Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1897-07-10
HIS TRIUMPH.

Alone in his little bare room, Hart
zell was playing softly, telling the story
over to himself for the hundredth time
1t seemed almost too good to be true,
and he could scarcely realize that his
opportunity had come at last, and that
that which he had longed for all his
life had happened in his old age.
1t was really only trifling incident,
the indisposition of the great soloist
and the substitution of Hartzell, but to
the broken down little man it seemed
the entering wedge of future fame, and
the melody he was playing that after
noon thrilled with triumphant promise.
His life had been almost pathetic in
its uneventfulness, marked by only one
distinguishing characteristic, his love
for music Ever since the first remem-
bered days, when he stood shivering on
the street corners and played uncompre-
hendingly to an uncomprehending audi
ence, his violin had been his only real
friend, listening to him, speaking to
him, i'll sympathy with him always.
Among men he had been failure,
his abstraction of mind, together with
an extreme diffidence, rendering him
unfit both to follow and to lead. With
in himself he might lay plans for vigor-
Gus action, for forcing the world to rec
ognize the genius which he knew was
his, but when the time for action came
he always shrank and waited until it
was too late.
And so the dreams of his young days
had never materialiZed, and he was still
almost where he had begun, an uniden-
titiable part of that great whole, the
grand orchestra of the Hyperion.
Never at case in the company of 9TH
ers, he had drawn further and further
away from his fellow men, finding his
only comradeship and the clearest ex-
preston of his thoughts in the clinging
sweep of the bow upon the strings He
fell into tie habit of putting all his
doubts and hopes into the music which
he played to himself, and it seemed as
though the violin understood and an
swered him.
1t came to pass that he rarely spoke
in any other way, but went through his
work silently, unheeding the presence
of others, unanswering their words. His
fellows in the orchestra called him era
zy and made him the butt for many
pleasantries of a personal nature. The
conductor alone recognized the absolute
certainty of time and strength and pur
ity of tone which the little old man
evoked, and when some one must be
found to take the solo part i'll the great
orchestration Hartzell was chosen.
"We'll give you chance" the ia
nous musician had said. Remember
your time and don't hurry, and am
sure you will get through all right, )"
and Hartzell had dumbly bowed his
thanks and gone home in condition Of
dreamy exaltation to tell the glad news
over and over again to the only friend
whose sympathy he cared for.
The distant peal of the tower clock
reused him at last, and he hastened
through his simple toilet and went out
into the cold, drizzling rain of the au-
tumn night. The streets were crowded
with people on their way to the various
places of amusement, and he was jostled
this way and that like frail skiff
among larger craft, but he noticed moth
ing, for i'll the glory of hope he was as
one marching in the procession of his
own triumph.
In the dim orchestra room under the
stage Hartzell received his final instruc-
tions from the leader, and then, mount
ing the dusty stairway, found quiet
corner i'll the wings and sat down to
wait his turn, hugging the violin to his
breast.
From the auditorium came the faint
burr of many voices, mingled with a
subdued rustling as the late arrivals
settled themselves in comfortable an
ticipation. Suddenly there was hush,
and the melody of the grand overture
burst forth in all it's swinging, swaying
rhythm. Hartzell listened intently. He
had never before been upon the stage
during performance, and the music
sounded strangely in his ears. He start
ed apprehensively at the rattle of ap-
plause which followed hard upon the
closing strains of the overture, and a
wave of nervousness swept over him as
he realized that he must face so many
people. He was conscious of wish that
his trial came later in the programme
Instead of being the third number
The prima donna stepped forth from
one of the brightly lighted dressing
rooms and nodded smilingly to Hartzell
as she passed. He envied her the conf
dence which she showed so plainly. A
few moments later her glorious voice
rang out as steady and clear as the
Ginning Of bell, but to him it was
only as the running of the sand in an
hour glass, for when it ceased he must
take his stand on the brilliantly illu-
minated stage, before the gaze of 1000
eyes. His heart began to beat wildly
against his breast, and he found himself
tremblingly shrinking from the moment
to which he had looked forward 30 con-
fidently. Vague thoughts of possible
flight flashed through his brain, but he
realized that it was too late, and vainly
tried to steady his nerves for the ordeal.
| Again and again the applause rose
and fell as the last notes of the wonder