restore his health. This repose he enjoyed at Genoa, and recovered sufficiently to give two concerts in the Teatro da Sant'Agostino, in 1824. The second concert introduced two youthful claimants to public favour. The first was a Signora Bianchi, under twenty years of age, who was characterised in the bills as the little virtuosa forestiera, and who sang three airs; the other was a Signora Barette, who played a Pezzo Cantabile and a Sonatina upon the violoncello. They both experienced a flattering reception.[12] The young violoncellist was not more than fourteen years old, and there is no reason to suppose that she was the first of her sex to appear in public as a violoncellist. The other "little guest" or stranger was to play an important part in Paganini's history.

This concert afforded another proof of Paganini's power of attraction. A certain M. Bergman, a (Swedish?) traveller and passionate lover of music, reading accidentally the evening before in the journal at Leghorn, an announcement of Paganini's concert, lost no time, but instantly set out for Genoa, a distance of a hundred miles, and luckily reached the spot just half an hour before the concert began. He went with his expectations raised to the utmost, but, to use his own expression, the reality was as far above his anticipations as the heavens are above the earth. Nor could this enthusiastic amateur rest content with once hearing Paganini, but actually followed him to Milan, in order to hear him exercise his talents a second time. Now-a-days the enthusiasts are young ladies, who mob their favourites in the artists' room!

In 1824 Paganini gave two concerts in La Scala, Milan, which was crowded to excess. At the first he played a concerto, and three airs with variations—all on the fourth string, so said the report. A surfeit, this, even for his fervent admirers. In the same year at Pavia, he gave two concerts, the bills being headed:

PAGANINI

FarÀ sentire il suo Violino.

(Paganini will cause his violin to be heard.) He was received with no less enthusiasm than at Milan. Paganini then returned to Genoa, but soon left for Venice. There he formed an union with Antonia Bianchi, the young singer he introduced at Genoa, who became his companion, sang at his concerts, and shared his triumphs.

In 1825, Paganini was again at Naples, where he gave a concert, causing his name to be announced in the bills as—

Filarmonico,

a term which gave rise to much discussion, some considering it as indicating modesty, others just the reverse; but at all events it savoured of affectation. In the summer of 1825, Paganini went to Palermo, where he also gave a concert. The delicious climate of Sicily had a great charm for him, and he remained there for nearly a year, giving concerts at different places, but enjoying prolonged intervals of repose. His health strengthened, Paganini again entertained the idea of leaving Italy, but determined upon one more tour before carrying out his intention. In 1826, he visited Trieste, Venice, and finally Rome, where he gave five concerts. In April, 1827, Pope Leo XII. invested Paganini with the order of the Golden Spur, a distinction so rare that it afforded a topic for conversation for some time. From Rome Paganini went to Florence, and as "Il Cavaliere Paganini" gave a concert at the Teatro Pergola, which was attended by all the rank and fashion of the place. He was detained for some time at Florence owing to a disease breaking out in one of his legs. As soon as he was able to travel he set out for Milan, where he was received with every demonstration of affection. He gave four musical soirÉes at the close of 1827, and in the early part of 1828, two concerts in La Scala, when he appears to have played for the first time the concerto with the "Rondo ad un Campanello;" the piece created a great effect. Paganini had now traversed the whole of Italy at least three times, giving hundreds of concerts, building up an ever growing reputation and exciting universal admiration, despite those detractors whose machinations have been exposed. At last, on the 2nd of March, 1828, Paganini started on his long projected visit to Vienna.