how truly Paganini was the child of his age; the pity was that he became its pupil and its favourite; in consequence he failed to attain the supreme height where dwell

nful; suddenly the tears rolled from his eyes; his grief and emotion wrung from him the words: E morto! Anders, who relates the incident, adds: "Never was the immortal author of Fidelio more worthily extolled than by those tears, by that simple word. The

uck with the beauty and purity of intonation that characterised the singing of the pup

chestra as to what the concert performances were likely to be; but he was careful to have the accompaniments well prepared. Quick-tempered, he was irritated at any faulty work, but when all went well he expressed his approbation by exclaiming, "Bravissimi! Siete tutti virtuosi!" ("You are all artists!") Paganini brought the orchestral parts with him to rehearsal, and took them away afterwards; as to the solo part, no one had a chance of looking at that, for Paganini played everything from memory. His kindness to brother-artists has been placed on record. The young violoncellist Ciandelli, who rendered such service to Pagani

ts and ideas upon fingering, etc., and friendly encouragement to pursue his daring course with unwearying application. He spent two years in retirement, zealously studying the Paganini method, and when he reappeared in Vienna, he was spoken of as no petty imitator, but a second original. A contemporary notice, comparing Slavik with Paganini, states:-"The only difference between the two at present is, that the pupil, carried away by the ardour of youth, often suffers himself to

ally went so far as to give him a testimonial. Articles in the musical dictionaries all state that Paganini gave some lessons to the child; some say that the friendship between the two resulted in Paganini bequeathing to De Kontski his violins and compositions. Grove, in quoting Mendel, says this statement requ

m worthy of being ranked among the most celebrated artists of the present day, permit me to say, that if he contin

d) Pag

s already related, he played at the concert given by that artist. The function came to be regarded as a contest, and an account of it appears in Laphaléque's

which the public has been pleased to honour me during twenty-five years, to give an exact statement of the facts of the case. The following is a narration of what occurred. In the month of March, 1816, I gave in conjunction with M. Paganini, a concert in the great theatre,

hetic character of the piece was ill-suited to the ornaments and brilliant notes which he gave in it, or whatever else was the cause, his solo produced but little effect. Immediately after him, I repeated the same passage, and treated it differently. It seems that the emotion by which I was then agitated, caused me to give an expression more effective, though more simple, and it was so felt by the audience, that I was overwhelmed with plaudits from all parts of the house. During fourteen years I have been silent on this trifling advantage obtained over M. Paganini in this instance, only in the symphony, an

icing in the opportunity of praising a talent of which he felt it an ho

sion, does not diminish one iota of his acquired fame: as not only himself, but every living violinist who dares to enter into rivalry with Paganini, will be prostrated, although the Signor has not had the advantage of being a pupil of the super-excellent Parisian Violin School. In Paris, I h

Violin School might lay claim to, was derived from Italians; from Viott

stood and appreciated by a far greater Fre

ue. His poor wife could not conceal her lameness, and though talented as ever, she failed to obtain a recall. Another actress, having taken precautions, had an ovation. Then at midnight the band of the Théatre Italien, not being obliged to play after that hour, left the place, and the Symphonie Fantastique could not be played. Liszt assisted, and the affair was not quite a failure, financially, though the promoter came in for bitter attacks. Poor Berlioz was in despair, but he took his courage in both hands, and announced a concert at the Conservatoire. He took care to engage artists he could trust, and with his friend Girard as conductor everything went well, the Symphonie Fantastique taking the room by storm. Now let Berlioz speak: "My succes

uch a virtuoso, he-Berlioz-ought to be able to play the viola, and that he could not do. So he thought Paganini alone could meet his own wishes. Paganini, however, pressed his own point, adding that he himself was too unwell to compose anything. Berlioz then set to work. To quote his own words: "In order to please the illustrious virtuoso, I then endea

man who can write it." Paganini said no more, and soon afterwards left for Nice. Berlioz then gave free play to his fancy, and wrote the series of scenes for the orchestra, the background formed from the recollections of his wanderings in the Abruzzi, the viola introduced as a sort of melancholy dreamer, i

ssful, and at this Paganini was present. This has also been incidentally mentioned, but further notice is required on account of the sequel. Again we must allow Berlioz to speak for himself. "The concert was just over; I was in a profuse perspiration, and trembling with exhaustion, when Paganini, followed by his son Achilles, came up to me at the orchestra door, gesticulating violently. Owing to the throat affection of which he ultimately died, he had already completely lost his voice, and unless everything was perfectly quiet, no one but his son could hear or even guess what he was saying. He made a sign to the child, who got up on a chair, put his ear close to his fat

caught a chill, and again had to keep his bed. Two days later, the little Achilles called, the bearer of a letter, and of a m

ear F

genius which you are, entreat you to accept, in token of my homage, twenty thousand francs, which will be remitte

o Pag

cember 18

as happened, she calls her son Louis. Berlioz' words again: "And my wife and child ran back together, and fell on their knees beside my bed,

in money matters was incorruptable, though he was often poor enough; therefore I leave him out of the discussion. But think of the possibility of the transaction! Janin, years before, had written bitter things of Paganini-things I have declined to quote in this memoir; but Janin must have been quite as bad as he asserted Paganini to have been, if he was capable of this monstrous proposition. There are two details to be considered, and the first is the date. In 1838, the public career of Paganini was at an end. There was the wretched Casino business, it is true, but there was no performance by Paganini. In the second place, supposing for a moment that Berlioz could or would employ his pen in disparagement of the great violinist, could he have written anything more violent, more depreciatory, than critics had been writing for the previous twenty years, criticisms which Paganini had survived, and grown rich upon? Besides, if the Janin story be true, the Bertin must be false. Where then is the authority for the former? In 1840, Liszt wrote a memorial notice of Paganini. In it passing reference is made to some deeds of benevolence. Lina Ramann, in her "Life of Liszt," of which the first part was published in 1880, prints this essay, and at the point above mentioned adds a long foot note[39] giving the Janin story, which she averred Liszt knew

he princely gift, incredible from so mean a man as Paganini. "Rossini gave me the key to this enigma," writes Hiller, "and I do not hesitate to communicate the same, as it can no longer be unpleasant to anyone concerned in the matter." He then goes on to say that Paganini consented to be the agent of Armand Bertin, who really found the money. "Are you sure that this was true?" asked Hille

tion became almost intolerable. When he was satisfied, and I said to myself, with a lump in my throat, 'Now, now, he'll take the bow!' he carefully put the violin back and shut the case. And this is how I heard Paganini." Hallé also became acquainted with Berlioz and acquaintance ripened into a close friendship. He saw the change worked in Berlioz through the Paganini incident; how his courage was strengthened, and from a morose, he became a cheerful companion. Then he divulges what had been a life-secret: "Armand Bertin, the wealthy and distinguished proprietor of the Journal des Débats, had a high regard for Berlioz and knew of all his struggles, which he, Bertin, was anxious to lighten. He resolved therefore to make him a present of 20,000 fr., and in order to enhance the moral effect of this gift he persuaded Paganini to appear as the donor of the money. How well Bertin had judged was proved immediately; what would have been a simple gracieuseté from a rich and powerful editor towards one of his staff became a significant tribute from one genius to another, and had

ht. This is not the place to discuss the position Liszt occupies among composers; nor is this country yet qualified properly to judge him. Wagner, Schumann and Chopin have passed the ordeal; from persecution they have arrived at deification, so to speak, and even their faults are regarded as merits. But prejudice di

impulse came from Paganini. No other instance is on record of an instrument like the violin absolutely revolutionising the treatment of the pianoforte. I have already referred to Liszt in Paris, how, depressed a

cts and onesidedness of the great violinist's capabilities and genius did not escape the youthful pianist. He measured him by the ideals of artistic culture which shone before his own eyes.... He recognised plainly the limits of the influence which Paganini exercised over him, and saw how human was the mission of the artist-a consciousness was awakened that artistic culture is inseparable from human sympathies, that only a great man can become a great artist. This conviction drew from his lips the proud but noble words 'Génie oblige.'[42] With indescribable eagerness, and at the same time with exulting triumph, Liszt, after having heard Paganini, turned again to his instrument. He was seldom seen; in public, as a pianist, never. His mother alone was the silent witness of his perseverance and restless working. As Wieland, he hammered at his piano. He, who, already as a boy, had climbed the Parnassus of study, now sat at the instrument often six hours a day and practis

e has written, and he reappears in the art work of at least one great French composer, and in that of the greatest pian