Paganini did not seek to conceal that his constant study of the instrument in his early years precluded his attending to his education, and that his mind was but ill-stored with literary instruction. He never looked into a book, not even to wile away any portion of time by reading a romance. History and the sciences were sealed books to him. M. Schottky, notwithstanding, found among the documents which were furnished to him by M. Amati, an anecdote which indicates that the great violinist’s memory retained certain smatterings of history, mythology, and poetry, which he would apply occasionally most oppositely. Dining one day with the celebrated poets, Monti and Ugo Foscolo, at the residence of the beautiful, rich, and witty Comtesse F----’s, Foscolo, who was captivated with the charms of the Comtesse, arrived the last, and finding Monti, his rival, addressing her in terms of gallantry, he abruptly quitted the apartment, and hastened to allay his fierceness on the garden terrace. Here he met Paganini, and his passion subsided. Approaching him with great warmth, and seizing his hand, he said to him, “When I heard you at the concert yesterday, Homer stood before me in all his sublimity. The grandeur of the first movement of your concerto brought to my mind the arrival of the Greek ships before Troy. The exquisite loveliness of the Adagio pictured to me the tender love-talk of Achilles and Briséis. When will you let me hear the despair and wailings of the hero over the body of Patroclus?” Paganini replied, without hesitation, “When Achilles Paganini finds his Patroclus among violinists.” Political events had no interest for him; he consequently never read a newspaper unless it contained something concerning himself. His whole thoughts were occupied on projects for the future. Among these were the founding of a musical conservatory in Italy, the publication of his compositions, the writing of operas, and abandoning his professional tours. While dwelling on these subjects, he would pace his room with great rapidity, arrange his stray pieces of music, or number his red diary, dress himself and go to dinner, or have it brought to his room, which he preferred to the _table d’hôte_. He spent a great portion of the day reclining on his bed, and left his room only in the evening, to walk for about an hour. He would pass the entire evening without light in his apartment, and rarely went to bed later than half-past ten. He frequently remained for hours absorbed in deep thought, almost motionless. Mistrustful, like most Italians, he complained of the treachery of some of his most intimate friends, which necessarily rendered him the more so; hence his dislike to society--he did not believe he could repose the slightest confidence in any one.