LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume V, Issue 545, 17 March 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

PAGNINI. Towards the afternoon of a hot July day in the early part of this century there rattled through the streets of Ferrara a post-carriage drawn by four horses. It drew up before the principal hotel in the place. The postilion sprang to the ground, and threw coverings over his smoking cattle. A waiter hurried out and opened the carriage door. An excited Englishman came forth from under a mountain of rugs, and, seizing hold of the man by the arm, exclaimed, ‘ Is he here still ? Is it too late ? Are we in time ?’ ; The startled waiter stammered, ‘ Who here? Whom do you seek, Milord?’ A • young lady, who stepped out of the carriage after the gentleman, came to his aid, crying, ' in enthusiastic tones, ‘Ah ! My father ; means the great Paganini, who was to have a concert here to-day. Is he still in the town ? And does he really play to-day ?’ ‘ At your service, Signora,’ answered the relieved waiter. ‘ All Ferrara is in an uproar, for he has promised a concert for this evening. ’ The Englishman drew a handful of money out of his pocket; threw the postilion a splendid reward for his hot and hasty journey, and giving the waiter some gold. . pieces, and orders to buy iickets for himself and his daughter for the evening’s entertainment, he ascended the hotel steps, followed by the young lady; piles of luggage , being borne up after them. The name of|Paganini was at that time a «. household word in Italy. The fame of this ; man as a wonderful musician had spread * with amazing rapidity. He was bom at Genoa, on the nineteenth of February, in • the year 1784. It is said that his mother - foresaw his future renown in a vision. In' his sixth year the boy played violin solos in the church, and, when nine years old, he i stepped on the boards of a theatre for the first time. His principal teacher was AUessandro Stella, of Parma, but h© was also

taught by Ghiretti and others. When but thirteen years old he made an artistic tour through Lombardy; and, at fourteen, he gave concerts on his own account. At twenty, he stood on the pinnacle of fame as a violin player; but, from that time forward, except when he made his triumphal journeys through Europe, his life was very much veiled in mystery, as regards the outer world. He continually disappeared for months together, leaving no trace or clue by which his whereabouts could be discovered, and then, again, as suddenly as he had vanished, he would reappear; now here, now there, but always where he was least expected; and, before again hiding himself, would give a few concerts —three, or, at the most, four. There were, of course, various theories afloat as to his private history. Many of his admirers warmly upheld it as their opinion that he was in reality an angel sent down to this world, in pity, for the purpose of lightening the miseries of earthly life by giving man a foretaste of what the heavenly harmonies will be hereafter. They said, With truth, that it was as if a choir of sweet Voiced spirits lay hid within the instrument, and that, at times, it seemed as though this choir turned into a grand orchestra. In further support of this opinion, they said that Paganini lived on air, or, at most, a little herb-tea. On the other hand, his detractors hinted that his private life was a most ill-regulated one, and that, far from living upon air, he ate in a ravenous and almost brutal manner, although he at times chastised himself with long fastings, by Which he had ruined his health. Paganini’s detractors further stated that he despised all forms of religion, and never put his foot upon consecrated ground. Some declared that he had a league with Satan, and held interviews with him in an old Florentine castle, much frequented by the artist, from which, they said, fearful sounds Were heard proceeding on stormy nights, and Where the great master was known to have lain as one dead, for hours together, on different occasions. These persons believed that at such times Paganini had only come hack to life by magical agency. In all probability what gave rise to this latter story is the fact that Paganini destroyed his health And nervous system by continual use of Leroy’s so-called life elixir. He was, at any rate, credited liberally by some with dealings in the black art. His glance was said to be irresistible, and to partake of some of the qualities ascribed to the evil eye. A flower girl told how she had met him one day in a lonely neighbourhood, and had remained standing stUl as One fascinated—as a bird is petrified by the gaze of a serpent—while he J laced up and down before her, declaiming bursting into fits of demoniacal laughter. Another swore to having seen a tall dark shadow bending over him at one of his concerts, and directing his hand; while a third testified that he had seen nine or ten shadowy hand’s hovering about the strings of the great master’s violin. But all these rumours only increased the fame and attractions of this wonderful man. When it became known that he was about to give a concert at Ferrara, visitors streamed thither from all directions, consumed with feverish impatience to accomplish their various journeys; half dreading lest, on their arrival, they should learn that the man they sought had again disappeared. Amongst the rest came the pair of English travellers, with the scene of whose arrival this sketch opened. They rested but for a few hours, and then hastened early to the theatre, in order to secure their places. The house was of course thronged; but the expectant audience was at first bitterly disappointed. A favourite singer bad promised Paganini her aid in the evening’s performance ; but, at the last moment, had left him shamefully in the lurch. To fill the gap caused by her absence, the violinist had engaged a young dancer, who had a tolerable voice, and undertook to sing a few light pieces at the beginning of the entertainment. The more she endeavoured to give satisfaction, however, the more the disappointed public hissed and hooted her down, until at last, in despair, the girl ran away, and took refuge behind the curtain. As soon as she disappeared a breathless silence fell upon the whole house. The audience waited, with strained nerves, for the master’s appearance, prepared to give him an enthusiastic reception. But some evil fortune seemed to pursue the spoiled favourite on this particular evening. Like some shadow out of the demon world, a lean, gaunt, haggard figure slipped from behind the curtain. All held their breath. His strange appearance was familiar to his admirers) the wan thin face, with pale cheeks, framed in long black hair hanging wildly about; the features, continually twisted into some grimace; the sharp hooked nose; the dull, lurking, half-quenched glow in the eyes, buried under dark brows; the unsteady gait, as though the man were weak and powerless, and might, at any moment, bend or break in two like some tender reed; the strange scornful smile, hovering constantly about the ill-tutored lips;— for all this they were prepared; his picture hung in every shop and public place. They in a manner reverenced his peculiarities; viewing them with a sort of shudder of half pity, half horror; but, to-day, an additional and unexpected peculiarity distinguished him. He had wounded his foot with a nail in Livorno, from whence he had come; and, in place of gliding to his place like a ghost, as usual, he hobbled awkwardly across to his desk. The ludicrous appearance he made proved irresistible. In place of the storm of applause that usually greeted him, he was met by smothered, and then immoderate, bursts of laughter. The most enthusiastic of those present endeavoured to drown the ridicule by loud cheering, and finding this impossible, fell into extravagant anger—our two English visitors being amongst the most angry—until the uproar became tremendous, and promised to be endless. On a sudden, however, all again grew hushed into silence, as though influenced by the moving of a magic wandj as, indeed, they were. By a violent effort Paganini composed himself, and grasped his violin. The frail, wavering figure straightened itself and became imposing. Every muscle was strained to its utmost tension. His eyes shone like stars of glowing fire. As though made of brass, his nervous fingers clenched his instrument, while the bow in his other hand moved like a powerful sword over the strings, drawing from them a tone so soft, so ethereal, so ravishing, and withal so sharp and clear, that it is hard to describe the listener’s sensations otherwise than by the term, an agony of pleasure; for all their diverse feelings were comprised in this, ilb mimued,]