Dublin's scheme was ambitious; for Paganini's fees for the three evening concerts was 500 guineas. Braham and Henry Phillips were among the vocalists engaged, and the latter, in his "Musical Recollections," gives a very interesting and amusing account of Paganini at the festival. No one seemed to know how Paganini arrived in Dublin, which gave rise to a vague idea that he was wafted across by the Flying Dutchman. Where he lodged was equally a mystery. He arrived at the stage door of the Theatre Royal on the evening of the first concert, and immediately ordered an apartment to be got ready, and the room to be perfectly darkened. There he paced up and down, playing snatches of his music until the time for his début before a Dublin audience.
The Theatre was crammed to suffocation. The Lord Lieutenant and his Suite attended in State, and all the élite of Dublin were in the dress tier. When the Conductor, Sir George Smart, led Paganini to the centre of the stage there was a terrific outburst of applause, followed by breathless silence, as the great artist went through his deliberate process of adjusting his violin, raising his bow, and letting it rest upon the strings before commencing. This was too trying to the mercurial temperament of the occupants of the gallery, and before many seconds there was a stentorian shout, "Well! we're all ready!" The house was convulsed with laughter, peal after peal rang through the theatre. Paganini, stamping with rage, turned to Sir George Smart, and cried, "Qu'est ce que c'est?" The explanation seemed to make matters worse, and Paganini left the orchestra. Some time elapsed before he could be induced to return; but when he did so, and began to play, he created the same effect as elsewhere. The next day everybody was exclaiming: "Ah! sure, have you heard the Paganini; och murther! and his fiddle?" Such is the account Henry Phillips gives, but it is not easy to attach credence to all he has put in his book.
At one of the concerts Paganini played the concerto in B minor, with the Rondo à la clochette, when an excited Hibernian shouted above the storm of applause, "Arrah now, Signor Paganini, have a drop of whiskey, darling, and ring the bell again!" Paganini's departure from Dublin was as mysterious as his arrival. On his return to London he failed to attract much attention, and seems to have been mostly on tour in the provinces and in Scotland. One incident in London was so singular that it deserves mention. Carlyle was supposed to have taken a walk with Paganini. Fancy "the Sage of Chelsea" in company with "the magician of the bow"! Thomas Carlyle was in London in 1831 vainly negotiating for the publication of "Sartor Resartus." One day his friend, Edward Irving, took him to Belgrave Square to dine with Henry Drummond. They walked along Piccadilly, thronged with fashionable promenaders; and as both men were of pecular personal appearance, they doubtless attracted some attention. This is what Carlyle subsequently wrote:—"Irving, I heard afterward, was judged, from the broad hat, brown skin, and flowing black hair, to be in all probability the one-string fiddler, Paganini—a tall, lean, taciturn abstruse-looking figure—who was then, after his sort, astonishing the idle of mankind."[26] Carlyle has said many true, and many beautiful things about music, but one may search his writings in vain for a good word about musicians!
In December of this year (1831) Paganini was announced to play in Bristol. The following "squib" or lampoon was issued:—
PAGANINI.
To the Citizens of Bristol.Fellow Citizens,—It is with feelings of unqualified disgust that I witness the announcement of Signor Paganini's Performance to take place in this City: Why at this period of Distress? With the recollection of so many scenes of misery still fresh in our minds, and whilst Subscriptions are required to the extent of our means in order to Feed and Clothe the Poor: why is this Foreign Fiddler now to appear? for the purpose of draining those resources which would be infinitely better applied in the exercise of the best feeling of man—Charity. Do not suffer yourselves to be imposed upon by the Payment of Charges which are well worthy the name of extortion; rather suffer under the imputation of a want of Taste than support any of the tribe of Foreign Music-Monsters, who collect the Cash of this Country and waft it to their own shores, laughing at the infatuation of John Bull.
December 10th, 1831. PHILADELPHUS.
A. Saint. Typ. Castle Printing Office, 54, Castle Street, Bristol.
Paganini's concerts at Leeds, early in 1832, were so well managed that, out of the profits, a liberal donation was presented to the fund for the relief of the poor. At Birmingham, in February of that year, his visit caused such an influx of strangers to the town, that neither lodgings nor stabling could meet the demand made upon them. A popular song was written for the occasion, and the streets rang with it long after the violinist had left the place. Two lines ran thus:—
"It's well worth a guinea to see Paganini,
To see how he curls his hair."
At Brighton some time earlier, the high prices were nearly causing a riot, through the issue of an inflammatory placard against them. Mr. William Gutteridge, a well-known musician of that place, who had arranged for the concerts, had to ask the protection of the magistrates, but fortunately no outbreak occurred. The squabbles about prices, the charges of avarice brought against Paganini, and the acrimonious tone of part of the press, afford melancholy reading. His gains were said to reach £20,000. In March, 1832, he left London for Paris. There, he gave a concert for the poor on March 18th. He did not stay very long in France, and on his way again to this country, occurred the incident referred to as one of the indignities to which he was subjected. This is the story.
Paganini having to pass through Boulogne on his way to England, decided to give a concert in that town, which boasted of a Philharmonic Society. Paganini deputed a friend to arrange for that Society to assist at the concert.
All seemed going well until Paganini arrived on the scene, when the amateurs stipulated for a certain number of free admissions for their friends and families, as a recognition for their assistance. Paganini represented to them that in a small concert room so many free admissions would leave little room for the paying public, and he could not accede to their demand. However, they would not give way, so Paganini declared his intention to engage a professional band. This did not suit the views of the amateurs, and they threatened the professional players with the loss of patronage and pupils if they dared assist Paganini; and the unfortunate artists, dependent as they were upon that support, had to refuse the offer made them. But Paganini was not to be baffled; he determined to give the concert, and to perform without any accompaniment at all. This he did; and now came the ludicrous sequel. A number of those amateurs actually paid for admission to the concert, on purpose to hiss the independent artist. This they did as soon as he entered the concert-room. Despising such petty spite, Paganini entrusted his revenge to his art, and the rapturous plaudits of the audience proper soon reduced to a pitiable silence those who had offered so gross an insult. As a writer said at the time: "The amateurs of Boulogne have earned for themselves a niche in the history of the art—they have hissed Paganini."