The Telegraph-courier. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1888-1946, 1896-12-31
THE CZARDAS."

wrist. Sid it grows no better Only you
apRag the first violins can touch the
Gzardas. Grunfeld is absolutely wild
with envy at your opportunity-th open
ing night, with every seat and box taken,
and''-
Scharf, Scharf thou art the most Low,
able rattle brain in all Vienna. said Franz
Hensel quietly. smiling meanwhile at the
breathless excitement of his friend the
tall, broad shouldered futist of the I'm
perial orchestra Now will it suffice your
big heart when tell you that this morn
ing had an interview with the herr di-
rector and am in the programme as Fink S
substitute for the violin solo of tomorrow
night And let me tell you yet another
thing-here you are, garrulous as a mag
pie, with a rehearsal on for this very
hour. =
With an impulsive shake of his blond
head, an affectionate exclamation and a
clasp of Hensel's slender hands in his her.
culean grasp, the jovial, boyish Scharf took
up his hat, and presently the quiet corri-
doris resounded with his springy step and
merry whistle.
Franz Hensel and his friend Scharf were
the youngest and latest members Of that
wonderful orchestra which for many years
had charmed the hearts of the Viennese.
With temperaments most opposite there
existed between them beautiful friend
ship.
AS the door closed upon his friend Hensel
walked slowly up and down the room for
few moments and then, moved as by
some sudden impulse, he stepped quickly
to table, and opening a violin case which
lay upon it looked thoughtfully down at
the instrument it contained. Only yester-
day he had purchased it in a dim and dusty
old shop in the Judenstrasse. Some pc
culiarity in it's shape first attracted Hen
sells attention to the violin, then it's won
derful resonance of tone. The shopkeeper
had also interested him.
He was of an exceedingly grave and gen
tie demeanor, and with an almost courtly
manner He displayed no willingness to
sell the violin-in fact rather the reverse
and when the purchase was finally con-
cluded he laid the instrument tenderly
down in it's faded case, looked at it for
some seconds and then, raising his barge,
dark eyes, he fixed them steadily upon
Hensel's face for more than a moment.
Then, with the single word Farewell, - he
disappeared.
So forcibly had the man peculiar man.
ner and penetrating gaze impressed them
selves upon Hensel's mind that on the
evening of the same day he went again to
the Judenstrasse, only to find the old shop
quite deserted, it's contents removed and
it's former tenant gone.
A strong inclination sprang up within
him now to use this old violin on the COM
ing great occasion.
Taking up the bow, he ran his long,
white fingers along it's length, and then,
placing the violin beneath his chin, he be-
gan to play.
Softly, tenderly, caressingly, the bow
glides over the strings. The golden light of
the setting sun steals through the windows
and falls upon the young mans figure,
leaning carelessly against the window
frame. On and on he plays until twilight
falls. The passersby stop spelioound be-
meath the windows.
The stage of the Royal theater is will
derness of music racks and chairs. 1t is
the wait between the first and second parts
of the magnificent programme of the I'm
perial orchestra.
The second part is to open with Hensel's
violin solo, and the number is the
"Czardas
Only light ripple of applause greets
Hensel as he steps forward, for he is not
well known to them. AZ, however, his
bow crosses the strings there falls upon
that great audience silence that is broken
only by the strains of the old Judenstrasse
violin. Never before did they - never
again will they in Vienna or in all the
world hear the "Czardas" as they heard it
that night Long, liquid sounds, as of a
mournful complaining dying away into
sighs. Then, altering in strength from
the tenderest sadness, they spring sudden
~ into the throbbing, swaying rhythm of
that dance which thrills the very heart to
keep time to it's weird step.
Hensel no longer sees the brilliant
house, with it's myriads of twinkling
lights. 1t is wood he sees, where trees
are rustling and where all about him are
the mysterious sounds of the forest. Hank
Look There are the gypsies. They are
dancing, with their crimson scarfs flying
Nearer and nearer to him comes beauti-
full gypsy, with dainty skipping steps.
Now he has taken her hand in his, and
they are away, away, with flying feet,
over the messy carpet of the wood Wild
er, faster grows the magical music, over
the strings flies the flashing, cleaning
bow Now strain of ravishing sweet
ness, broken by the wild crash of the tam
BOURNE
On-on through the dim recesses of the
forest. But bark, therelis the ominous
sound of thunder, the wailing of wind,
and swish of rain beats against them.
Pale and cold the beautiful gypsy clings to
him. Then comes the hail beating fast
and furious against the quivering forest
trees and the thunder still mutters sullen-
ly Then all is darkness
The vision has faded Hensels right
arm drops Imply to his side. There is no
storm, and the thunder is the applause
that sweeps over the great theater. The
audience has risen to it's feet in wild en-
thusiasm, voices are calling, the roof is
ringing with "Bravos!''
The pale and almost affrighted violinist
bows and nearly staggers from the stage
to the greenroom. Exhausted, he sinks
! into a chair before one of the large mir
rors. What is this he sees? No reflection
| of himself, but the face and form of a man
| dressed in the fashion of century past.