attempting, for he was always striving after new effects. As he could but imperfectly execute what he aimed at, these eccentric flights did not commend themselves to Rolla, whose taste and style were of a more severe order. Of Paganini's work in composition little appears to be known. Anders states that Paer when in Parma devoted several hours daily to Paganini; and at the end of the fourth month entrusted him with a composition of a duo, in which Nicolo succeeded to the complete satisfaction of his master. Paganini may also at that time have sketched, if he did not complete, the Studies, or Caprices, Op. 1.

In 1797 the father took the boy from Parma, and set out with him on a tour through Lombardy. Concerts were given in Milan, Bologna, Florence, Pisa, and Leghorn.

The young artist achieved an extraordinary reputation; the father took possession of the more material rewards of art. The "golden dreams" were in process of realisation! Returning to Genoa, young Paganini finished the composition of his Twenty-four Studies, which were of such excessive difficulty that he could not play them. He would try a single passage over in a hundred ways, working for ten or eleven hours at a stretch, and then would come the inevitable collapse. He was still under the stern domination of his father, and his spirit must have chafed under the bondage. His own ardour was sufficient to carry his labours to the verge of exhaustion, and he needed no spur as an incentive to exertion. In all directions save that of music his education was utterly neglected. The moral side of his nature was allowed to grow wild. There was the restraining influence of a mother's love, but there was little else. It might indeed be said that, musically, Paganini was self-educated; but that one of the world's great geniuses should lack the intellectual and moral training that go to make the complete man was sad in the extreme. Paganini's was a nature warped; on the one side phenomenal power, on the other bodily suffering, intellectual and spiritual atrophy. But more of this when we turn from his career to the man himself.

As the youth grew older the spirit of revolt arose. He must and would escape from the tyranny of his avaricious father. But how? A way soon offered itself. At Lucca, the festival of St. Martin, held each November, was an event of such importance, musically, that it drew visitors from all parts of Italy. As the November of 1798 drew near, young Paganini besought his father's permission to attend the festival, but his request was met by a point-blank refusal. The importunities of the youth, aided by the prayers of the mother, at length prevailed, and in care of the elder brother afterwards Dr. Paganini (?)—Nicolo was allowed to leave home.

Free at last, the youth, now in his seventeenth year, went on his way, his whole being thrilled with dreams of success and happiness. At Lucca he was most enthusiastically received, and, elated by his good fortune, Paganini extended his tour, playing in Pisa and other towns. Enabled now to earn his own living, Paganini determined never to return to the home where he had suffered so much. His father must have obtained information as to the youth's whereabouts, for it has been stated that he managed to obtain a large part of the young artist's earnings. The money was freely yielded to a certain extent, and the residue was obtained by threats. But no threat or entreaty could induce Nicolo to return to his paternal home. The bird had escaped, and liberty was sweet. But young Paganini was scarcely fitted for an independent, uncontrolled career. He had no moral ballast, and much would depend upon what kind of company he kept.

One has to bear in mind that at the period now under notice—1798—Europe was in a very unsettled state. The very pillars of society were shaken, and there were many dangers in the path of the young and inexperienced. But that is a very trite observation, for it applies to all times and places. However, Paganini seems to have become acquainted with what Fétis terms "artists of another kind," who encouraged "play" of a more exciting, if less exalted order, than the young musician had hitherto devoted himself to. With his ardent southern temperament Paganini threw himself with the greatest zest into the vortex of gambling, and frequently lost at a sitting the earnings of several concerts and was reduced to the greatest embarrassment. Soon his talent provided fresh resources, and his days ran on in alternations of good and evil fortune. Tall, slight, delicate and handsome,[3] Paganini, despite his frail constitution, was an object of attraction to the fair sex. Incidents in his early manhood probably formed the foundation for some of the stories told of him later. As Fétis puts it; the enthusiasm for art, love and "play," reigned by turns in his soul. He ought to have been careful of himself, but he went to excess in everything. Then came a period of enforced repose, of absolute exhaustion, lasting sometimes for weeks. This would be followed by a display of extraordinary energy, when his marvellous talent took its highest flights, and he plunged once more into the wildest bohemianism. Such a course of life was enough to wreck the artist, and no friend seemed to be at hand to save him from himself. Frequently he had to part with his violin in order to raise money to pay his debts of honour, and it was upon one such occasion that he met with the greatest good fortune he had yet experienced, and acquired a violin which became the instrument of his conversion from the fatal passion for gambling.

Plate III.—See Appendix.
Paganini's Violin in the Municipal Museum at Genoa.

Arriving at Leghorn, where he was to give a concert, Paganini yielded to his weakness for the other kind of play and lost his money and his violin. He was in a dilemma indeed, but was fortunate in meeting with an enthusiastic musical amateur, M. Livron, a French merchant, the owner of a superb Guarnerius violin. This instrument M. Livron lent to the young artist, and attended the concert. When Paganini went to return the violin to its owner, M. Livron at once exclaimed, "I shall take care never to profane the strings your fingers have touched. It is to you now that my violin belongs." A noble benefactor, that M. Livron. The Guarnerius became Paganini's inseparable companion; he played upon it throughout all his tours, and its subsequent history will be duly related.

Paganini acquired another instrument on the same easy terms, but attended by different circumstances. Signor Pasini, of Parma, a painter of some distinction, and an amateur violinist, had heard of Paganini's wonderful powers as a reader of music at sight, but refused to credit the statements. Pasini one day placed before Paganini a manuscript concerto, in which difficulties of all kinds were brought together, and putting into the artist's hands a splendid Stradivari violin, said: "This instrument is yours if you can play that at sight, like a master, without studying its difficulties in advance." "If that is so," replied Paganini, "You may bid farewell to it at once." His terrific