In this manner he has brought us hither, without more knowledge of him than you possess.’ “Some days after, Paganini was announced to give a concert. Eager to hear the incomparable artist, whose fame was so universal, and whom I had not yet heard, I went to the theatre, which was literally crowded to suffocation. The utmost impatience was manifested until the concert commenced with a symphony, which, although by a composer of eminence, was listened to with indifference. At last the artist appeared. I was astonished at recognising in him the stranger who had so mystified me for some days, whom I had met at Fiesole, etc. I will not attempt to describe the effect his performance produced--the transports of frenzy his incomparable talent excited. Let it suffice to say, that on that one evening, he seemed to conjoin all the delightful impressions of the graceful appearance of the peasant girl of the mountain, the hurricane in the ruins, the warbling of the feathered songsters on the banks of the Arno, and the inspiring delirium of the evening at the Loggie.” With a people so imaginative as the Italians, so extraordinary a looking person as Paganini, his wondrous talent, and the eccentricity of his mode of life, naturally conduced to superstitious ideas, and the belief in the supernatural. Many believed he had entered into a compact with the devil. In Germany these prejudices were greater even than among the Italians. It has been seen in his letter already given what was said of him at Vienna, when he played his variations on the “Witches’ Dance.” At Leipzig, the “Zeitung für die elegant Welt” gave the following account of one of his concerts:--“In the Hotel de Pologne, resided a lady of exceeding beauty, whose tresses were the object of much admiration, but whose features wore an aspect of deep melancholy, though a sweet yet sad smile was ever playing on her lips. I had seen her once: this sufficed to imprint her features upon my memory, and I sought every means to see her at all times. The evening Paganini gave his last concert, I was near the stage, and although my eyes wandered all over the theatre, I did not discover her I sought so anxiously. Paganini appeared. Can I describe the magic of his bow? The marvellous tones he extracted from the melancholy and plaintive G string touched every heart; and upon this occasion more so than I ever remember. At this moment, the sound of a sigh, such as proceeds from some person dying, struck upon my ear. I looked around, and I saw my _incognita_, white as marble, unconscious, apparently, of the tears which fell in showers down her cheeks. I uttered a cry of surprise, which was heard throughout the theatre; every voice being at the time hushed into silence. Paganini, who was only a few paces from me, turned round and looked at me. An extraordinary smile, such as I had never before seen, played upon his face; but it did not seem either intended for me or the lady.