In 1818, and the following year, he gave concerts at Verona, Turin, Florence, and other towns. At Verona, the conductor of the theatre orchestra, one Valdabrini, persuaded himself that Paganini was little else than a charlatan, one who might play the pieces of his own repertory very well, but who could not execute a work such as a concerto of his, Valdabrini's, composition. Paganini was informed of this estimate of his abilities, and hastened to assure Valdabrini that he would be happy to reproduce the inspirations of the _chef d'orchestre_ of Verona; and as this trial would be a powerful attraction, he would reserve it for his last concert. The day of rehearsal arrived, and Paganini was in his place. Instead of the music of the concerto, however, the artist improvised all kinds of fanciful passages, insomuch that the astonished orchestral players, lost in admiration, forgot to go on with their own work. The disappointed Valdabrini exclaimed: "My friend, this is not my concerto you are playing, I can recognise nothing of what I have written." "Don't distress yourself," replied Paganini, "at the concert you will recognise your work well enough, only now I claim a little indulgence." The concert night arrived, and Paganini commenced with pieces of his own choice, reserving the concerto for the end. All were attention for the great event. Paganini came on at last, holding in his hand a Malacca walking cane. Everyone asked himself: What will he do with that? Suddenly he seized his violin, and, employing the cane as a bow, played the concerto (thought by the composer to be practicable only after long study) from beginning to end, not only rendering the most difficult passages, but introducing charming variations, never failing for an instant to display the purity, grace and verve that characterised his art.[8] This pleasantry was not to the taste of Valdabrini, we may be sure; but it was a rebuke to his presumption. Such amenities are scarcely possible now-a-days.