...but, — he struck the strings sharply with the bow, — what a sound, eh? Voice is more important than appearance!!
Paganini leaned back on the pillows wearily, his breathing interrupted by fits of coughing and severe shortness of breath.
— No, no, — he said, seeing his son's anxious look, — the conversation is not over, I have not yet told you the main thing. Having caught his breath a little, he continued, — I bought the violin from the monastery for some sum, but it was completely unimportant to me and took it right in that wooden box. The next day I found the workshop of "Violin maker Lorenzo Storioni", a follower of Guarneri del Gesù. The master was very old, but kept a clear mind and still worked a little.
— Yes, — he said, seeing the instrument, — this is the work of Giuseppe del Gesù. I am well acquainted with his work, because as a basis for making violins, I took the model of this particular Master. As for this instrument, — he shook his head, — people said that in the monastery workshop, Guarneri was making some kind of instrument, but died without finishing the work. But it turns out that he managed to make his violin, look, even the box is here. By the way, do you see the letter "D", — he pointed to the board, — this box was made by the grandfather of my apprentice, a carpenter named Jacobo. In Guarneri's time, he had a workshop here and that's how he marked his works. Alfonso, — he shouted, opening the door, — come in here.
— Yes, — said the middle-aged man, looking at the brand, — this is my grandfather's work. Guarneri often used his services in search of material for violins and for various carpentry matters. Jacobo was well acquainted with the surroundings of Cremona, was well versed in tree species and knew where the wild maple grew, from which the Master made his instruments. I remember how in childhood we walked with my grandfather through the forest and he told me about it.
— Do you remember, — I asked him, — where the tree from which the last violin was made grew?
— Of course I remember, — the man shrugged his shoulders, — it is not far from the city, in the thicket beyond the stream.
— Here, signor, — Alfonso led me to a tall maple, — Jacobo told me that the tree consisted of two trunks. One he sawed down, you see, — he pointed to the cut, — from which signor Guarneri subsequently made his violin and, by the way, from which my grandfather made the box for it, and the other, — he knocked on the trunk, — is still growing and waiting for its Master. Yes, where can you find him now, — he sighed, — signor Storioni is the last, but he is already old and cannot work.
— Alfonso! — I looked at him, — I need your help and I will pay well. I need a box from this tree, — I knocked on the trunk, — exactly the same as your grandfather made in his time, only larger. Will you make it, in memory of Jacobo?
— I will make it, of course, — he nodded his head, hugged the tree, then turned to Paganini and asked, — and do you know, signor musician, what our old people say about the Cremona forest? "Mentre vivevo nella foresta - tacevo, morivo - canto teneramente" — "While I lived in the forest - I was silent, I died - I sing tenderly". Aren't you afraid that the box will suddenly start singing like a violin?

— Father! — Achille shrugged his shoulders, — why did you need a box?
Paganini looked at his son and threw back the blanket.
— Well, help me, — he stretched out his hands and with his help stood up from the bed with difficulty.
— Follow me, — he said, took the violin and left the room. They went down the stairs into the basement.
— I have never been here, — the young man said a little frightened, — I didn't even know that there was a cellar in the house.
— Come in, — Paganini opened the padlock hanging on the door with a key, lit a candle and they went inside. Achille involuntarily cried out. In the middle of a small square room stood a table on which there was... a coffin, "decorated" from the inside with all the paraphernalia for burial.
— What is this, father? — the young man asked in a trembling voice, — I don't understand anything. Is this a coffin? Whose?
— This is my last refuge, — Paganini put his hands on his son's shoulders, — I already lay in such a one in childhood. Do you remember, I told you what the "voice" told me: "You will be buried in a violin"... He knew, he knew everything!
Niccolo looked into his son's eyes.
— This coffin is made of the same wood from which my violin is made! So, this is also my violin, — he put his hands on the back of the coffin, — and I must be buried in it.
— Was it made by Alfonso? — Achille whispered quietly, — from that very tree?
— Yes, — Paganini raised the violin to his chin, — from that very one, — and took the bow in his hand, — just like this divine instrument.
Gentle music filled the room.
— This coffin, — without stopping playing, said the Maestro, — has been traveling with me for many years. I have not told anyone about this and you are the only one who knows. I often rehearse near it and I get the impression, — he smiled, — that the wood is so "saturated" with music that it will play even when I am lying in it. Well, — he sighed, — I am not against it, what could be better for a musician?
Suddenly Paganini stopped playing and pressed the violin to his chest.
— It is already difficult for me to play, — the Maestro stroked the fingerboard and looked at his son, — and all that I have, — he sighed and added, — is you and this violin. Believe me, — he looked into his son's eyes, — money, fame, titles - this is all tinsel, the illusion of happiness, well-being and the satisfaction of one's ambitions. Happiness is when on your last journey you are escorted by loved ones to whom you are not indifferent.
He sighed, took Achille by the hand and whispered, — I have you, my son, and this violin - my wife. Yes, — he said firmly, seeing the surprised look of the young man, — this violin is my wife! Therefore, when I die, — he again stroked the deck of the violin, — she will be widowed. And do not think that I have gone mad, — he began to cough and again pressed the violin to his chest, — remember, I told you, — and suddenly hit the strings sharply with his fingers so that the violin moaned loudly, — that for the strength and power of the sound, I called this instrument "Cannon"? So, — and he already smoothly drew the bow across the strings, causing a gentle sound, — when I am gone and she is widowed, I want her to be called "Paganini's Widow" and she must return to my native city of Genoa. Son, — he stroked Achille on the head and whispered, — you are still very young and it will be difficult for you, because everything will fall on your fragile shoulders. But, there is no way out and you must promise me that you will fulfill everything I ask you for. You will cope, I am sure, — he hugged Achille, — because you are Paganini, — then added quietly: "Everything that the 'voice' said is coming true, my son, everything exactly".

— You, baby, are destined for great fame and great trials, — the "voice" quietly "enveloped" the child lying in the coffin, — hard work in life and a hard fate after your death. During your life you will be adored and hated, worshiped and cursed, and after death - remembered, remembered, remembered... There have always been brilliant people, but they always left something material after themselves: artists - paintings, composers - operas, poets - poems, sculptors - sculptures, violin makers - their instruments. You are a unique phenomenon of nature and will no longer be a person, you will become a "CLOUD" and for centuries you will fly over the earth, leaving nothing material after yourself, only memory! The memory of people who saw and knew you, heard your music, and subsequent generations will talk about you based only on the memories of your contemporaries. You are air - sometimes white and fluffy, sometimes dark and formidable, but always intangible. A "Cloud" is remote storage of memory and an ordinary person cannot see this space, it seems to float in the air. You are a phantom, an intangible and imperceptible spirit, and will forever remain in people's memory as the "Devil's Violinist".

Paganini died in 1840 in the city of Nice at the age of 57. The great violinist experienced indescribable torments in the last days of his life. Having completely lost his voice, he could not even explain himself to his beloved son and wrote his requests on pieces of paper. For long hours he tried to swallow even the tiniest pieces of food, but he had severe fits of coughing accompanied by hemoptysis.
On May 27 at 5 o'clock in the evening, according to his friends Tito Rubaudo and Escudier who were with him, "at the table Paganini had another fit of coughing, he coughed up blood and immediately choked on it".
In Paganini's will it was written: "I forbid any funerals. I do not wish artists to perform a requiem for me. Let a hundred masses be performed. I give my violin to Genoa so that it is kept there forever. I give my soul to the great mercy of my Creator".
Paganini's remains were embalmed and displayed in the hall of the theater in the center of Nice. Crowds of people came to look at the musician who possessed his instrument so virtuously that he was suspected of having connections with evil spirits.
Blows of fate rained down on Paganini's son, already heartbroken. The Bishop of Nice, Reverend Domenico Galvano, forbade burying the heretic in the local cemetery.
The coffin with the body was secretly delivered to a ship and transported to the musician's native city - Genoa. But the city governor, Philippe Paolucci, refused even to let the vessel into the harbor and the ship stood in the roadstead for three months. The sailors drank endlessly, claiming that mournful sighs and the sounds of a violin came from the heavy box.
Finally, as a result of long negotiations with the highest-ranking officials, it was decided to transfer Paganini's remains to the basement of the castle of Count Cessole - a friend of the great violinist, where he did not lie for long. The servants began to complain that the coffin flickered in the dark with a devilish light and it was moved to the morgue of the infirmary in Villafranca. But even there the local employees rebelled, who, it would seem, should have been accustomed to the dead, but even on them Paganini's body brought irresistible horror, as they "heard the moans and sighs of a ghost, accompanied by the sounds of passionate music".
— In 1842, the violinist was buried on Cape Saint-Hospice, at the foot of an ancient tower.
— In April 1844, the remains were dug up again and transported to Nice.
— In May 1845, the coffin was again transported to the villa of Count Cessole. But his son Achille and the friends of the great violinist did not give up hope of burying the Maestro in a Christian way in a cemetery.
— And only in 1876, thirty years after his death, their efforts were crowned with success.
— But in 1893 the coffin was dug up again, as rumors spread that "strange sounds are coming from under the ground, as if a living creature is there", and...
— The Maestro was buried by his son Achille right on the territory of his villa.
— Only on August 5, 1895, already in the presence of Attila, Paganini's grandson, the coffin with the remains of the Maestro was dug up once more and transported to Parma, to the new Della Villetta cemetery, where he finally found peace.
In total, the coffin with Paganini's remains was committed to the earth and dug up more than TEN times.
Left completely alone in a huge palace with forest lands of 30 hectares after the death of his father, Achille married early to Baroness Paolina Pienovi and by the age of 19 was already a father, leading the life of a wealthy landowner. He became the keeper of the archive of his great father and was engaged in editing and publishing Paganini's manuscripts. Achille had six children, all of them received a home musical education corresponding to their social status, but none of them showed any outstanding giftedness. Currently, a branch of the Paganini family lives in Milan and their house, where some family relics are kept, is an object of pilgrimage for famous violinists.
The violin "Paganini's Widow" has been kept in the Genoa museum since 1851 and even today it continues to sound. Only the winner of the Paganini music competition gets the right to play the Maestro's violin, and concerts are always held in front of a packed hall.
"No one's fame can compare with his fame, nor can anyone's name compare with his name. Never will anyone's footsteps coincide with his gigantic footsteps. And I strongly affirm: there will be no second Paganini. Such a combination of colossal talent and special circumstances of life, which elevated him to the very pinnacle of fame - this is a unique case in the history of art. He was great!" Franz Liszt.

Achille loved to sit in his garden and look through the crowns of the trees at the clouds floating in the sky. Sometimes it seemed to him that he heard the magical music of his father and his voice: "Everything that the 'voice' said is coming true, my son, everything exactly!"
Achille smiled and waved his hand to the clouds continuing their unhurried and majestic flight into eternity.