Paganini was not always alike disposed for his concerts. He had doubts of himself; and, trying several difficult passages, if he failed in executing them with his usual facility, he became angry, and exclaimed, “If I were in Paris, I would not play to-day.” He would frequently recover himself during the evening, and say ingeniously to his friends, “I have played better at the end than at the commencement of the concert.” He kept the public waiting a long time before he came on. His departure from the theatre resembled a triumph; a crowd formed an avenue to his carriage, and greeted him with loud acclamations; he was received similarly on his arrival at his hotel. Paganini seemed delighted with the homage, and frequently mixed with the crowds that surrounded the doors. He would join the company at the _table d’hôte_ in the best possible spirits, and would sup heartily.
There are few examples of such devotion to severe study as Paganini evinced in the accomplishment of his art. He created the difficulties he performed, with a view of varying the effects and augmenting the resources of his instrument--this, as it is seen, having been his object, so soon as he was capable of reflecting on his ultimate destiny. Having played the music of the old masters, particularly that of Pugnani, Viotti and Kreutzer, he felt he could never attain great fame if he followed in their path. Chance brought under his notice the ninth work of Locatelli, entitled, “l’Arte di Nuova Modulazione,” and he at once saw in it a new world of ideas and facts, though, on its first appearance it was unsuccessful from its excessive difficulty, and, perhaps, also, because it was in advance of the period when “classic” forms should be departed from. Circumstances were favourable to Paganini, for the necessity of innovation was at its zenith in his day. In adopting the ideas of his predecessors, in resuscitating forgotten effects, in superadding what his genius and perseverance gave birth to, he arrived at that distinctive character of performance and his ultimate greatness. The diversity of sounds--the different methods of tuning his instrument--the frequent employment of double and single harmonic notes--the simultaneous pizzicato and bow passages--the various staccati--the use of the double and even triple notes--a prodigious facility in executing wide intervals with unerring precision, joined to an extraordinary number of various styles of bowing--such were the principal features of Paganini’s talent--means which were rendered perfect by his execution--his exquisite nervous sensibility, and his enormous musical feeling. From the manner in which he placed himself, leaning, as it were, on his hip, from the position of his right arm, and the manner in which he held his bow, it would have been thought its movements would be nothing less than awkward, and the arm all stiffness; but it was soon observed that the bow and the arm moved with equal ease, and what appeared to be the result of some malformation, was the result of deep study of that which was most favourable to the effect the artist wished to produce. His bow was of ordinary dimensions; but was screwed up with more than usual tension. It is probable Paganini found it preferable for his bounding staccato, which differed from that of all other violinists. In the notice which he wrote at Lucca, he says great surprise was manifested at the length of his bow, and the thickness of his strings; but, some time after, he evidently discovered the difficulty of producing vibration in every part of the strings, and consequently, of obtaining a perfect tone, for he gradually diminished their dimensions--and when he played in Paris his strings were under the medium size. Paganini’s hands were large, dry, and nervous. His fingers, by dint of excessive practice, had acquired a suppleness and aptitude difficult to conceive. The thumb of the left hand fell easily upon the palm of his hand, when necessary for the execution of certain shifting passages.