Although Sergei Rachmaninoff had made a habit of abstaining from alcohol in his later years, the final variation of his Variations on a Theme of Paganini tempted the composer. The movement opens with devilishly difficult leaps, so difficult that the pianist-composer was nervous to perform his own passage. At a dinner party a few days before the Rhapsody’s premiere, Rachmaninoff lamented to fellow pianist and trusted friend Benno Moiseiwitsch. “Why Sergei Vasilievich, you must have a glass of Crème de Menthe. It is the best thing in the world for jumps,” answered Moisewitsch. Astonished, Rachmaninoff scoffed at the suggestion. Moiseiwitsch doubled down, imploring him to give in. Rachmaninoff relented, obtaining a “generous quaff of the emerald cordial” from the host before the night was through. 

The premiere was flawless, and Rachmaninoff subsequently made a habit of swigging the minty liqueur before every performance of the Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. Rachmaninoff’s closest confidantes corroborate that he never failed to enjoy a Crème de Menthe before a performance of this particular work. Benno Moiseiwitsch retells this story fondly, adding that in his own score to Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, Rachmaninoff scrawled “The Crème de Menthe Variation” atop the A tempo un poco meno mosso which brings the concerto to a flamboyant close. 

The final variation in Rachmaninoff’s work is a particular ode to its namesake. Niccolò Paganini (1782–1840) was a violin virtuoso who astounded Victorian audiences with his phenomenal left-hand technique; the violinist was somehow able to conjure devilishly quick successions of notes in the blink of an eye. His double-stops, harmonics, and extended pizzicato phrases left his audiences in awe; Paganini’s impression on the musical world is still felt among violinists today. Aside from his legacy as a performer, Paganini composed works for the violin. His most famous (and most difficult) are his 24 Caprices for Solo Violin. In the Rhapsody, Rachmaninoff borrows the theme from Paganini’s final caprice, transforming and manipulating it across twenty-four new variants, now for piano and orchestra. 

The “little Pagan,” as his surname translates, was so supernaturally gifted that legends befell his reputation. Concertgoers whispered that Paganini had sold his soul to the devil in exchange for his extraordinary talent. His surname paired with playing the violin—the devil’s instrument—certainly underscored such salacious gossip. These rumors fluttered so fervently that the Catholic Church denied the violinist a proper burial upon his death in 1840. Paganini was, finally, buried thirty-six years postmortem, though he was ultimately exhumed and again reburied seventeen years later. 

Composers continued to resurrect Paganini for years to come; the caprices served as important melodic fodder in the late Romantic era. Paganini’s caprices are quoted in Frédéric Chopin’s Rondo à la Krakowiak (1828). Franz Liszt’s Grandes études de Paganini (rev. 1851) is based on the violin works. Even Johannes Brahms’ Op. 35 (1863) is based on Paganini’s 24. Rachmaninoff’s take on Paganini’s themes was composed in 1934, late in the Russian’s career. Just ahead of World War II, Rachmaninoff’s orchestral writing is leaner, more angular and commanding. Here Rachmaninoff is more pointed in both orchestral articulation and his own compositional focus. 

The Rhapsody begins with a trick: a variation of Paganini’s theme is presented before Rachmaninoff presents the original melody. Paganini’s theme is not displayed fully until the second movement, Tema, which is there and gone in a flash. Violins present Paganini-incarnate alongside fizzling keyboard interjections which underscore the Rhapsody’s harmonic progression. 

Each variation offers a shift in character, motivating the Rhapsody to evolve into monstrous full-orchestral marches, dirges, and serenades all rooted in the same theme. Rachmaninoff manipulates articulation masterfully, pitting dry staccato notes against legato countermelodies. Heavy accents are perfectly placed and provide textual variance between all sections of the orchestra. Fragments of Paganini’s once-simple motif volley across the ensemble, transforming each time to achieve vastly different moods. A Dies irae lurches its way through multiple movements within the Rhapsody, perhaps a reminder of Paganini’s burial troubles. The “day of wrath” chant is (loosely) a handy outline of the Paganini theme, therefore an easy riff for Rachmaninoff to utilize. The troubling motif is first audibly employed in Rachmaninoff’s seventh variation, but rears its fateful head again clearly in the tenth. It makes its most foreboding appearance in the finale. 

Variation 18 is hailed as the most romantic of the bunch. Here, Rachmaninoff inverts the Paganini theme to create a passionate serenade. This is a stark contrast to the combative moments that populate the Rhapsody. 18 is the longest of any of the twenty-four variations; solo piano sings through the gorgeous melody in full before the full orchestra overtakes the phrase. The piano and orchestra work together to suspend time for a brief moment before solo piano brings the variation to a delicate close. Rachmaninoff, ever cheeky, knew this luscious variation would be an instant favorite among audiences. He said (surely smirking), “This one’s for my agent.” Variation 18 is indeed beloved among listeners and performers alike; it is Rachmaninoff at his most indulgent and most melodic. The last swath of variations return to Rachmaninoff’s organized chaos: flurries of notes, aggressive accents, and massive crescendi bring Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini to a truly virtuosic end, worthy of Paganini himself.