The Last Stradivari Read online

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  A few nights later Paganini led Manisha through the Posato from the twenty-third Caprice, with its extraordinary octave double-stops and racing sixty-fourth note descending passages. She felt her heart pounding. Entranced by the music, she followed Il Maestro’s every movement flawlessly. As her fingers raced between the lowest and highest strings, she thought, I have truly given my soul to this music—and to him.

  Paganini paused, lowered his bow and smiled at her. “Brava, brava… you are now-a fine violinista, Cara Mia. But I haf wan more test-a for-a you.”

  He turned and waved his long fingers at the door, which silently opened. He beckoned for Manisha to follow him.

  “Where are you taking me?” she said nervously.

  “Un posto speciale,” he replied with a wicked grin. “You will-a see.”

  “But—” she protested.

  He walked slowly towards the doorway and resumed his violin playing. Manisha was powerless to resist. Her arms jerked upwards and she began playing in lockstep with him as she followed him out the door and down the stairway.

  Doors popped open and tenants gawked at her as she marched barefoot down the stairs and out into the street, playing her violin. Paganini leaped and pranced his way down the street, with Manisha imitating his every dance step and playing as she went. When they reached the edge of town they plunged into a field, and then into the woods beyond.

  Manisha’s terrified mind was screaming that she was surely about to lose her soul forever, but her body was a thrall to Il Maestro, and she followed him helplessly. They soon reached a small clearing in the woods. Paganini pranced into the clearing and began circling, while furiously bowing his Guarneri. Manisha danced opposite him, playing in unison.

  Now other ghostly apparitions began joining the circle. They were all women, dressed in about the same period of clothing as Paganini. He suddenly launched into La Carmagnole, one of his favorite ditties, as Manisha accompanied him and the other women sang and clapped.

  Signora Veto aveva promesso,

  Per avere la gola, tagliata tutta Parigi,

  Ma il suo colpo ha mancanza,

  grazie ai nostri artiglieri.

  Madame Veto had promised

  To cut everyone's throat in Paris.

  But she failed to do this,

  Thanks to our gunners.  

  Manisha at last relented and gave herself completely to the music, as she scraped away at her fiddle and danced madly like a puppet on a string. Having relinquished all control of her body, she felt a curious sense of detachment from the macabre dance, as if she was observing from a great distance.

  Manisha pranced into the center of the circle, still bowing furiously. On and on the dance of death continued, long into the night. Now the circle grew, as Paganini’s ghostly paramours were joined by four other great violinists: Delphin Alard, the Frenchman; Pablo Sarasate, the Spaniard; Ole Bull, from Norway; and Fritz Kreisler from Austria.

  Suddenly the ghostly troupe all converged on Manisha. She looked up at the stars whirling overhead, and then blackness enveloped her.