Many and many have been the less public attentions which Verdi has received at the hands of his fellow-countrymen. An early mark of recognition was the presentation by Prince Poniatowski of a gold laurel crown each leaf of which was inscribed with the title of one of his works. This was upon the occasion of the performance of _Macbeth_ at Florence. When _Aïda_ was first performed, the artists presented the composer with an ivory sceptre ornamented with a star of diamonds; the title _Aïda_ was set in rubies, whilst _Verdi_, worked in precious stones, stood out on a branch of laurel. A further memento fell to the composer when _Aïda_ was given at the Paris Opéra. Delegates from the Italian colony waited upon the distinguished musician and handed him a crown of pure gold designed of laurel branches, the whole resting on a velvet cushioned stand, suitably inscribed. The Parisians placed a fine bust of the composer in the Grand Opéra _foyer_. It was by Danton, who had already made some capital out of the composer by caricaturing him at the keys of the piano, with a lion's mane and claws.
We venture the opinion that no better presentment of the famous composer's features than the full-length portrait at the opening of this volume has ever been given to English people. It is thoroughly characteristic of the man to-day. His face is fairly familiar to most of us. We all remember his thoughtful countenance and well-shaped head, with its finely-chiselled features, and dark eyes full of the fire of genius, the whole set off with a liberal gift of hair on the head and face. The slender build and highly-strung temperament at once arrest the eye; nor can we fail to be attracted by the tidily-attired exterior of the master. Verdi is best seen under the ordeal of some operatic triumph. Then through all the excitement he remains what he is--a quiet, calm, modest gentleman, one of those intellectual giants who scorn to trade upon their greatness.