AN INTERRUPTED CONCERT

Paganini didn’t just have stage nerves—he had full‑on paranoia. He was proud, suspicious, and convinced that other violinists (jealous of his fame) might literally try to assassinate him. He even avoided England because he found it terrifying.

But there was one thing stronger than fear: money. When invited to France, he hesitated—until he heard how much he could earn. Greed won.

One London episode didn’t help his anxiety. In the middle of a brilliant concert, a respectable gentleman stood up, turned to the audience, and delivered an impromptu rant: Why are you paying a guinea to hear this miserable mountebank who only knows how to make noises from a wooden box with catgut? Give your money to the poor! Look at that big charlatan—he’s like the devil and he’s laughing as he pockets your cash! You’re fools!

Paganini heard “devil,” saw “assassins,” panicked, and bolted. Before the hall had even processed what happened, he was already on the road to Manchester.