Part 6

“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.”

With a people so imaginative as the Italians, so extraordinary a looking person as Paganini, his wondrous talent, and the eccentricity of his mode of life, naturally conduced to superstitious ideas, and the belief in the supernatural. Many believed he had entered into a compact with the devil. In Germany these prejudices were greater even than among the Italians. It has been seen in his letter already given what was said of him at Vienna, when he played his variations on the “Witches’ Dance.” At Leipzig, the “Zeitung für die elegant Welt” gave the following account of one of his concerts:--“In the Hotel de Pologne, resided a lady of exceeding beauty, whose tresses were the object of much admiration, but whose features wore an aspect of deep melancholy, though a sweet yet sad smile was ever playing on her lips. I had seen her once: this sufficed to imprint her features upon my memory, and I sought every means to see her at all times. The evening Paganini gave his last concert, I was near the stage, and although my eyes wandered all over the theatre, I did not discover her I sought so anxiously. Paganini appeared. Can I describe the magic of his bow? The marvellous tones he extracted from the melancholy and plaintive G string touched every heart; and upon this occasion more so than I ever remember. At this moment, the sound of a sigh, such as proceeds from some person dying, struck upon my ear. I looked around, and I saw my _incognita_, white as marble, unconscious, apparently, of the tears which fell in showers down her cheeks. I uttered a cry of surprise, which was heard throughout the theatre; every voice being at the time hushed into silence. Paganini, who was only a few paces from me, turned round and looked at me. An extraordinary smile, such as I had never before seen, played upon his face; but it did not seem either intended for me or the lady. I watched its direction, and perceived, not without emotion, dressed in the English fashion, and seated next the lady, my not very reputable acquaintance of Elbingerode, who returned the smile with one no less extraordinary. They were then intimate? I understand that smile now. In reality, it had been generally observed, and for a long time surmised, that Paganini and Satan were most intimately connected, or that they were one and the same person. My discovery made me forget my lady; but judge of my horror, when upon turning round I saw her neighbour take her hand, squeeze it with affection, and the lady grow paler than before. I was thunderstruck; but at this moment the applause increased. Paganini had finished playing. The audience rose, as did the lady and her friend. I followed them to the door, before which stood a carriage with two black horses. The lady got in, followed by her cavalier, when the carriage flew off, bright flashes of lightning bursting forth from the horses’ eyes. Greatly agitated, I returned to the theatre; but Paganini’s marvels no longer astounded me. The concert concluded, I left by the same door through which the mysterious lady had passed, and then found there was no place where a carriage could stand.”

Paganini was deeply affected by these rumours, which not only detracted from his position, but tended to render his talent valueless. It is not improbable that in his youth he had himself contributed to the propagation of such fabrications by his eccentricities. But when age crept on--when honours and successes had accumulated--he discovered that none, however great his fame, however favoured by fortune, could be great when general esteem is withheld. With the view of ending the ridiculous reports concerning his origin, he published at Prague the following letter, which his mother had written to him on the 21st of July, 1828:--

“DEAREST SON,--At last, after seven months have elapsed since I wrote to you at Milan, I had the happiness of receiving your letter of the 9th current, through the intermediary of Signor Agnino, and was much rejoiced to find that you were in the enjoyment of good health. I am also delighted to find that, after your travels to Paris and London, you purpose visiting Genoa expressly to embrace me. I assure you, my prayers are daily offered up to the Most High, that my health may be sustained, also yours, so that my desire may be realized.

“My dream has been fulfilled, and that which God promised me has been accomplished. Your name is great, and art, with the help of God, has placed you in a position of independence. Beloved, esteemed by your fellow citizens, you will find in my bosom and those of your friends, that repose which your health demands.

“The portraits which accompanied your letter have given me great pleasure. I had seen in the papers all the accounts you give me of yourself. You may imagine, as your mother, what an infinite source of joy it was to me. Dear son, I entreat you to continue to inform me of all that concerns you, for with this assurance I shall feel that it will prolong my days, and be convinced that I shall still have the happiness of embracing you.

“We are all well. In the name of all your relations, I thank you for the sums of money you have sent. Omit nothing that will render your name immortal. Eschew the vices of great cities, remembering that you have a mother who loves you affectionately, and whose fondest aspirations are your health and happiness. She will never cease her supplications to the All-powerful for your preservation.

“Embrace your amiable companion for me, and kiss little Achille. Love me as I love you.

“Your ever affectionate mother, “TERESA PAGANINI.”

This letter was not necessary to prove to reasoning mortals that the great artist was not a son of Satan. But the ignorant mass listens not to reason, nor are its superstitious beliefs easily removed. Opinion in France did justice to these follies, but they seemed to revive afterwards, and acquired renewed strength after the decease of him who had been so calumniated during his life.