Nicolo PAGANINI, "il divino, maestro," the most celebrated violin-player of the age, has excited more attention during the last twenty years, than all the rest of the herd of European "lions" that annually burst upon the poor public, and frighten the world by the immensity of their roars. The horrible charges made against Paganini's early life, his wild unearthly form and haggard face, the transcendent nature of his professional abilities, and the exaggerated reports of his peculiarities, have given him a notoriety that even his wonderful talents could not have attained alone.
The common places of Paganini's life are generally known. He was born at Genoa-he is proud of his native city, yet knows that the city has good cause to be proud of her son. He generally mentions his birth, place thus: "At Genoa, both Paganini and Columbus were born." His father, who squandered his earnings in lottery tickets, kept his son in close confinement, and compelled him to almost perpetual practice on the violin. Want, not only of exercise and recreation, but of wholesome food, broke the boy's health, and seriously impaired his constitution. Paganini always reverts to this unnatural brutality, (unnatural, because his enthusiasm required no stimulus.) as the primeval cause of his pale, sickly countenance, and his sunk and exhausted frame. Several eminent musicians took early notice of the young Genoese—Gnecco, Paer, Golla, and Ginetti assisted him, with their instruction, and advice. Like other youthful prodigies, Paganini was dragged about the country to display his precocious talent, and his mercenary father made good speculations with him at Florence, Milan, Bologna, Leghorn, and Pisa. The spare diet and discipline of the old gentleman became more irksome than ever; young Paganini threw off the yoke of parental tyranny; and, at the age of fifteen, commenced vagabondising upon his own account, visiting the city of Lucca, famous for its oil and silks, and appearing as a solo player at the great musical festival on the feast of St. Martin with more than customary success. Fortune smiled upon the young itinerant; he visited all parts of Italy, and attained the very pinnacle of popularity. Those who know any thing of the gay, romantic life which artists in Italy, particularly those connected with the all-engrossing subject of music, usually lead, the diversified society in which they mingle, and the incident and adventure which they meet with, will not wonder that Paganini should have been inclined to pass his days there, among his own countrymen, who felt and appreciated his talent, and received him upon all occasions with the most enthusiastic applause: showering down upon him all the gold they could afford, with the lighter but not less acceptable flatteries of flowers, sonnets, and garlands. He loved the manners of his country; its beautiful scenery, its climate, but their kindred souls were still more congenial to his heart. He was their idol; wherever he went, his fame had preceded his approach, and multitudes poured in to hear him in streams as if he had been a worker of miracles. Concerts seldom succeed in Italy, —a country where the best music may be had at all hours in the day—but Paganini never failed. At Milan he gave nineteen concerts, rapidly succeeding each other, with the most brilliant success. People seemed never to be satiated with the delight of hearing him. At Naples and Florence, he was eminently triumphant, and at Rome the order of the Speron d'Oro, (Golden Spur,) was conferred upon him by his Holiness the Pope. Paganini remained content with the homage of his countrymen, till the year 1828, when he journeyed to the city of Vienna, then honoured by the presence of the emperor and his court. The violinist's concerts were as successful as usual, and his performances excited the admiration of all the musical professors and connoisseurs that usually crowd this critical city.— Competition was out of the case; a new era was proclaimed, and Mayseder, a musician of considerable eminence, declared that he might as well break his fiddle to pieces, for he should be compelled to lock it up for ever.
Paganini was then forty-four years of age; of moderate stature, but considerable addition was given to the height of his appearance by the excessive attenuation of his body and limbs. His countenance possessed a saturnine melancholy—occasionally illumined by a sardonic movement intended for a smile, but little calculated to inspire joy or evince delight. Curling black hair hung about his throat, and descended to his shoulders. His arms were long and thin, and his fingers flexible as wires-white, slim, and snake like, gliding, twisting, and dancing about the neck of the violin, like living creatures, revelling with saylike ecstasy in the unearthly nature of its sounds. His chest, scarcely a hand's length in breadth, was ensuite with the frightful spareness that characterised his whole formation. His face, pallid as a corse, was rendered perfectly hideous by the variations of expression conjured up by the sound of his own unequalled tones.
