What a curious side-light this shows upon concert matters in the first half of the nineteenth century! Now-a-days the "experiment" is for the virtuoso to engage an orchestra.[24]
Paganini played at some of the benefit concerts during the season, taking one-third of the gross receipts. There was evidently ill-feeling on this point, for Lablache and Rubini now refused to sing where Paganini played. It was said, even, that the leader of his orchestra had to sue Paganini for recovery of his fees, but the artist in question, Spagnoletti, put the matter right by publicly stating that his action was against M. Laporte, and that against Signor Paganini he had never had the slightest cause of complaint. Time was found for a few provincial visits. In July Paganini gave two concerts at Cheltenham, and there he got into trouble. It was announced that his engagements would not permit his remaining beyond the second day. His concerts were well supported, and one of the Subscription Balls, at the Rotunda, was relinquished in order that no hindrance should stand in the way of those desirous of hearing the violinist. But when it was given out that Paganini would give a third performance, there was a disturbance. Some leading residents had a handbill printed calling upon the "nobility and gentry" to support the established amusements of the town, by patronizing the Ball, if only as an act of justice to the proprietor. The effect was to secure a thronged attendance at the Rotunda, and so poor an assemblage at the theatre, that Paganini refused to perform. Of course the manager had to communicate this unpleasant piece of information to the audience, at the same time offering to return the admission money; but the people were in no pacific frame of mind, and they marched straightway to the hotel where Paganini was staying, and demanded the fulfilment of his engagement. A mob soon collected, and their demeanour became so threatening that there was nothing left but compliance with their demand. Paganini went to the theatre, played two of his most favourite pieces with great success, and at midnight posted off for London. It appeared that he had agreed to perform for two-thirds of the receipts, but finding the house not half full, demanded two hundred guineas in advance. This the local manager refused, and informed the audience of the fact; and the outbreak was the natural result. The local paper remarked: "We believe this is the only instance as yet upon record of Paganini's playing to empty benches, and himself unpaid." Paganini addressed a letter to the Times, giving another version of the incident, but he did not appear to have come out of the affair very well. His manager's share in the business may be left to conjecture.
One other little circumstance seems to have caused a certain amount of irritation. Paganini was engaged for the Lord Mayor's banquet at the Mansion House on July 9th. When the Lord Mayor proposed the toast of the Lord Chancellor, before Lord Brougham's rising to return thanks, Paganini played a solo. He evidently displaced the usual glee party, but in any case it was not the most artistic function to assist at, and money must have been the chief consideration.
Paganini carried his London concerts into August, and visited Norwich, where again a third performance took place when only two were announced. The local manager was a heavy loser, as Paganini (or his agent) had arranged for a specific sum, and there was very little in excess for the payment of vocalists, and general expenses. There was also a clashing with an important fixture at the theatre, and feeling ran high, though there was no violent demonstration as at Cheltenham. Towards the end of August, Paganini set out for Dublin, being engaged for the first Musical Festival held in that city.
CHAPTER VI.
Dublin held her first Musical Festival from August 30th to September 3rd, 1831, and in connection with this event, it is interesting to note, Henry Fothergill Chorley contributed his first musical criticism to the Athenæum.[25] There was very little about Paganini, but much about the oratorio, "The Triumph of Faith," of Ferdinand Ries. It may be observed, in passing, that in the first half of the nineteenth century musical festivals were more numerous than they are now—there were five in 1831. With the exception of those given in York Minster (1823-1835), they were not on the large scale of the principal present day celebrations; but they were relatively of more importance, inasmuch as there were then fewer musical centres beyond the metropolis, and small towns would have had little music but for those periodic gatherings.