The edict which had sent Viotti from England was revoked in 1801, and he returned with commercial aspirations, for he entered into the wine trade.  It could not be said of him, as of another well-known composer, who attempted to conduct a business in the vending of sweet sounds and the juice of the grape simultaneously, that he composed his wines and imported his music; for Viotti seems to have laid music entirely aside for the nonce, and we have no reason to suspect that his port and sherry were not of the best.  Attention to business did not keep him from losing a large share of his fortune, however, in this mercantile venture, and for a while he was so completely lost in the London Babel as to have passed out of sight and mind of his old admirers.  The French singer, Garat, tells an amusing story of his discovery of Viotti in London, when none of his Continental friends knew what had become of him.

In the very zenith of his powers and height of his reputation, the founder of a violin school which remains celebrated to this day, Viotti had quitted Paris suddenly, and since his departure no one had received, either directly or indirectly, any news of him.  According to Garat, some vague indications led him to believe that the celebrated violinist had taken up his residence in London, but, for a long time after his (Garat’s) arrival in the metropolis, all his attempts to find him were fruitless.  At last, one morning he went to a large export house for wine.  It had a spacious courtyard, filled with numbers of large barrels, among which it was not easy to move toward the office or counting-house.  On entering the latter, the first person who met his gaze was Viotti himself.  Viotti was surrounded by a legion of employees, and so absorbed in business that he did not notice Garat.  At last he raised his head, and, recognizing his old friend, seized him by the hand, and led him into an adjoining room, where he gave him a hearty welcome.  Garat could not believe his senses, and stood motionless with surprise.

“I see you are astonished at the metamorphosis,” said Viotti; “it is certainly drole—­unexpected; but what could you expect?  At Paris I was looked upon as a ruined man, lost to all my friends; it was necessary to do something to get a living, and here I am, making my fortune!”

“But,” interrupted Garat, “have you taken into consideration all the drawbacks and annoyances of a profession to which you were not brought up, and which must be opposed to your tastes?”

“I perceive,” continued Viotti, “that you share the error which so many indulge in.  Commercial enterprise is generally considered a most prosaic undertaking, but it has, nevertheless, its seductions, its prestige, its poetical side.  I assure you no musician, no poet, ever had an existence more full of interesting and exciting incidents than those which cause the heart of the merchant to throb.  His imagination, stimulated by success, carries him forward to new conquests; his clients increase, his fortune augments, the finest dreams of ambition are ever before him.”