lived who so piqued public curiosity, and invested
himself with a species of weird romance, which compassed him as with a
cloud. The personality of the individual so unique and extraordinary,
the genius of the artist so transcendant in its way, the mystery which
surrounded all the movements of the man, conspired to make him an
object of such interest that the announcement of a concert by him in
any European city made as much stir as some great public event. Crowds
followed his strange figure in the streets wherever he went, and, had
the time been the mediaeval ages, he himself a celebrated magician or
sorcerer, credited with power over the spirits of earth and air, his
appearance could not have aroused a thrill of attention more absorbing.
Over men of genius, as well as the commonplace herd, he cast the same
spell, stamping himself as a personage who could be compared with no
other.

The German poet Heine thus describes his first acquaintance with this
paragon of violinists:

"It was in the theatre at Hamburg that I first heard Paganini's violin.
Although it was fast-day, all the commercial magnates of the town were
present in the front boxes, the goddesses Juno of Wandrahm, and the
goddesses Aphrodite of Dreckwall. A religious hush pervaded the whole
assembly; every eye was directed toward the stage, every ear was
strained for hearing. At last a dark figure, which seemed to ascend from
the under world, appeared on the stage. It was Paganini in full evening
dress, black coat and waistcoat cut after a most villainous pattern,
such as is perhaps in accordance with the infernal etiquette of the
court of Proserpine, and black trousers fitting awkwardly to his thin
legs. His long arms appeared still longer as he advanced, holding in one
hand his violin, and in the other the bow, hanging down so as almost
to touch the ground--all the while making a series of extraordinary
reverences. In the angular contortions of his body there was something
so painfully wooden, and also something so like the movements of a droll
animal, that a strange disposition to laughter overcame the audience;
but his face, which the glaring footlights caused to assume an even
more corpse-like aspect than was natural to it, had in it something so
appealing, something so imbecile and meek, that a strange feeling
of compassion removed all tendency to laughter. Had he learned these
reverences from an automaton or a performing dog? Is this beseeching
look