performer (that is to say, in his more lucid and orderly moments) had
forced his reinstalment, and he had now, for the most part, reconciled
himself to the narrow sphere of his appointed adagios or allegros. The
audience, too, aware of his propensity, were quick to perceive the least
deviation from the text; and if he wandered for a moment, which
might also be detected by the eye as well as the ear, in some strange
contortion of visage, and some ominous flourish of his bow, a gentle and
admonitory murmur recalled the musician from his Elysium or his Tartarus
to the sober regions of his desk. Then he would start as if from a
dream, cast a hurried, frightened, apologetic glance around, and, with
a crestfallen, humbled air, draw his rebellious instrument back to the
beaten track of the glib monotony. But at home he would make himself
amends for this reluctant drudgery. And there, grasping the unhappy
violin with ferocious fingers, he would pour forth, often till the
morning rose, strange, wild measures that would startle the early
fisherman on the shore below with a superstitious awe, and make him
cross himself as if mermaid or sprite had wailed no earthly music in his
ear.

(*Orpheus was the favourite hero of early Italian Opera, or
Lyrical Drama. The Orfeo of Angelo Politiano was produced in
1475. The Orfeo of Monteverde was performed at Venice in
1667.)

This man's appearance was in keeping with the characteristics of his
art. The features were noble and striking, but worn and haggard,
with black, careless locks tangled into a maze of curls, and a fixed,
speculative, dreamy stare in his large and hollow eyes. All his
movements were peculiar, sudden, and abrupt, as the impulse seized him;
and in gliding through the streets, or along the beach, he was heard