thing of a diabolic nature should
be associated with this man of amiable and gentle disposition, whose
care of his scholars, according to Dr. Burney, was constantly paternal.
Nardini, his favorite and most famous pupil, came from Leghorn to Padua
to attend him, with filial devotion, in his last illness.

The talents of Corelli and Tartini seem to have been combined in the
Piedmontese, Giovanni Battiste Viotti (1753-1824), a man of poetic,
philanthropic mind, whose sensitive, retiring disposition unfitted him
for public life. Wherever he appeared he outshone all other performers,
yet there was constantly something occurring to wound him. At the Court
of Versailles he left the platform in disgust because the noisy entrance
of a distinguished guest interrupted his concerto. In London, after his
means had been crippled by the French Revolution, he was accused of
political intrigue.

While living in seclusion near Hamburg he composed some of his finest
works, among them six violin duets, which he prefaced with the words:
"This work is the fruit of leisure afforded me by misfortune. Some of
the pieces were dictated by trouble, others by hope." At one time he
embarked in a mercantile enterprise, in London, his transactions being
regulated by the strictest integrity, but, as was inevitable, he soon
returned to Paris and his art. After he had abandoned the concert room
one of his greatest pleasures was in improvising violin parts to the
piano performances of his friend, Madame Montegerault, to the delight
of all present. He never had more than seven or eight pupils, but his
influence has been widely felt. Many anecdotes are told of his kindness
and generosity, and it is an interesting fact that among those who
sought his advice and patronage was no less a personage than Rossini.

It must be because genius is little understood that its manifestations
have so often been attributed to evil influences. The popular mind could
only explain the achievements of the Genoese wizard of the bow, Nicolo
Paganini (1784-1840) by the belief that he had sold himself body and
soul to the devil who stood ever at his elbow when he played. When,
after a taxing concert season, the weary violinist retired to a Swiss
monastery for rest and practice amid peaceful surroundings, rumor had it
that he was imprisoned for some dark deed. To crown the delusion, his
spectre was long supposed to stalk abroad, giving fantastic performances
on the violin. It is