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diff --git a/29481.txt b/29481.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0b3ba14 --- /dev/null +++ b/29481.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2506 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Fifth String, by John Philip Sousa, +Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Fifth String + + +Author: John Philip Sousa + + + +Release Date: July 22, 2009 [eBook #29481] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIFTH STRING*** + + +E-text prepared by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, and the Project Gutenberg +Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 29481-h.htm or 29481-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/29481/29481-h/29481-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/29481/29481-h.zip) + + + + + +[Illustration] + +THE FIFTH STRING + +by + +JOHN PHILIP SOUSA + +The Illustrations by Howard Chandler Christy + + + + + + + +Indianapolis +The Bowen-Merrill Company +Publishers + +Copyright 1902 +The Bowen-Merrill Company + +Press of +Braunworth & Co. +Bookbinders and Printers +Brooklyn, N. Y. + + + + +_The Fifth String_ + + + + +I + + +The coming of Diotti to America had awakened more than usual interest +in the man and his work. His marvelous success as violinist in the +leading capitals of Europe, together with many brilliant contributions +to the literature of his instrument, had long been favorably commented +on by the critics of the old world. Many stories of his struggles and +his triumphs had found their way across the ocean and had been read +and re-read with interest. + +Therefore, when Mr. Henry Perkins, the well-known impresario, +announced with an air of conscious pride and pardonable enthusiasm +that he had secured Diotti for a "limited" number of concerts, +Perkins' friends assured that wide-awake gentleman that his foresight +amounted to positive genius, and they predicted an unparalleled +success for his star. On account of his wonderful ability as player, +Diotti was a favorite at half the courts of Europe, and the astute +Perkins enlarged upon this fact without regard for the feelings of the +courts or the violinist. + +On the night preceding Diotti's debut in New York, he was the center +of attraction at a reception given by Mrs. Llewellyn, a social leader, +and a devoted patron of the arts. The violinist made a deep impression +on those fortunate enough to be near him during the evening. He won +the respect of the men by his observations on matters of international +interest, and the admiration of the gentler sex by his chivalric +estimate of woman's influence in the world's progress, on which +subject he talked with rarest good humor and delicately implied +gallantry. + +During one of those sudden and unexplainable lulls that always occur +in general drawing-room conversations, Diotti turned to Mrs. Llewellyn +and whispered: "Who is the charming young woman just entering?" + +"The beauty in white?" + +"Yes, the beauty in white," softly echoing Mrs. Llewellyn's query. He +leaned forward and with eager eyes gazed in admiration at the +new-comer. He seemed hypnotized by the vision, which moved slowly from +between the blue-tinted portieres and stood for the instant, a perfect +embodiment of radiant womanhood, silhouetted against the silken +drapery. + +"That is Miss Wallace, Miss Mildred Wallace, only child of one of New +York's prominent bankers." + +"She is beautiful--a queen by divine right," cried he, and then with a +mingling of impetuosity and importunity, entreated his hostess to +present him. + +And thus they met. + +Mrs. Llewellyn's entertainments were celebrated, and justly so. At her +receptions one always heard the best singers and players of the +season, and Epicurus' soul could rest in peace, for her chef had an +international reputation. Oh, remember, you music-fed ascetic, many, +aye, very many, regard the transition from Tschaikowsky to terrapin, +from Beethoven to burgundy with hearts aflame with anticipatory +joy--and Mrs. Llewellyn's dining-room was crowded. + +Miss Wallace and Diotti had wandered into the conservatory. + +"A desire for happiness is our common heritage," he was saying in his +richly melodious voice. + +"But to define what constitutes happiness is very difficult," she +replied. + +"Not necessarily," he went on; "if the motive is clearly within our +grasp, the attainment is possible." + +"For example?" she asked. + +"The miser is happy when he hoards his gold; the philanthropist when +he distributes his. The attainment is identical, but the motives are +antipodal." + +"Then one possessing sufficient motives could be happy without end?" +she suggested doubtingly. + +"That is my theory. The Niobe of old had happiness within her power." + +"The gods thought not," said she; "in their very pity they changed her +into stone, and with streaming eyes she ever tells the story of her +sorrow." + +"But are her children weeping?" he asked. "I think not. Happiness can +bloom from the seeds of deepest woe," and in a tone almost +reverential, he continued: "I remember a picture in one of our Italian +galleries that always impressed me as the ideal image of maternal +happiness. It is a painting of the Christ-mother standing by the body +of the Crucified. Beauty was still hers, and the dress of grayish hue, +nun-like in its simplicity, seemed more than royal robe. Her face, +illumined as with a light from heaven, seemed inspired with this +thought: 'They have killed Him--they have killed my son! Oh, God, I +thank Thee that His suffering is at an end!' And as I gazed at the +holy face, another light seemed to change it by degrees from saddened +motherhood to triumphant woman! Then came: 'He is not dead, He but +sleeps; He will rise again, for He is the best beloved of the +Father!'" + +"Still, fate can rob us of our patrimony," she replied, after a pause. + +"Not while life is here and eternity beyond," he said, reassuringly. + +"What if a soul lies dormant and will not arouse?" she asked. + +"There are souls that have no motive low enough for earth, but only +high enough for heaven," he said, with evident intention, looking +almost directly at her. + +"Then one must come who speaks in nature's tongue," she continued. + +"And the soul will then awake," he added earnestly. + +"But is there such a one?" she asked. + +"Perhaps," he almost whispered, his thought father to the wish. + +"I am afraid not," she sighed. "I studied drawing, worked diligently +and, I hope, intelligently, and yet I was quickly convinced that a +counterfeit presentment of nature was puny and insignificant. I +painted Niagara. My friends praised my effort. I saw Niagara again--I +destroyed the picture." + +"But you must be prepared to accept the limitations of man and his +work," said the philosophical violinist. + +"Annihilation of one's own identity in the moment is possible in +nature's domain--never in man's. The resistless, never-ending rush of +the waters, madly churning, pitilessly dashing against the rocks +below; the mighty roar of the loosened giant; that was Niagara. My +picture seemed but a smear of paint." + +[Illustration] + +"Still, man has won the admiration of man by his achievements," he +said. + +"Alas, for me," she sighed, "I have not felt it." + +"Surely you have been stirred by the wonders man has accomplished in +music's realm?" Diotti ventured. + +"I never have been." She spoke sadly and reflectively. + +"But does not the passion-laden theme of a master, or the marvelous +feeling of a player awaken your emotions?" persisted he. + +She stood leaning lightly against a pillar by the fountain. "I never +hear a pianist, however great and famous, but I see the little +cream-colored hammers within the piano bobbing up and down like +acrobatic brownies. I never hear the plaudits of the crowd for the +artist and watch him return to bow his thanks, but I mentally demand +that these little acrobats, each resting on an individual pedestal, +and weary from his efforts, shall appear to receive a share of the +applause. + +"When I listen to a great singer," continued this world-defying +skeptic, "trilling like a thrush, scampering over the scales, I see a +clumsy lot of ah, ah, ahs, awkwardly, uncertainly ambling up the +gamut, saying, 'were it not for us she could not sing thus--give us +our meed of praise.'" + +Slowly he replied: "Masters have written in wondrous language and +masters have played with wondrous power." + +"And I so long to hear," she said, almost plaintively. "I marvel at +the invention of the composer and the skill of the player, but there I +cease." + +He looked at her intently. She was standing before him, not a block of +chiseled ice, but a beautiful, breathing woman. He offered her his arm +and together they made their way to the drawing-room. + +"Perhaps, some day, one will come who can sing a song of perfect love +in perfect tones, and your soul will be attuned to his melody." + +"Perhaps--and good-night," she softly said, leaving his arm and +joining her friends, who accompanied her to the carriage. + +[Illustration: ACADEMY _of_ MUSIC + DECEMBER 12TH--8:00 P. M. + + FIRST APPEARANCE IN AMERICA OF + THE RENOWNED TUSCAN + VIOLINIST + + ANGELO + DIOTTI + + ASSISTED BY + + ARTISTS OF INTERNATIONAL + REPUTATION + + DIRECTION OF MR. HENRY PERKINS + + SECOND CONCERT OF SIGNOR DIOTTI + DECEMBER 14TH] + + + + +II + + +The intangible something that places the stamp of popular approval on +one musical enterprise, while another equally artistic and as cleverly +managed languishes in a condition of unendorsed greatness, remains one +of the unsolved mysteries. + +When a worker in the vineyard of music or the drama offers his +choicest tokay to the public, that fickle coquette may turn to the +more ordinary and less succulent concord. And the worker and the +public itself know not why. + +It is true, Diotti's fame had preceded him, but fame has preceded +others and has not always been proof against financial disaster. All +this preliminary,--and it is but necessary to recall that on the +evening of December the twelfth Diotti made his initial bow in New +York, to an audience that completely filled every available space in +the Academy of Music--a representative audience, distinguished alike +for beauty, wealth and discernment. + +When the violinist appeared for his solo, he quietly acknowledged the +cordial reception of the audience, and immediately proceeded with the +business of the evening. At a slight nod from him the conductor rapped +attention, then launched the orchestra into the introduction of the +concerto, Diotti's favorite, selected for the first number. As the +violinist turned to the conductor he faced slightly to the left and in +a direct line with the second proscenium box. His poise was admirable. +He was handsome, with the olive-tinted warmth of his southern +home--fairly tall, straight-limbed and lithe--a picture of poetic +grace. His was the face of a man who trusted without reserve, the +manner of one who believed implicitly, feeling that good was universal +and evil accidental. + +As the music grew louder and the orchestra approached the peroration +of the preface of the coming solo, the violinist raised his head +slowly. Suddenly his eyes met the gaze of the solitary occupant of the +second proscenium box. His face flushed. He looked inquiringly, almost +appealingly, at her. She sat immovable and serene, a lace-framed +vision in white. + +It was she who, since he had met her, only the night before, held his +very soul in thraldom. + +He lifted his bow, tenderly placing it on the strings. Faintly came +the first measures of the theme. The melody, noble, limpid and +beautiful, floated in dreamy sway over the vast auditorium, and seemed +to cast a mystic glamour over the player. As the final note of the +first movement was dying away, the audience, awakening from its +delicious trance, broke forth into spontaneous bravos. + +Mildred Wallace, scrutinizing the program, merely drew her wrap closer +about her shoulders and sat more erect. At the end of the concerto the +applause was generous enough to satisfy the most exacting _virtuoso_. +Diotti unquestionably had scored the greatest triumph of his career. +But the lady in the box had remained silent and unaffected throughout. + +The poor fellow had seen only her during the time he played, and the +mighty cheers that came from floor and galleries struck upon his ear +like the echoes of mocking demons. Leaving the stage he hurried to his +dressing-room and sank into a chair. He had persuaded himself she +should not be insensible to his genius, but the dying ashes of his +hopes, his dreams, were smouldering, and in his despair came the +thought: "I am not great enough for her. I am but a man; her consort +should be a god. Her soul, untouched by human passion or human skill, +demands the power of god-like genius to arouse it." + +Music lovers crowded into his dressing-room, enthusiastic in their +praises. Cards conveying delicate compliments written in delicate +chirography poured in upon him, but in vain he looked for some sign, +some word from her. + +Quickly he left the theater and sought his hotel. + +A menacing cloud obscured the wintry moon. A clock sounded the +midnight hour. + +He threw himself upon the bed and almost sobbed his thoughts, and +their burden was: + +"I am not great enough for her. I am but a man. I am but a man!" + + + + +III + + +Perkins called in the morning. Perkins was happy--Perkins was +positively joyous, and Perkins was self-satisfied. The violinist had +made a great hit. But Perkins, confiding in the white-coated dispenser +who concocted his _matin Martini_, very dry, an hour before, said he +regarded the success due as much to the management as to the artist. +And Perkins believed it. Perkins usually took all the credit for a +success, and with charming consistency placed all responsibility for +failure on the shoulders of the hapless artist. + +When Perkins entered Diotti's room he found the violinist heavy-eyed +and dejected. "My dear Signor," he began, showing a large envelope +bulging with newspaper clippings, "I have brought the notices. They +are quite the limit, I assure you. Nothing like them ever heard +before--all tuned in the same key, as you musical fellows would say," +and Perkins cocked his eye. + +Perkins enjoyed a glorious reputation with himself for bright sayings, +which he always accompanied with a cock of the eye. The musician not +showing any visible appreciation of the manager's metaphor, Perkins +immediately proceeded to uncock his eye. + +"Passed the box-office coming up," continued this voluble enlightener; +"nothing left but a few seats in the top gallery. We'll stand them on +their heads to-morrow night--see if we don't." Then he handed the +bursting envelope of notices to Diotti, who listlessly put them on the +table at his side. + +"Too tired to read, eh?" said Perkins, and then with the advance-agent +instinct strong within him he selected a clipping, and touching the +violinist on the shoulder: "Let me read this one to you. It is by Herr +Totenkellar. He is a hard nut to crack, but he did himself proud this +time. Great critic when he wants to be." + +Perkins cleared his throat and began: "Diotti combines tremendous +feeling with equally tremendous technique. The entire audience was +under the witchery of his art." Diotti slowly negatived that statement +with bowed head. "His tone is full, round and clear; his +interpretation lends a story-telling charm to the music; for, while we +drank deep at the fountain of exquisite melody, we saw sparkling +within the waters the lights of Paradise. New York never has heard his +equal. He stands alone, pre-eminent, an artistic giant." + +"Now, that's what I call great," said the impresario, dramatically; +"when you hit Totenkellar that way you are good for all kinds of +money." + +Perkins took his hat and cane and moved toward the door. The violinist +arose and extended his hand wearily. "Good-day" came simultaneously; +then "I'm off. We'll turn 'em away to-morrow; see if we don't!" +Whereupon Perkins left Diotti alone in his misery. + + + + +IV + + +It was the evening of the fourteenth. In front of the Academy a +strong-lunged and insistent tribe of gentry, known as ticket +speculators, were reaping a rich harvest. They represented a beacon +light of hope to many tardy patrons of the evening's entertainment, +especially to the man who had forgotten his wife's injunction "to be +sure to buy the tickets on the way down town, dear, and get them in +the family circle, not too far back." This man's intentions were +sincere, but his newspaper was unusually interesting that morning. He +was deeply engrossed in an article on the causes leading to +matrimonial infelicities when his 'bus passed the Academy box-office. + +He was six blocks farther down town when he finished the article, only +to find that it was a carefully worded advertisement for a new patent +medicine, and of course he had not time to return. "Oh, well," said +he, "I'll get them when I go up town to-night." + +But he did not. So with fear in his heart and a red-faced woman on his +arm he approached the box-office. "Not a seat left," sounded to his +hen-pecked ears like the concluding words of the black-robed judge: +"and may the Lord have mercy upon your soul." But a reprieve came, for +one of the aforesaid beacon lights of hope rushed forward, saying: "I +have two good seats, not far back, and only ten apiece." And the +gentleman with fear in his heart and the red-faced woman on his arm +passed in. + +They saw the largest crowd in the history of the Academy. Every seat +was occupied, every foot of standing room taken. Chairs were placed in +the side aisles. The programs announced that it was the second +appearance in America of Angelo Diotti, the renowned Tuscan violinist. + +The orchestra had perfunctorily ground out the overture to "Der +Freischuetz," the baritone had stentorianly emitted "Dio Possente," +the soprano was working her way through the closing measures of the +mad scene from "Lucia," and Diotti was number four on the program. The +conductor stood beside his platform, ready to ascend as Diotti +appeared. + +The audience, ever ready to act when those on the stage cease that +occupation, gave a splendid imitation of the historic last scene at +the Tower of Babel. Having accomplished this to its evident +satisfaction, the audience proceeded, like the closing phrase of the +"Goetterdaemmerung" Dead March, to become exceedingly quiet--then +expectant. + +This expectancy lasted fully three minutes. Then there were some +impatient handclappings. A few persons whispered: "Why is he late?" +"Why doesn't he come?" "I wonder where Diotti is," and then came +unmistakable signs of impatience. At its height Perkins appeared, +hesitatingly. Nervous and jerky he walked to the center of the stage, +and raised his hand begging silence. The audience was stilled. + +"Ladies and gentlemen," he falteringly said, "Signor Diotti left his +hotel at seven o'clock and was driven to the Academy. The call-boy +rapped at his dressing-room, and not receiving a reply, opened the +door to find the room empty. We have despatched searchers in every +direction and have sent out a police alarm. We fear some accident has +befallen the Signor. We ask your indulgence for the keen +disappointment, and beg to say that your money will be refunded at the +box-office." + +Diotti had disappeared as completely as though the earth had swallowed +him. + + + + +V + + +My dearest sister: You doubtless were exceedingly mystified and +troubled over the report that was flashed to Europe regarding my +sudden disappearance on the eve of my second concert in New York. + +Fearing, sweet Francesca, that you might mourn me as dead, I sent the +cablegram you received some weeks since, telling you to be of good +heart and await my letter. To make my action thoroughly understood I +must give you a record of what happened to me from the first day I +arrived in America. I found a great interest manifested in my +premiere, and socially everything was done to make me happy. + +Mrs. James Llewellyn, whom, you no doubt remember, we met in Florence +the winter of 18--, immediately after I reached New York arranged a +reception for me, which was elegant in the extreme. But from that +night dates my misery. + +You ask her name?--Mildred Wallace. Tell me what she is like, I hear +you say. Of graceful height, willowy and exquisitely molded, not over +twenty-four, with the face of a Madonna; wondrous eyes of darkest +blue, hair indescribable in its maze of tawny color--in a word, the +perfection of womanhood. In half an hour I was her abject slave, and +proud in my serfdom. When I returned to the hotel that evening I could +not sleep. Her image ever was before me, elusive and shadowy. And yet +we seemed to grow farther and farther apart--she nearer heaven, I +nearer earth. + +The next evening I gave my first and what I fear may prove my last +concert in America. The vision of my dreams was there, radiant in +rarest beauty. Singularly enough, she was in the direct line of my +vision while I played. I saw only her, played but for her, and cast my +soul at her feet. She sat indifferent and silent. "Cold?" you say. No! +No! Francesca, not cold; superior to my poor efforts. I realized my +limitations. I questioned my genius. When I returned to bow my +acknowledgments for the most generous applause I have ever received, +there was no sign on her part that I had interested her, either +through my talent or by appeal to her curiosity. I hoped against hope +that some word might come from her, but I was doomed to +disappointment. The critics were fulsome in their praise and the +public was lavish with its plaudits, but I was abjectly miserable. +Another sleepless night and I was determined to see her. She received +me most graciously, although I fear she thought my visit one of +vanity--wounded vanity--and me petulant because of her lack of +appreciation. + +Oh, sister mine, I knew better. I knew my heart craved one word, +however matter-of-fact, that would rekindle the hope that was dying +within me. + +Hesitatingly, and like a clumsy yokel, I blurted: "I have been +wondering whether you cared for the performance I gave?" + +"It certainly ought to make little difference to you," she replied; +"the public was enthusiastic enough in its endorsement." + +"But I want your opinion," I pleaded. + +"My opinion would not at all affect the almost unanimous verdict," she +replied calmly. + +"And," I urged desperately, "you were not affected in the least?" + +Very coldly she answered, "Not in the least;" and then fearlessly, +like a princess in the Palace of Truth: "If ever a man comes who can +awaken my heart, frankly and honestly I will confess it." + +"Perhaps such a one lives," I said, "but has yet to reach the height +to win you--your--" + +"Speak it," she said, "to win my love!" + +"Yes," I cried, startled at her candor, "to win your love." Hope +slowly rekindled within my breast, and then with half-closed eyes, and +wooingly, she said: + +"No drooping Clytie could be more constant than I to him who strikes +the chord that is responsive in my soul." + +Her emotion must have surprised her, but immediately she regained her +placidity and reverted no more to the subject. + +I went out into the gathering gloom. Her words haunted me. A strange +feeling came over me. A voice within me cried: "Do not play to-night. +Study! study! Perhaps in the full fruition of your genius your music, +like the warm western wind to the harp, may bring life to her soul." + +I fled, and I am here. I am delving deeper and deeper into the +mysteries of my art, and I pray God each hour that He may place within +my grasp the wondrous music His blessed angels sing, for the soul of +her I love is attuned to the harmonies of heaven. + + Your affectionate brother, + ANGELO. + ISLAND OF BAHAMA, January 2. + + + + +VI + + +When Diotti left New York so precipitately he took passage on a coast +line steamer sailing for the Bahama Islands. Once there, he leased a +small _cay_, one of a group off the main land, and lived alone and +unattended, save for the weekly visits of an old fisherman and his +son, who brought supplies of provisions from the town miles away. His +dwelling-place, surrounded with palmetto trees, was little more than a +rough shelter. Diotti arose at daylight, and after a simple repast, +betook himself to practise. Hour after hour he would let his muse run +riot with his fingers. Lovingly he wooed the strings with plaintive +song, then conquering and triumphant would be his theme. But neither +satisfied him. The vague dream of a melody more beautiful than ever +man had heard dwelt hauntingly on the borders of his imagination, but +was no nearer realization than when he began. As the day's work +closed, he wearily placed the violin within its case, murmuring, "Not +yet, not yet; I have not found it." + +Days passed, weeks crept slowly on; still he worked, but always with +the same result. One day, feverish and excited, he played on in +monotone almost listless. His tired, over-wrought brain denied a +further thought. His arm and fingers refused response to his will. +With an uncontrollable outburst of grief and anger he dashed the +violin to the floor, where it lay a hopeless wreck. Extending his arms +he cried, in the agony of despair: "It is of no use! If the God of +heaven will not aid me, I ask the prince of darkness to come." + +A tall, rather spare, but well-made and handsome man appeared at the +door of the hut. His manner was that of one evidently conversant with +the usages of good society. + +"I beg pardon," said the musician, surprised and visibly nettled at +the intrusion, and then with forced politeness he asked: "To whom am I +indebted for this unexpected visit?" + +"Allow me," said the stranger taking a card from his case and handing +it to the musician, who read: "Satan," and, in the lower left-hand +corner, "Prince of Darkness." + +"I am the Prince," said the stranger, bowing low. + +There was no hint of the pavement-made ruler in the information he +gave, but rather of the desire of one gentleman to set another right +at the beginning. The musician assumed a position of open-mouthed +wonder, gazing steadily at the visitor. + +"Satan?" he whispered hoarsely. + +"You need help and advice," said the visitor, his voice sounding like +that of a disciple of the healing art, and implying that he had +thoroughly diagnosed the case. + +"No, no," cried the shuddering violinist; "go away. I do not need +you." + +"I regret I can not accept that statement as gospel truth," said +Satan, sarcastically, "for if ever a man needed help, you are that +man." + +"But not from you," replied Diotti. + +"That statement is discredited also by your outburst of a few moments +ago when you called upon me." + +"I do not need you," reiterated the musician. "I will have none of +you!" and he waved his arm toward the door, as if he desired the +interview to end. + +"I came at your behest, actuated entirely by kindness of heart," said +Satan. + +Diotti laughed derisively, and Satan, showing just the slightest +feeling at Diotti's behavior, said reprovingly: "If you will listen a +moment, and not be so rude to an utter stranger, we may reach some +conclusion to your benefit." + +"Get thee behind--" + +"I know exactly what you were about to say. Have no fears on that +score. I have no demands to make and no impossible compacts to insist +upon." + +"I have heard of you before," knowingly spoke the violinist, nodding +his head sadly. + +"No doubt you have," smilingly. "My reputation, which has suffered at +the hands of irresponsible people, is not of the best, and places me +at times in awkward positions. But I am beginning to live it down." +The stranger looked contrition itself. "To prove my sincerity I desire +to help you win her love," emphasizing her. + +"How can you help me?" + +"Very easily. You have been wasting time, energy and health in a wild +desire to play better. The trouble lies not with you." + +"Not with me?" interrupted the violinist, now thoroughly interested. + +"The trouble lies not with you," repeated the visitor, "but with the +miserable violin you have been using and have just destroyed," and he +pointed to the shattered instrument. + +Tears welled from the poor violinist's eyes as he gazed on the +fragments of his beloved violin, the pieces lying scattered about as +the result of his unfortunate anger. + +"It was a Stradivarius," said Diotti, sadly. + +"Had it been a Stradivarius, an Amati or a Guarnerius, or a host of +others rolled into one, you would not have found in it the melody to +win the heart of the woman you love. Get a better and more suitable +instrument." + +"Where is one?" earnestly interrogated Diotti, vaguely realizing that +Satan knew. + +"In my possession," Satan replied. + +"She would hate me if she knew I had recourse to the powers of +darkness to gain her love," bitterly interposed Diotti. + +Satan, wincing at this uncomplimentary allusion to himself, replied +rather warmly: "My dear sir, were it not for the fact that I feel in +particularly good spirits this morning, I should resent your ill-timed +remarks and leave you to end your miserable existence with rope or +pistol," and Satan pantomimed both suicidal contingencies. + +"Do you want the violin or not?" + +"I might look at it," said Diotti, resolving mentally that he could go +so far without harm. + +"Very well," said Satan. He gave a long whistle. + +An old man, bearing a violin case, came within the room. He bowed to +the wondering Diotti, and proceeded to open the case. Taking the +instrument out the old man fondled it with loving and tender +solicitude, pointing out its many beauties--the exquisite blending of +the curves, the evenness of the grain, the peculiar coloring, the +lovely contour of the neck, the graceful outlines of the body, the +scroll, rivaling the creations of the ancient sculptors, the solidity +of the bridge and its elegantly carved heart, and, waxing exceedingly +enthusiastic, holding up the instrument and looking at it as one does +at a cluster of gems, he added, "the adjustment of the strings." + +"That will do," interrupted Satan, taking the violin from the little +man, who bowed low and ceremoniously took his departure. Then the +devil, pointing to the instrument, asked: "Isn't it a beauty?" + +The musician, eying it keenly, replied: "Yes, it is, but not the kind +of violin I play on." + +[Illustration] + +"Oh, I see," carelessly observed the other, "you refer to that extra +string." + +"Yes," answered the puzzled violinist, examining it closely. + +"Allow me to explain the peculiar characteristics of this magnificent +instrument," said his satanic majesty. "This string," pointing to the +G, "is the string of pity; this one," referring to the third, "is the +string of hope; this," plunking the A, "is attuned to love, while this +one, the E string, gives forth sounds of joy. + +"You will observe," went on the visitor, noting the intense interest +displayed by the violinist, "that the position of the strings is the +same as on any other violin, and therefore will require no additional +study on your part." + +"But that extra string?" interrupted Diotti, designating the middle +one on the violin, a vague foreboding rising within him. + +"That," said Mephistopheles, solemnly, and with no pretense of +sophistry, "is the string of death, and he who plays upon it dies at +once." + +"The--string--of--death!" repeated the violinist almost inaudibly. + +"Yes, the string of death," Satan repeated, "and he who plays upon it +dies at once. But," he added cheerfully, "that need not worry you. I +noticed a marvelous facility in your arm work. Your staccato and +spiccato are wonderful. Every form of bowing appears child's play to +you. It will be easy for you to avoid touching the string." + +"Why avoid it? Can it not be cut off?" + +"Ah, that's the rub. If you examine the violin closely you will find +that the string of death is made up of the extra lengths of the other +four strings. To cut it off would destroy the others, and then pity, +hope, love and joy would cease to exist in the soul of the violin." + +"How like life itself," Diotti reflected, "pity, hope, love, joy end +in death, and through death they are born again." + +"That's the idea, precisely," said Satan, evidently relieved by +Diotti's logic and quick perception. + +The violinist examined the instrument with the practised eye of an +expert, and turning to Satan said: "The four strings are beautifully +white and transparent, but this one is black and odd looking. + +"What is it wrapped with?" eagerly inquired Diotti, examining the +death string with microscopic care. + +"The fifth string was added after an unfortunate episode in the Garden +of Eden, in which I was somewhat concerned," said Satan, soberly. "It +is wrapped with strands of hair from the first mother of man." +Impressively then he offered the violin to Diotti. + +"I dare not take it," said the perplexed musician; "it's from--" + +"Yes, it is directly from there, but I brought it from heaven when +I--I left," said the fallen angel, with remorse in his voice. "It was +my constant companion there. But no one in my domain--not I, +myself--can play upon it now, for it will respond neither to our +longing for pity, hope, love, joy, nor even death," and sadly and +retrospectively Satan gazed into vacancy; then, after a long pause: +"Try the instrument!" + +Diotti placed the violin in position and drew the bow across the +string of joy, improvising on it. Almost instantly the birds of the +forest darted hither and thither, caroling forth in gladsome strains. +The devil alone was sad, and with emotion said: + +"It is many, many years since I have heard that string." + +Next the artist changed to the string of pity, and thoughts of the +world's sorrows came over him like a pall. + +"Wonderful, most wonderful!" said the mystified violinist; "with this +instrument I can conquer the world!" + +"Aye, more to you than the world," said the tempter, "a woman's love." + +A woman's love--to the despairing suitor there was one and only one in +this wide, wide world, and her words, burning their way into his +heart, had made this temptation possible: "No drooping Clytie could be +more constant than I to him who strikes the chord that is responsive +in my soul." + +Holding the violin aloft, he cried exultingly: "Henceforth thou art +mine, though death and oblivion lurk ever near thee!" + + + + +VII + + +Perkins, seated in his office, threw the morning, paper aside. "It's +no use," he said, turning to the office boy, "I don't believe they +ever will find him, dead or alive. Whoever put up the job on Diotti +was a past grand master at that sort of thing. The silent assassin +that lurks in the shadow of the midnight moon is an explosion of +dynamite compared to the party that made way with Diotti. You ask, why +should they kill him? My boy, you don't know the world. They were +jealous of his enormous hit, of our dazzling success. Jealousy did +it." + +The "they" of Perkins comprised rival managers, rival artists, +newspaper critics and everybody at large who would not concede that +the attractions managed by Perkins were the "greatest on earth." + +"We'll never see his like again--come in!" this last in answer to a +knock. + +Diotti appeared at the open door. Perkins jumped like one shot from a +catapult, and rushing toward the silent figure in the doorway +exclaimed: "Bless my soul, are you a ghost?" + +"A substantial one," said Diotti with a smile. + +"Are you really here?" continued the astonished impresario, using +Diotti's arm as a pump handle and pinching him at the same time. + +When they were seated Perkins plied Diotti with all manner of +questions: "How did it happen?" "How did you escape?" and the like, +all of which Diotti parried with monosyllabic replies, finally saying: +"I was dissatisfied with my playing and went away to study." + +"Do you know that the failure to fulfill your contract has cost me at +least ten thousand dollars?" said the shrewd manager, the commercial +side of his nature asserting itself. + +"All of which I will pay," quietly replied the artist. "Besides I am +ready to play now, and you can announce a concert within a week if you +like." + +"If I like?" cried the hustling Perkins. "Here, James," calling his +office boy, "run down to the printer's and give him this," making a +note of the various sizes of "paper" he desired, "and tell Mr. +Tompkins that Diotti is back and will give a concert next Tuesday. +Tell Smith to prepare the newspaper 'ads' and notices immediately." + +In an hour Perkins had the entire machinery of his office in motion. +Within twenty-four hours New York had several versions of the +disappearance and return, all leading to one common point--that Diotti +would give a concert the coming Tuesday evening. + +The announcement of the reappearance of the Tuscan contained a line to +the effect that the violinist would play for the first time his new +suite--a meditation on the emotions. + +He had not seen Mildred. + +As he came upon the stage that night the lights were turned low, and +naught but the shadowy outlines of player and violin were seen. His +reception by the audience was not enthusiastic. They evidently +remembered the disappointment caused by his unexpected disappearance, +but this unfriendly attitude soon gave way to evidences of kindlier +feelings. + +Mildred was there, more beautiful than ever, and to gain her love +Diotti would have bartered his soul that moment. + +The first movement of the suite was entitled "Pity," and the music +flowed like melodious tears. A subdued sob rose and fell with the +sadness of the theme. + +Mildred's eyes were moistened as she fixed them on the lone figure of +the player. + +Now the theme of pity changed to hope, and hearts grew brighter under +the spell. The next movement depicted joy. As the _virtuoso's_ fingers +darted here and there, his music seemed the very laughter of fairy +voices, the earth looked roses and sunshine, and Mildred, relaxing her +position and leaning forward in the box, with lips slightly parted, +was the picture of eager happiness. + +The final movement came. Its subject was love. The introduction +depicted the Arcadian beauty of the trysting place, love-lit eyes +sought each other intuitively and a great peace brooded over the +hearts of all. Then followed the song of the Passionate Pilgrim: + + "_If music and sweet poetry agree, + As they must needs, the sister and the brother, + Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me + Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other._ + + * * * * * + + _Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound + That Phoebus' lute (the queen of music) makes; + And I in deep delight, am chiefly drown'd + When as himself to singing he betakes. + One god is god of both, as poets feign, + One knight loves both, and both in thee remain._" + +[Illustration: He took her hand reverently] + +Grander and grander the melody rose, voicing love's triumph with +wondrous sweetness and palpitating rhythm. Mildred, her face flushed +with excitement, a heavenly fire in her eyes and in an attitude of +supplication, reveled in the glory of a new found emotion. + +As the violinist concluded his performance an oppressive silence +pervaded the house, then the audience, wild with excitement, burst +into thunders of applause. In his dressing-room Diotti was besieged by +hosts of people, congratulating him in extravagant terms. + +Mildred Wallace came, extending her hands. He took them almost +reverently. She looked into his eyes, and he knew he had struck the +chord responsive in her soul. + + + + +VIII + + +The sun was high in the heavens when the violinist awoke. A great +weight had been lifted from his heart; he had passed from darkness +into dawn. + +A messenger brought him this note: + + _My Dear Signor Diotti--I am at home this afternoon, and shall + be delighted to see you and return my thanks for the exquisite + pleasure you gave me last evening. Music, such as yours, is + indeed the voice of heaven._ + + _Sincerely, + Mildred Wallace._ + +The messenger returned with this reply: + + _My Dear Miss Wallace--I will call at three to-day._ + + _Gratefully, + Angelo Diotti._ + +He watched the hour drag from eleven to twelve, then counted the +minutes to one, and from that time until he left the hotel each second +was tabulated in his mind. Arriving at her residence, he was ushered +into the drawing-room. It was fragrant with the perfume of violets, +and he stood gazing at her portrait expectant of her coming. + +Dressed in simple white, entrancing in her youthful freshness, she +entered, her face glowing with happiness, her eyes languorous and +expressive. She hastened to him, offering both hands. He held them in +a loving, tender grasp, and for a moment neither spoke. Then she, +gazing clearly and fearlessly into his eyes, said: "My heart has found +its melody!" + +He, kneeling like Sir Gareth of old: "The song and the singer are +yours forever." + +She, bidding him arise: "And I forever yours." And wondering at her +boldness, she added, "I know and feel that you love me--your eyes +confirmed your love before you spoke." Then, convincingly and +ingenuously, "I knew you loved me the moment we first met. Then I did +not understand what that meant to you, now I do." + +He drew her gently to him, and the motive of their happiness was +defined in sweet confessions: "My love, my life--My life, my love." + +The magic of his music had changed her very being, the breath of love +was in her soul, the vision of love was dancing in her eyes. The child +of marble, like the statue of old, had come to life: + + "_And not long since + I was a cold, dull stone! I recollect + That by some means I knew that I was stone; + That was the first dull gleam of consciousness; + I became conscious of a chilly self, + A cold, immovable identity. + I knew that I was stone, and knew no more! + Then, by an imperceptible advance, + Came the dim evidence of outer things, + Seen--darkly and imperfectly--yet seen + The walls surrounding me, and I, alone. + That pedestal--that curtain--then a voice + That called on Galatea! At that word, + Which seemed to shake my marble to the core, + That which was dim before, came evident. + Sounds, that had hummed around me, indistinct, + Vague, meaningless--seemed to resolve themselves + Into a language I could understand; + I felt my frame pervaded by a glow + That seemed to thaw my marble into flesh; + Its cold, hard substance throbbed with active life, + My limbs grew supple, and I moved--I lived! + Lived in the ecstasy of a new-born life! + Lived in the love of him that fashioned me! + Lived in a thousand tangled thoughts of hope._" + +Day after day he came; they told their love, their hopes, their +ambitions. She assumed absolute proprietorship in him. She gloried in +her possession. + +He was born into the world, nurtured in infancy, trained in childhood +and matured into manhood, for one express purpose--to be hers alone. +Her ownership ranged from absolute despotism to humble slavery, and he +was happy through it all. + +One day she said: "Angelo, is it your purpose to follow your +profession always?" + +"Necessarily, it is my livelihood," he replied. + +"But do you not think that after we stand at the altar, we never +should be separated?" + +"We will be together always," said he, holding her face between his +palms, and looking with tender expression into her inquiring eyes. + +"But I notice that women cluster around you after your concerts--and +shake your hand longer than they should--and talk to you longer than +they should--and go away looking self-satisfied!" she replied +brokenly, much as a little girl tells of the theft of her doll. + +"Nonsense," he said, smiling, "that is all part of my profession; it +is not me they care for, it is the music I give that makes them happy. +If, in my playing, I achieve results out of the common, they admire +me!" and he kissed away the unwelcome tears. + +"I know," she continued, "but lately, since we have loved each other, +I can not bear to see a woman near you. In my dreams again and again +an indefinable shadow mockingly comes and cries to me, 'he is not to +be yours, he is to be mine.'" + +Diotti flushed and drew her to him. "Darling," his voice carrying +conviction, "I am yours, you are mine, all in all, in life here and +beyond!" And as she sat dreaming after he had gone, she murmured +petulantly, "I wish there were no other women in the world." + +Her father was expected from Europe on the succeeding day's steamer. +Mr. Wallace was a busy man. The various gigantic enterprises he served +as president or director occupied most of his time. He had been absent +in Europe for several months, and Mildred was anxiously awaiting his +return to tell him of her love. + +When Mr. Wallace came to his residence the next morning, his daughter +met him with a fond display of filial affection; they walked into the +drawing-room, hand in hand; he saw a picture of the violinist on the +piano. "Who's the handsome young fellow?" he asked, looking at the +portrait with the satisfaction a man feels when he sees a splendid +type of his own sex. + +"That is Angelo Diotti, the famous violinist," she said, but she could +not add another word. + +As they strolled through the rooms he noticed no less than three +likenesses of the Tuscan. And as they passed her room he saw still +another on the _chiffonnier_. + +"Seems to me the house is running wild with photographs of that +fiddler," he said. + +For the first time in her life she was self-conscious: "I will wait +for a more opportune time to tell him," she thought. + +In the scheme of Diotti's appearance in New York there were to be two +more concerts. One was to be given that evening. Mildred coaxed her +father to accompany her to hear the violinist. Mr. Wallace was not +fond of music; "it had been knocked out of him on the farm up in +Vermont, when he was a boy," he would apologetically explain, and +besides he had the old puritanical abhorrence of stage people--putting +them all in one class--as puppets who danced or played or talked for +an idle and unthinking public. + +So it was with the thought of a wasted evening that he accompanied +Mildred to the concert. + +The entertainment was a repetition of the others Diotti had given, and +at its end, Mildred said to her father: "Come, I want to congratulate +Signor Diotti in person." + +"That is entirely unnecessary," he replied. + +"It is my desire," and the girl led the unwilling parent back of the +scenes and into Diotti's dressing-room. + +Mildred introduced Diotti to her father, who after a few commonplaces +lapsed into silence. The daughter's enthusiastic interest in Diotti's +performance and her tender solicitude for his weariness after the +efforts of the evening, quickly attracted the attention of Mr. Wallace +and irritated him exceedingly. + +When father and daughter were seated in their carriage and were +hurriedly driving home, he said: "Mildred, I prefer that you have as +little to say to that man as possible." + +"What do you object to in him?" she asked. + +"Everything. Of what use is a man who dawdles away his time on a +fiddle; of what benefit is he to mankind? Do fiddlers build cities? Do +they delve into the earth for precious metals? Do they sow the seed +and harvest the grain? No, no; they are drones--the barnacles of +society." + +"Father, how can you advance such an argument? Music's votaries offer +no apologies for their art. The husbandman places the grain within the +breast of Mother Earth for man's material welfare; God places music in +the heart of man for his spiritual development. In man's spring time, +his bridal day, music means joy. In man's winter time, his burial day, +music means comfort. The heaven-born muse has added to the happiness +of the world. Diotti is a great genius. His art brings rest and +tranquillity to the wearied and despairing," and she did not speak +again until they had reached the house. + +The lights were turned low when father and daughter went into the +drawing-room. Mr. Wallace felt that he had failed to convince Mildred +of the utter worthlessness of fiddlers, big or little, and as one +dissatisfied with the outcome of a contest, re-entered the lists. + +"He has visited you?" + +"Yes, father." + +"Often?" + +"Yes, father," spoken calmly. + +"Often?" louder and more imperiously repeated the father, as if there +must be some mistake. + +"Quite often," and she sat down, knowing the catechizing would be +likely to continue for some minutes. + +"How many times, do you think?" + +She rose, walked into the hallway; took the card basket from the +table, returned and seated herself beside her father, emptying its +contents into her lap. She picked up a card. It read "Angelo Diotti," +and she called the name aloud. She took up another and again her lips +voiced the beloved name. "Angelo Diotti," she continued, repeating at +intervals for a minute. Then looking at her father: "He has called +thirty-two times: there are thirty-one cards here and on one occasion +he forgot his card-case." + +"Thirty-two!" said the father, rising angrily and pacing the floor. + +"Yes, thirty-two. I remember all of them distinctly." + +Her father came over to her, half coaxingly, half seriously. "Mildred, +I wish his visits to cease; people will imagine there is a romantic +attachment between you." + +"There is, father," out it came, "he loves me and I love him." + +[Illustration: Father I will obey you implicitly] + +"What!" shouted Mr. Wallace, and then severely, "this must cease +immediately." + +She rose quietly and led her father over to the mantel. Placing a hand +on each of his shoulders she said: + +"Father, I will obey you implicitly if you can name a reasonable +objection to the man I love. But you can not. I love him with my whole +soul. I love him for the nobility of his character, and because there +is none other in the world for him, nor for me." + + + + +IX + + +Old Sanders as boy and man had been in the employ of the banking and +brokerage firm of Wallace Brothers for two generations. The firm +gradually had advanced his position until now he was confidential +adviser and general manager, besides having an interest in the profits +of the business. + +He enjoyed the friendship of Mr. Wallace, and had been a constant +visitor at his house from the first days of that gentleman's married +life. He himself was alone in the world, a confirmed bachelor. He had +seen Mildred creep from babyhood into childhood, and bud from girlhood +to womanhood. To Mildred he was one of that numerous army of brevet +relations known as "gran-pop," "pop," or "uncle." To her he was Uncle +Sanders. + +If the old man had one touch of human nature in him it was a +solicitude for Mildred's future--an authority arrogated to himself--to +see that she married the right man; but even that was directed to her +material gain in this world's goods, and not to any sentimental +consideration for her happiness. He flattered himself that by timely +suggestion he had "stumped" at least half a dozen would-be candidates +for Mildred's hand. He pooh-poohed love as a necessity for marital +felicity, and would enforce his argument by quoting from the bard: + +"All lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reserve +an ability that they never perform; vowing more than the perfection of +ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one." + +"You can get at a man's income," he would say, "but not at his heart. +Love without money won't travel as far as money without love," and +many married people whose bills were overdue wondered if the old +fellow was not right. + +He was cold-blooded and generally disliked by the men under him. The +more evil-minded gossips in the bank said he was in league with "Old +Nick." That, of course, was absurd, for it does not necessarily +follow, because a man suggests a means looking to an end, disreputable +though it be, that he has Mephistopheles for a silent partner. The +conservative element among the employees would not openly venture so +far, but rather thought if his satanic majesty and old Sanders ran a +race, the former would come in a bad second, if he were not distanced +altogether. + +The old man always reached the office at nine. Mr. Wallace usually +arrived a half hour later, seldom earlier, which was so well +understood by Sanders that he was greatly surprised when he walked +into the president's office, the morning after that gentleman had +attended Diotti's concert, to find the head of the firm already there +and apparently waiting for him. + +"Sanders," said the banker, "I want your advice on a matter of great +importance and concern to me." + +Sanders came across the room and stood beside the desk. + +"Briefly as possible, I am much exercised about my daughter." + +The old man moved up a chair and buried himself in it. Pressing his +elbows tightly against his sides, he drew his neck in, and with the +tips of his right hand fingers consorted and coquetted with their like +on the opposite hand; then he simply asked, "Who is the man?" + +"He is the violinist who has created such a sensation here, Angelo +Diotti." + +"Yes, I've seen the name in print," returned the old man. + +"He has bewitched Mildred. I never have seen her show the least +interest in a man before. She never has appeared to me as an +impressionable girl or one that could easily be won." + +"That is very true," ejaculated Sanders; "she always seemed tractable +and open to reason in all questions of love and courting. I can recall +several instances where I have set her right by my estimation of men, +and invariably she has accepted my views." + +"And mine until now," said the father, and then he recounted his +experience of the night before. "I had hoped she would not fall in +love, but be a prop and comfort to me now that I am alone. I am +dismayed at the prospect before me." + +Then the old man mused: "In the chrysalis state of girlhood, a parent +arranges all the details of his daughter's future; when and whom she +shall marry. 'I shall not allow her to fall in love until she is +twenty-three,' says the fond parent. 'I shall not allow her to marry +until she is twenty-six,' says the fond parent. 'The man she marries +will be the one I approve of, and then she will live happy ever +after,' concludes the fond parent." + +Deluded parent! false prophet! The anarchist, Love, steps in and +disdains all laws, rules and regulations. When finally the father +confronts the defying daughter, she calmly says, "Well, what are you +going to do about it?" And then tears, forgiveness, complete +capitulation, and, sometimes, she and her husband live happily ever +afterwards. + +"We must find some means to end this attachment. A union between a +musician and my daughter would be most mortifying to me. Some plan +must be devised to separate them, but she must not know of it, for she +is impatient of restraint and will not brook opposition." + +"Are you confident she really loves this violinist?" + +"She confessed as much to me," said the perturbed banker. + +Old Sanders tapped with both hands on his shining cranium and asked, +"Are you confident he loves her?" + +"No. Even if he does not, he no doubt makes the pretense, and she +believes him. A man who fiddles for money is not likely to ignore an +opportunity to angle for the same commodity," and the banker, with a +look of scorn on his face, threw himself back into the chair. + +"Does she know that you do not approve of this man?" + +"I told her that I desired the musician's visits to cease." + +"And her answer?" + +"She said she would obey me if I could name one reasonable objection +to the man, and then, with an air of absolute confidence in the +impossibility of such a contingency, added, 'But you can not.'" + +"Yes, but you must," said Sanders. "Mildred is strangely constituted. +If she loves this man, her love can be more deadly to the choice of +her heart than her hate to one she abhors. The impatience of restraint +you speak of and her very inability to brook opposition can be turned +to good account now." And old Sanders again tapped in the rhythm of a +dirge on his parchment-bound cranium. + +"Your plan?" eagerly asked the father, whose confidence in his +secretary was absolute. + +"I would like to study them together. Your position will be stronger +with Mildred if you show no open opposition to the man or his +aspirations; bring us together at your house some evening, and if I +can not enter a wedge of discontent, then they are not as others." + + * * * * * + +Mildred was delighted when her father told her on his return in the +evening that he was anxious to meet Signor Diotti, and suggested a +dinner party within a few days. He said he would invite Mr. Sanders, +as that gentleman, no doubt, would consider it a great privilege to +meet the famous musician. Mildred immediately sent an invitation to +Diotti, adding a request that he bring his violin and play for Uncle +Sanders, as the latter had found it impossible to attend his concerts +during the season, yet was fond of music, especially violin music. + + + + +X + + +The little dinner party passed off pleasantly, and as old Sanders +lighted his cigar he confided to Diotti, with a braggart's assurance, +that when he was a youngster he was the best fiddler for twenty miles +around. "I tell you there is nothing like a fiddler to catch a +petticoat," he said, with a sharp nudge of his elbow into Diotti's +ribs. "When I played the Devil's Dream there wasn't a girl in the +country could keep from dancing, and 'Rosalie, the Prairie Flower,' +brought them on their knees to me every time;" then after a pause, "I +don't believe people fiddle as well nowadays as they did in the good +old times," and he actually sighed in remembrance. + +Mildred smiled and whispered to Diotti. He took his violin from the +case and began playing. It seemed to her as if from above showers of +silvery merriment were falling to earth. The old man watched intently, +and as the player changed from joy to pity, from love back to +happiness, Sanders never withdrew his gaze. His bead-like eyes +followed the artist; he saw each individual finger rise and fall, and +the bow bound over the finger-board, always avoiding, never coming in +contact with the middle string. Suddenly the old man beat a tattoo on +his cranium and closed his eyes, apparently deep in thought. + +As Diotti ceased playing, Sanders applauded vociferously, and moving +toward the violinist, said: "Magnificent! I never have heard better +playing! What is the make of your violin?" + +Diotti, startled at this question, hurriedly put the instrument in its +case; "Oh, it is a famous make," he drawled. + +"Will you let me examine it?" said the elder, placing his hand on the +case. + +"I never allow any one to touch my violin," replied Diotti, closing +the cover quickly. + +"Why; is there a magic charm about it, that you fear other hands may +discover?" queried the old man. + +"I prefer that no one handle it," said the _virtuoso_ commandingly. + +"Very well," sighed the old man resignedly, "there are violins and +violins, and no doubt yours comes within that category," this half +sneeringly. + +"Uncle," interposed Mildred tactfully, "you must not be so persistent. +Signor Diotti prizes his violin highly and will not allow any one to +play upon it but himself," and the look of relief on Diotti's face +amply repaid her. + +Mr. Wallace came in at that moment, and with perfunctory interest in +his guest, invited him to examine the splendid collection of +revolutionary relics in his study. + +"I value them highly," said the banker, "both for patriotic and +ancestral reasons. The Wallaces fought and died for their country, and +helped to make this land what it is." + +The father and the violinist went to the study, leaving the daughter +and old Sanders in the drawing-room. The old man, seating himself in a +large armchair, said: "Mildred, my dear, I do not wonder at the +enormous success of this Diotti." + +"He is a wonderful artist," replied Mildred; "critics and public alike +place him among the greatest of his profession." + +"He is a good-looking young fellow, too," said the old man. + +"I think he is the handsomest man I ever have seen," replied the girl. + +"Where does he come from?" continued Sanders. + +"St. Casciano, a small town in Tuscany." + +"Has he a family?" + +"Only a sister, whom he loves dearly," good-naturedly answered the +girl. + +"And no one else?" continued the seemingly garrulous old man. + +"None that I have heard him speak of. No, certainly not," rather +impetuously replied Mildred. + +"How old is he?" continued the old man. + +"Twenty-eight next month; why do you wish to know?" she quizzically +asked. + +"Simply idle curiosity," old Sanders carelessly replied. "I wonder if +he is in love with any one in Tuscany?" + +"Of course not; how could he be?" quickly rejoined the girl. + +"And why not?" added old Sanders. + +"Why? Because, because--he is in love with some one in America." + +"Ah, with you, I see," said the old man, as if it were the greatest +discovery of his life; "are you sure he has not some beautiful +sweetheart in Tuscany as well as here?" + +"What a foolish question," she replied. "Men like Angelo Diotti do not +fall in love as soldiers fall in line. Love to a man of his nobility +is too serious to be treated so lightly." + +"Very true, and that's what has excited my curiosity!" whereupon the +old man smoked away in silence. + +"Excited your curiosity!" said Mildred. "What do you mean?" + +"It may be something; it may be nothing; but my speculative instinct +has been aroused by a strange peculiarity in his playing." + +"His playing is wonderful!" replied Mildred proudly. + +"Aye, more than wonderful! I watched him intently," said the old man; +"I noted with what marvelous facility he went from one string to the +other. But however rapid, however difficult the composition, he +steadily avoided one string; in fact, that string remained untouched +during the entire hour he played for us." + +"Perhaps the composition did not call for its use," suggested Mildred, +unconscious of any other meaning in the old man's observation, save +praise for her lover. + +"Perhaps so, but the oddity impressed me; it was a new string to me. I +have never seen one like it on a violin before." + +"That can scarcely be, for I do not remember of Signor Diotti telling +me there was anything unusual about his violin." + +"I am sure it has a fifth string." + +"And I am equally sure the string can be of no importance or Angelo +would have told me of it," Mildred quickly rejoined. + +"I recall a strange story of Paganini," continued the old man, +apparently not noticing her interruption; "he became infatuated with a +lady of high rank, who was insensible of the admiration he had for her +beauty. + +"He composed a love scene for two strings, the 'E' and 'G,' the first +was to personate the lady, the second himself. It commenced with a +species of dialogue, intending to represent her indifference and his +passion; now sportive, now sad; laughter on her part and tears from +him, ending in an apotheosis of loving reconciliation. It affected the +lady to that degree that ever after she loved the violinist." + +"And no doubt they were happy?" Mildred suggested smilingly. + +"Yes," said the old man, with assumed sentiment, "even when his +profession called him far away, for she had made him promise her he +never would play upon the two strings whose music had won her heart, +so those strings were mute, except for her." + +The old man puffed away in silence for a moment, then with logical +directness continued: "Perhaps the string that's mute upon Diotti's +violin is mute for some such reason." + +"Nonsense," said the girl, half impatiently. + +"The string is black and glossy as the tresses that fall in tangled +skeins on the shoulders of the dreamy beauties of Tuscany. It may be +an idle fancy, but if that string is not a woven strand from some +woman's crowning glory, then I have no discernment." + +"You are jesting, uncle," she replied, but her heart was heavy +already. + +"Ask him to play on that string; I'll wager he'll refuse," said the +old man, contemptuously. + +"He will not refuse when I ask him, but I will not to-night," answered +the unhappy girl, with forced determination. Then, taking the old +man's hands, she said: "Good-night, I am going to my room; please make +my excuses to Signor Diotti and father," and wearily she ascended the +stairs. + +Mr. Wallace and the violinist soon after joined old Sanders, fresh +cigars were lighted and regrets most earnestly expressed by the +violinist for Mildred's "sick headache." + +"No need to worry; she will be all right in the morning," said +Sanders, and he and the violinist buttoned their coats tightly about +them, for the night was bitter cold, and together they left the house. + +In her bed-chamber Mildred stood looking at the portrait of her lover. +She studied his face long and intently, then crossing the room she +mechanically took a volume from the shelf, and as she opened it her +eyes fell on these lines: "How art thou fallen from Heaven, O Lucifer, +son of the Morning!" + + * * * * * + +Old Sanders builded better than he knew. + + + + +XI + + +When Diotti and old Sanders left the house they walked rapidly down +Fifth Avenue. It was after eleven, and the streets were bare of +pedestrians, but blinking-eyed cabs came up the avenue, looking at a +distance like a trail of Megatheriums, gliding through the darkness. +The piercing wind made the men hasten their steps, the old man by a +semi-rotary motion keeping up with the longer strides and measured +tread of the younger. + +When they reached Fourteenth Street, the elder said, "I live but a +block from here," pointing eastward; "what do you say to a hot toddy? +It will warm the cockles of your heart; come over to my house and I'll +mix you the best drink in New York." + +The younger thought the suggestion a good one and they turned toward +the house of old Sanders. + +It was a neat, red brick, two-story house, well in from the street, +off the line of the more pretentious buildings on either side. As the +old man opened the iron gate, the police officer on the beat passed; +he peered into the faces of the men, and recognizing Sanders, said, +"tough night, sir." + +"Very," replied the addressed. + +"All good old gentlemen should be in bed at this hour," said the +officer, lifting one foot after the other in an effort to keep warm, +and in so doing showing little terpsichorean grace. + +"It's only the shank of the evening, officer," rejoined the old man, +as he fumbled with the latch key and finally opened the door. The two +men entered and the officer passed on. + +Every man has a fad. One will tell you he sees nothing in billiards or +pool or golf or tennis, but will grow enthusiastic over the scientific +possibilities of mumble-peg; you agree with him, only you substitute +"skittles" for "mumble-peg." + +Old Sanders' fad was mixing toddies and punches. + +"The nectar of the gods pales into nothingness when compared with a +toddy such as I make," said he. "Ambrosia may have been all right for +the degenerates of the old Grecian and Roman days, but an American +gentleman demands a toddy--a hot toddy." And then he proceeded with +circumspection and dignity to demonstrate the process of decocting +that mysterious beverage. + +The two men took off their overcoats and went into the sitting-room. A +pile of logs burned brightly in the fire-place. The old man threw +another on the burning heap, filled the kettle with water and hung it +over the fire. Next he went to the sideboard and brought forth the +various ingredients for the toddy. + +"How do you like America?" said the elder, with commonplace +indifference, as he crunched a lump of sugar in the bottom of the +glass, dissolving the particles with a few drops of water. + +"Very much, indeed," said the Tuscan, with the air of a man who had +answered the question before. + +"Great country for girls!" said Sanders, pouring a liberal quantity of +Old Tom gin in the glass and placing it where it gradually would get +warm. + +"And for men!" responded Diotti, enthusiastically. + +"Men don't amount to much here, women run everything," retorted the +elder, while he repeated the process of preparing the sugar and gin in +the second glass. The kettle began to sing. + +"That's music for you," chuckled the old man, raising the lid to see +if the water had boiled sufficiently. "Do you know I think a dinner +horn and a singing kettle beat a symphony all hollow for real +down-right melody," and he lifted the kettle from the fire-place. + +Diotti smiled. + +With mathematical accuracy the old man filled the two tumblers with +boiling water. + +"Try that," handing a glass of the toddy to Diotti; "you will find it +all right," and the old man drew an armchair toward the fire-place, +smacking his lips in anticipation. + +The violinist placed his chair closer to the fire and sipped the +drink. + +"Your country is noted for its beautiful women?" + +"We have exquisite types of femininity in Tuscany," said the young +man, with patriotic ardor. + +"Any as fine looking as--as--as--well, say the young lady we dined +with to-night?" + +"Miss Wallace?" queried the Tuscan. + +"Yes, Miss Wallace," this rather impatiently. + +"She is very beautiful," said Diotti, with solemn admiration. + +"Have you ever seen any one prettier?" questioned the old man, after a +second prolonged sip. + +"I have no desire to see any one more beautiful," said the violinist, +feeling that the other was trying to draw him out, and determined not +to yield. + +"You will pardon the inquisitiveness of an old man, but are not you +musicians a most impressionable lot?" + +"We are human," answered the violinist. + +"I imagined you were like sailors and had a sweetheart in every port." + +"That would be a delightful prospect to one having polygamous +aspirations, but for myself, one sweetheart is enough," laughingly +said the musician. + +"Only one! Well, here's to her! With this nectar fit for the gods and +goddesses of Olympus, let us drink to her," said old Sanders, with +convivial dignity, his glass raised on high. "Here's wishing health +and happiness to the dreamy-eyed Tuscan beauty, whom you love and who +loves you." + +"Stop!" said Diotti; "we will drink to the first part of that toast," +and holding his glass against that of his bibulous host, continued: +"To the dreamy-eyed women of my country, exacting of their lovers; +obedient to their parents and loyal to their husbands," and his voice +rose in sonorous rhythm with the words. + +"Now for the rest of the toast, to the one you love and who loves +you," came from Sanders. + +"To the one I love and who loves me, God bless her!" fervently cried +the guest. + +"Is she a Tuscan?" asked old Sanders slyly. + +"She is an angel!" impetuously answered the violinist. + +"Then she is an American!" said the old man gallantly. + +"She is an American," repeated Diotti, forgetting himself for the +instant. + +"Let me see if I can guess her name," said old Sanders. "It's--it's +Mildred Wallace!" and his manner suggested a child solving a riddle. + +The violinist, about to speak, checked himself and remained silent. + +"I sincerely pity Mildred if ever she falls in love," abstractedly +continued the host while filling another glass. + +"Pray why?" was anxiously asked. + +The old man shifted his position and assumed a confidential tone and +attitude: "Signor Diotti, jealousy is a more universal passion than +love itself. Environment may develop our character, influence our +tastes and even soften our features, but heredity determines the +intensity of the two leading passions, love and jealousy. Mildred's +mother was a beautiful woman, but consumed with an overpowering +jealousy of her husband. It was because she loved him. The body-guard +of jealousy--envy, malice and hatred--were not in her composition. +When Mildred was a child of twelve I have seen her mother suffer the +keenest anguish because Mr. Wallace fondled the child. She thought the +child had robbed her of her husband's love." + +"Such a woman as Miss Wallace would command the entire love and +admiration of her husband at all times," said the artist. + +"If she should marry a man she simply likes, her chances for happiness +would be normal." + +"In what manner?" asked the lover. + +"Because she would be little concerned about him or his actions." + +"Then you believe," said the musician, "that the man who loves her and +whom she loves should give her up because her chances of happiness +would be greater away from him than with him?" + +"That would be an unselfish love," said the elder. + +"Suppose they have declared their passion?" asked Diotti. + +"A parting before doubt and jealousy had entered her mind would let +the image of her sacrificing lover live within her soul as a tender +and lasting memory; he always would be her ideal," and the accent old +Sanders placed on _always_ left no doubt of his belief. + +"Why should doubt and jealousy enter her life?" said the violinist, +falling into the personal character of the discussion despite himself. + +"My dear sir, from what I observed to-night, she loves you. You are a +dangerous man for a jealous woman to love. You are not a cloistered +monk, you are a man before the public; you win the admiration of many; +some women do not hesitate to show you their preference. To a woman +like Mildred that would be torture; she could not and would not +separate the professional artist from the lover or husband." + +And Diotti, remembering Mildred's words, could not refute the old +man's statements. + +"If you had known her mother as I did," continued the old man, +realizing his argument was making an impression on the violinist, "you +would see the agony in store for the daughter if she married a man +such as you, a public servant, a public favorite." + +"I would live my life not to excite her suspicions or jealousy," said +the artist, with boyish enthusiasm and simplicity. + +"Foolish fellow," retorted Sanders, skeptically; "women imagine, they +don't reason. A scented note unopened on the dressing table can cause +more unhappiness to your wife than the loss of his country to a king. +My advice to you is: do not marry; but if you must, choose one who is +more interested in your gastronomic felicity than in your marital +constancy." + +Diotti was silent. He was pondering the words of his host. Instead of +seeing in Mildred a possibly jealous woman, causing mental misery, she +appeared a vision of single-hearted devotion. He felt: "To be loved by +such a one is bliss beyond the dreams of this world." + + + + +XII + + +A tipsy man is never interesting, and Sanders in that condition was no +exception. The old man arose with some effort, walked toward the +window and, shading his eyes, looked out. The snow was drifting, swept +hither and thither by the cutting wind that came through the streets +in great gusts. Turning to the violinist, he said, "It's an awful +night; better remain here until morning. You'll not find a cab; in +fact, I will not let you go while this storm continues," and the old +man raised the window, thrusting his head out for an instant. As he +did so the icy blast that came in settled any doubt in the young man's +mind and he concluded to stop over night. + +It was nearly two o'clock; Sanders showed him to his room and then +returned down stairs to see that everything was snug and secure. After +changing his heavy shoes for a pair of old slippers and wrapping a +dressing gown around him, the old man stretched his legs toward the +fire and sipped his toddy. + +"He isn't a bad sort for a violinist," mused the old man; "if he were +worth a million, I believe I'd advise Wallace to let him marry her. A +fiddler! A million! Sounds funny," and he laughed shrilly. + +He turned his head and his eyes caught sight of Diotti's violin case +resting on the center table. He staggered from the chair and went +toward it; opening the lid softly, he lifted the silken coverlet +placed over the instrument and examined the strings intently. "I am +right," he said; "it is wrapped with hair, and no doubt from a woman's +head. Eureka!" and the old man, happy in the discovery that his +surmises were correct, returned to his chair and his toddy. + +He sat looking into the fire. The violin had brought back memories of +the past and its dead. He mumbled, as if to the fire, "she loved me; +she loved my violin. I was a devil; my violin was a devil," and the +shadows on the wall swayed like accusing spirits. He buried his face +in his hands and cried piteously, "I was so young; too young to know." +He spoke as if he would conciliate the ghastly shades that moved +restlessly up and down, when suddenly--"Sanders, don't be a fool!" + +He ambled toward the table again. "I wonder who made the violin? He +would not tell me when I asked him to-night; thank you for your pains, +but I will find out myself," and he took the violin from the case. +Holding it with the light slanting over it, he peered inside, but +found no inscription. "No maker's name--strange," he said. He tiptoed +to the foot of the stairs and listened intently; "he must be asleep; +he won't hear me," and noiselessly he closed the door. "I guess if I +play a tune on it he won't know." + +He took the bow from its place in the case and tightened it. He +listened again. "He is fast asleep," he whispered. "I'll play the song +I always played for her--until," and the old man repeated the words of +the refrain: + + "_Fair as a lily, joyous and free, + Light of the prairie home was she; + Every one who knew her felt the gentle power + Of Rosalie, the Prairie Flower._" + +He sat again in the arm-chair and placed the violin under his chin. +Tremulously he drew the bow across the middle string, his bloodless +fingers moving slowly up and down. + +The theme he played was the melody to the verse he had just repeated, +but the expression was remorse. + + * * * * * + +Diotti sat upright in bed. "I am positive I heard a violin!" he said, +holding one hand toward his head in an attitude of listening. He was +wide awake. The drifting snow beat against the window panes and the +wind without shrieked like a thousand demons of the night. He could +sleep no more. He arose and hastily dressed. The room was bitterly +cold; he was shivering. He thought of the crackling logs in the +fire-place below. He groped his way along the darkened staircase. As +he opened the door leading into the sitting-room the fitful gleam of +the dying embers cast a ghastly light over the face of a corpse. + +Diotti stood a moment, his eyes transfixed with horror. The violin and +bow still in the hands of the dead man told him plainer than words +what had happened. He went toward the chair, took the instrument from +old Sanders' hands and laid it on the table. Then he knelt beside the +body, and placing his ear close over the heart, listened for some sign +of life, but the old man was beyond human aid. + +He wheeled the chair to the side of the room and moved the body to the +sofa. Gently he covered it with a robe. The awfulness of the situation +forced itself upon him, and bitterly he blamed himself. The terrible +power of the instrument dawned upon him in all its force. Often he had +played on the strings telling of pity, hope, love and joy, but now, +for the first time, he realized what that fifth string meant. + +"I must give it back to its owner." + +"If you do you can never regain it," whispered a voice within. + +"I do not need it," said the violinist, almost audibly. + +"Perhaps not," said the voice, "but if her love should wane how would +you rekindle it? Without the violin you would be helpless." + +"Is it not possible that, in this old man's death, all its fatal power +has been expended?" + +He went to the table and took the instrument from its place. "You won +her for me; you have brought happiness and sunshine into my life. No! +No! I can not, will not give you up," then placing the violin and bow +in its case he locked it. + +The day was breaking. In an hour the baker's boy came. Diotti went to +the door, gave him a note addressed to Mr. Wallace and asked him to +deliver it at once. The boy consented and drove rapidly away. + +Within an hour Mr. Wallace arrived; Diotti told the story of the +night. After the undertaker had taken charge of the body he found on +the dead man's neck, just to the left of the chin, a dullish, black +bruise which might have been caused by the pressing of some blunt +instrument, or by a man's thumb. Considering it of much importance, he +notified the coroner, who ordered an inquest. + +At six o'clock that evening a jury was impaneled, and two hours later +its verdict was reported. + + + + +XIII + + +On leaving the house of the dead man Diotti walked wearily to his +hotel. In flaring type at every street corner he saw the announcement +for Thursday evening, March thirty-first, of Angelo Diotti's last +appearance: "To-night I play for the last time," he murmured in a +voice filled with deepest regret. + +The feeling of exultation so common to artists who finally reach the +goal of their ambition was wanting in Diotti this morning. He could +not rid himself of the memory of Sanders' tragic death. The figure of +the old man clutching the violin and staring with glassy eyes into the +dying fire would not away. + +When he reached the hotel he tried to rest, but his excited brain +banished every thought of slumber. Restlessly he moved about the room, +and finally dressing, he left the hotel for his daily call on Mildred. +It was after five o'clock when he arrived. She received him coldly and +without any mark of affection. + +She had heard of Mr. Sanders' death; her father had sent word. "It +shocked me greatly," she said; "but perhaps the old man is happier in +a world far from strife and care. When we realize all the misery there +is in this world we often wonder why we should care to live." Her tone +was despondent, her face was drawn and blanched, and her eyes gave +evidence of weeping. + +Diotti divined that something beyond sympathy for old Sanders' sudden +death racked her soul. He went toward her and lovingly taking her +hands, bent low and pressed his lips to them; they were cold as +marble. + +"Darling," he said; "something has made you unhappy. What is it?" + +"Tell me, Angelo, and truly; is your violin like other violins?" + +This unexpected question came so suddenly he could not control his +agitation. + +"Why do you ask?" he said. + +"You must answer me directly!" + +"No, Mildred; my violin is different from any other I have ever seen," +this hesitatingly and with great effort at composure. + +"In what way is it different?" she almost demanded. + +"It is peculiarly constructed; it has an extra string. But why this +sudden interest in the violin? Let us talk of you, of me, of both, of +our future," said he with enforced cheerfulness. + +"No, we will talk of the violin. Of what use is the extra string?" + +"None whatever," was the quick reply. + +"Then why not cut it off?" + +"No, no, Mildred; you do not understand," he cried; "I can not do +that." + +"You can not do it when I ask it?" she exclaimed. + +"Oh Mildred, do not ask me; I can not, can not do it," and the face of +the affrighted musician told plainer than words of the turmoil raging +in his soul. + +"You made me believe that I was the only one you loved," passionately +she cried; "the only one; that your happiness was incomplete without +me. You led me into the region of light only to make the darkness +greater when I descended to earth again. I ask you to do a simple +thing and you refuse; you refuse because another has commanded you." + +"Mildred, Mildred; if you love me do not speak thus!" + +And she, with imagination greater than reasoning power, at once saw a +Tuscan beauty and Diotti mutually pledging their love with their +lives. + +"Go," she said, pointing to the door, "go to the one who owns you, +body and soul; then say that a foolish woman threw her heart at your +feet and that you scorned it!" She sank to the sofa. + +He went toward the door, and in a voice that sounded like the echo of +despair, protested: "Mildred, I love you; love you a thousand times +more than I do my life. If I should destroy the string, as you ask, +love and hope would leave me forevermore. Death would not be robbed of +its terror!" and with bowed head he went forth into the twilight. + +She ran to the window and watched his retreating figure as he +vanished. "Uncle Sanders was right; he loves another woman, and that +string binds them together. He belongs to her!" Long and silently she +stood by the window, gazing at the shadowing curtain of the coming +night. At last her face softened. "Perhaps he does not love her now, +but fears her vengeance. No, no; he is not a coward! I should have +approached him differently; he is proud, and maybe he resented my +imperative manner," and a thousand reasons why he should or should not +have removed that string flashed through her mind. + +"I will go early to the concert to-night and see him before he plays. +Uncle Sanders said he did not touch that string when he played. Of +course he will play on it for me, even if he will not cut it off, and +then if he says he loves me, and only me, I will believe him. I want +to believe him; I want to believe him," all this in a semi-hysterical +way addressed to the violinist's portrait on the piano. + +When she entered her carriage an hour later, telling the coachman to +drive direct to the stage-door of the Academy, she appeared more +fascinating than ever before. + +She was sitting in his dressing-room waiting for him when he arrived. +He had aged years in a day. His step was uncertain, his eyes were +sunken and his hand trembled. His face brightened as she arose, and +Mildred met him in the center of the room. He lifted her hand and +pressed a kiss upon it. + +"Angelo, dear," she said in repentant tone; "I am sorry I pained you +this afternoon; but I am jealous, so jealous of you." + +"Jealous?" he said smilingly; "there is no need of jealousy in our +lives; we love each other truly and only." + +"That is just what I think, we will never doubt each other again, will +we?" + +"Never!" he said solemnly. + +He had placed his violin case on the table in the room. She went to it +and tapped the top playfully; then suddenly said: "I am going to look +at your violin, Angelo," and before he could interfere, she had taken +the silken coverlet off and was examining the instrument closely. +"Sure enough, it has five strings; the middle one stands higher than +the rest and is of glossy blackness. Uncle Sanders was right; it is a +woman's hair! + +"Why is that string made of hair?" she asked, controlling her emotion. + +"Only a fancy," he said, feigning indifference. + +"Though you would not remove it at my wish this afternoon, Angelo; I +know you will not refuse to play on it for me now." + +He raised his hands in supplication. "Mildred! Mildred! Stop! do not +ask it!" + +"You refuse after I have come repentant, and confessing my doubts and +fears? Uncle Sanders said you would not play upon it for me; he told +me it was wrapped with a woman's hair, the hair of the woman you +love." + +"I swear to you, Mildred, that I love but you!" + +"Love me? Bah! And another woman's tresses sacred to you? Another +woman's pledge sacred to you? I asked you to remove the string; you +refused. I ask you now to play upon it; you refuse," and she paced the +room like a caged tigress. + +"I will watch to-night when you play," she flashed. "If you do not use +that string we part forever." + +He stood before her and attempted to take her hand; she repulsed him +savagely. + +Sadly then he asked: "And if I do play upon it?" + +"I am yours forever--yours through life--through eternity," she cried +passionately. + +The call-boy announced Diotti's turn; the violinist led Mildred to a +seat at the entrance of the stage. His appearance was the signal for +prolonged and enthusiastic greeting from the enormous audience +present. He clearly was the idol of the metropolis. + +[Illustration: If you do not play upon it we separate forever] + +The lights were lowered, a single calcium playing with its soft and +silvery rays upon his face and shoulders. The expectant audience +scarcely breathed as he began his theme. It was pity--pity molded into +a concord of beautiful sounds, and when he began the second movement +it was but a continuation of the first; his fingers sought but one +string, that of pity. Again he played, and once more pity stole from +the violin. + +When he left the stage Mildred rushed to him. "You did not touch that +string; you refuse my wish?" and the sounds of mighty applause without +drowned his pleading voice. + +"I told you if you refused me I was lost to you forever! Do you +understand?" + +Diotti returned slowly to the center of the stage and remained +motionless until the audience subsided. Facing Mildred, whose color +was heightened by the intensity of her emotion, he began softly to +play. His fingers sought the string of Death. The audience listened +with breathless interest. The composition was weirdly and strangely +fascinating. + +The player told with wondrous power of despair,--of hope, of faith; +sunshine crept into the hearts of all as he pictured the promise of an +eternal day; higher and higher, softer and softer grew the theme until +it echoed as if it were afar in the realms of light and floating o'er +the waves of a golden sea. + +Suddenly the audience was startled by the snapping of a string; the +violin and bow dropped from the nerveless hands of the player. He fell +helpless to the stage. + +Mildred rushed to him, crying, "Angelo, Angelo, what is it? What has +happened?" Bending over him she gently raised his head and showered +unrestrained kisses upon his lips, oblivious of all save her lover. + +"Speak! Speak!" she implored. + +A faint smile illumined his face; he gazed with ineffable tenderness +into her weeping eyes, then slowly closed his own as if in slumber. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIFTH STRING*** + + +******* This file should be named 29481.txt or 29481.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/9/4/8/29481 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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