"The time appointed for my first Concert at the King's Theatre so nearly approaches, that I feel it my duty to announce it myself, and to claim the favour of the English nation, which honours the arts as much as I respect her. Having been accustomed in all the towns of the Continent to double the usual prices at the theatres where I have given my Concerts, and, but little acquainted with the customs of this Capital, where I present myself for the first time, I thought I might do the same here. But having been informed by several papers that the existing prices here are higher than those on the Continent, and having myself ascertained that the statement was correct, I willingly second the wish of a public whose esteem and protection I desire as my greatest recompense.
(Signed)
NICOLO PAGANINI.
London, June 1st, 1831."
At last the concert took place in the King's Theatre, June 3rd, 1831. There was an orchestra erected on the stage. Many musicians have left a record of the extraordinary impression made by Paganini on that occasion, and have attempted to describe the man. In the present place quotation may be limited to the remarks of the editor of The Harmonicon, William Ayrton, a cultivated musician, and a sober-minded critic. He wrote thus: "The long, laboured, reiterated articles relative to Paganini, in all the foreign journals for years past, have spoken of his powers as so astonishing, that we were quite prepared to find them fall far short of report; but his performances at his first concert, on the 3rd of last month, convinced us that it is possible to exceed the most sanguine expectation, and to surpass what the most eulogistic writers have asserted. We speak, however, let it be understood, in reference to his powers of execution solely. These are little less than marvellous, and such as we could only have believed on the evidence of our own senses; they imply a strong natural propensity to music, with an industry, a perseverance, a devotedness, and also a skill in inventing means, without any parallel in the history of his instrument."
So far, the musician. The critics on the press may also have been musicians, though at that time it was not usual to have a musical department, if such a term may pass, in the daily or weekly papers. The Athenæum, in its notice, does not reveal the polished style of a high-class literary journal. This is how it deals with the concert:—"At length all differences have been arranged, and the mighty wonder has come forth—a very Zamiel in appearance, and certainly a very devil in performance! He is, beyond rivalry, the bow ideal of fiddling faculty! He possesses a demon-like influence over his instrument, and makes it utter sounds almost superhuman.... The arrival of this magician is quite enough to make the greater part of the fiddling tribe commit suicide."
And now let us turn to the concert itself. The fashionable world did not rush to the theatre, and only two boxes were let. The stalls and orchestra were full, and also the pit, but not crowded. The audience consisted in great part of musicians; and even those engaged in the orchestra were listeners for the first time, as Paganini at rehearsal only played such passages as served for "cues," and in nowise revealed his powers.
The object of a great virtuoso would naturally be an exhibition of his own talent, but Paganini was not prodigal of his playing at the first concert. He had engaged the orchestra of the Philharmonic Society, then probably the finest in Europe, and his programme opened with Beethoven's Symphony, No. 2, in D. It will be shown later that Paganini had a great veneration for Beethoven. Then Signor Lablache was the solo vocalist, so Paganini was in the best of company. His first piece was the Concerto in E flat[22], and his second solo the Military Sonata for the G string, the theme being Mozart's "Non più andrai." The receipts were £700. Paganini had a most flattering reception, and his performances were greeted with acclamations, and waving of hats and handkerchiefs. The members of the orchestra were astounded. Mori avowed that if he could not sell, he would at least burn, his fiddle; Lindley, who stammered terribly, said that "it was the d-d-devil"; and Dragonetti (whose "he's were she's") growled out, "She's mighty esprit!" Cramer thanked heaven that he was not a violinist. A striking feature of Paganini's performance was his playing from memory. The Athenæum remarked, "He plays without a reading desk or book stand; this gives an air of improvising to his performance, which we hope to see imitated, if any one be found hardy enough to undertake a violin solo for the next seven years." No violinist would venture to play a concerto now with the music before him, but he may not be aware that it was Paganini who set the fashion of playing without book.
The public now forgot all about the trouble of the high prices, and the second concert, given in the same place on the 10th, was so well attended that the receipts were about £1,200. On this occasion Paganini played his Concerto in B minor, and Lablache struck the little silver bell in the Rondo. He also gave his variations on "The Carnival of Venice," and a Sonata on the fourth string, in which the Prayer from Mosé in Egitto was introduced. The third concert took place on the 13th, when Paganini brought out another new Concerto. Something like £900 was realised. At the fourth concert, on the 16th, Paganini played a Cantabile on two strings, a Rondo Scherzoso, by Rodolphe Kreutzer—a detail to be noticed,—a Larghetto gajo, the Military Sonata, and the variations on "Non più mesta," from Rossini's La Cenerentola. The fifth and last Concert was on the 22nd, when the house was crowded to excess, and the enthusiasm greater than ever.
But Paganini, or his astute manager, began to presume a little too much on the good nature of the public. Parting was "such sweet sorrow," that, like another Juliet, Paganini was inclined to prolong that process as long as possible. Final concerts succeeded each other—much like the "Farewells" of popular singers—until the audiences began to dwindle. At one, at the King's Theatre on July 4th, Paganini played a new Concerto in E major, "all expression and grace," and by far the best proof given of his talent since his arrival in London. Paganini gave two concerts at the London Tavern in July. The first was well attended, but at the second there was no orchestra. The concert was a failure—"and no wonder, for the Signor tried an experiment on the forbearance of the citizens, and actually took only a pianist and one or two second-rate singers with him to make up a half-guinea concert! This was too much even for John Bull to submit to."[23]