Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1895-08-28
THE DEMON VIOLIN.

Crazy Paolo they called him. Wine,
whisky, little food and a nights lodging
constituted his hire at Hooleys to bang
the miserable piano and play his violin
the violin so carefully locked in his case.
He had finished narrowing popular air
at the piano for the twentieth consecutive
time and stopped to take drink from
the glass at his elbow. Three or four big,
hulking men near by stood looking at him
stupidity from under their broad felt hats
The poker chips clicked at the gaming ia
bles. Reagan, in response to an order,
brought in a tray Of liquors and cigars
Paolo reached for his case and almost
reverently took out his violin. A little
preliminary tuning and it went to his
shoulder. The bow was drawn over the
strings, but SO softly that none save him
self heard the sound. Again it glided over
the instrument and then it began to wan
der back and forth-now slowly, now
swiftly now TREMENDOUSLY.
AS the truant bars Of favorite operas,
sad nocturnes and gay gavottes poured in
to his yearning ear, his face lit up with
strange joy. The vacant stare of the men
near him changed to dull curiosity. But
the music was all for himself. 1t was only a
moments delicious communion with his
violin he was having. Too we'll he knew
that the next would bring command to
play some horrible song or dance. But the
poker chips still clicked, the men about
him said nothing, and Paolo continued to
play for the single auditor-himself.
With the music his thoughts uncon-
soiously went back to Italy. He and the
violin had never parted since leaving the
little Palermo home. The old mother and
father had gone long ago; the father had
left him all he had-the wonderful violin.
All, that was good of the old father, but
Giovanni did not think so. Where was
Giovanni? A wild boy was Giovanni. He
did not like the fathers violin. 1t was the
demon Of the family; Giovanni said it had
brought and would bring nothing but mis-
fortune to them. The old father had done
nothing but play it, and he had lived in
distress, died in poverty. 1t would have
been better had he left Paolo his curse
than his violin.
AS for Giovanni, no would have none of
music. He would go away, anywheres
and he would become rich somehow. Yes,
that was what he said. But Giovanni was
not a musician-and a complacent smile
stole over tho lips of the pitiful wreck
Demon? Misfortune? ISLANDERS on his dear
violin! Had he not played to applauding
thousands in Rome-in London-in New
York? She had come to hear him, it was
true, but was it the dear violin's fault that
the dark eyed actress, whom he married,
deceived him and ruined his lifep
WaI
there and play us something lively" came
a rough, good natured voice from behind
tho clouds Of tobacco smoke.
just then man came swaying into the
room, reckless, drunken determination
on his face to assert himself in some bois-
ferrous way He heard the command,
looked sullenly toward tho piano. Sudden
ly he seized the violin, tore it from the
players hands, and swinging it about his
hoad brought it down upon the piano,
smashing ii to pieces. With shrek like
that of wild and wounded animal Paolo
gave bound and caught the man by the
throat 1t was all over in moment.
They were graphing on tho floor together;
the man, drunk though he was, felt the
hands strangling him were those of a ma
MAC. He managed to reach his pistol
No one saw exactly how it was done, but
the pistol was discharged, and Paolo arose
to his feet. The other was dead
The pistol shot, not the struggle on the
flood, instantly brought every one in the
room up standing. They gathered excited
ly around, but Paolo, with wall of
grief flung himself upon the piano and
pressed the shattered violin to his heart.
fol 10 ~ L.
pleadingly. 1t did not seem that he knew
he had killed man. He only knew that
his violin was dead; that it would speak
to him no more.
Soon the room was crowded, for the
news had spread quickly. The dead man
lay stretched upon the floor, and the crowd
gazed morbidly at him and then at Crazy
Paolo hugging his violin. Presently the
sheriff hustled in, and all made way for
him. He picked up the pistol and laid 1t
aside. Jim Reagan was the first to speak.
"Crazy Paolo killed him, but in self Gle.
Tense"
"That's what he did, sheriff." came the
popular western phrase in unison from the
crowd.
"Who is her" asked the sheriff, bending
over the prone figure
Stranger" some ono volunteered
The sheriff threw back the dead mans
coat and started to search his pockets. He
soon held up an envelope and read aloud
the name in the address:
Giovanni Legardi'-
Paolo stood beside him and snatched the
envelope from his hand. One glance at
the name and wild glare at the crowd
AlxrL ,r1 ~ -. IN.