given to applaud vehemently; or, as Richelieu observes, "in the right
places." What we can get for nothing we are inclined to think much less
of than that which we must purchase. He who invests a shilling will not
do it rashly, or without feeling convinced that value received will
accrue from the risk. The man who pays is the real enthusiast; he comes
with a pre-determination to be amused, and his spirit is exalted
accordingly. Paganini's valet surprised me one morning, by walking into
my room, and with many "_eccellenzas_" and gesticulations of respect,
asking me to give him an order. I said, "Why do you come to me? Apply to
your master--won't he give you one?" "Oh, yes; but I don't like to ask
him." "Why not?" "Because he'll stop the amount out of my wages!" My
heart relented; I gave him the order, and paid Paganini the dividend. I
told him what it was, thinking, as a matter of course, he would return
it. He seemed uncertain for a moment, paused, smiled sardonically,
looked at the three and sixpence, and with a spasmodic twitch, deposited
it in his own waistcoat pocket instead of mine. Voltaire says, "no man
is a hero to his valet de chambre," meaning, thereby, as I suppose, that
being behind the scenes of every-day life, he finds out that Marshal
Saxe, or Frederick the Great, is as subject to the common infirmities of
our nature, as John Nokes or Peter Styles. Whether Paganini's squire of
the body looked on his master as a hero in the vulgar acceptation of the
word, I cannot say, but in spite of his stinginess, which he writhed
under, he regarded him with mingled reverence and terror. "A strange
person, your master," observed I. "_Signor_," replied the faithful
Sancho Panza, "_e veramente grand uomo, ma da non potersi comprendere_."
"He is truly a great man, but quite incomprehensible." It was edifying
to observe the awful importance with which Antonio bore the instrument
nightly intrusted to his charge to carry to and from the theatre. He
considered it an animated something, whether demon or angel he was
unable to determine, but this he firmly believed, that it could speak in
actual dialogue when his master pleased, or become a dumb familiar by
the same controlling volition. This especial violin was Paganini's
inseparable companion. It lay on his table before him as he sat
meditating in his solitary chamber; it was placed by his side at dinner,
and on a chair within his reach when in bed. If he woke, as he
constantl