Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1898-10-12
FAYEIlE'S VIOLIN.

We had been discussing all kinds of
ghostly and occult subjects that even
ing, Thompson and I, until the fire had
dwindled away into a pile of gray ashes
n Uncle Joshua had apparently fallen
asleep. Thompson was a theosophist
and [ a Presbyterian, so some Of our tits
were of the liveliest sort. I had just de-
liTered myself of a coup of peculiar
poignancy, so [ thought, when Uncle
Joshua suddenly opened his eyes,
stretched in his good, oId-fashioned way
and said:
I'm not up on Karmas, astral bodies
and such, as you boys seem to be, but
before we ali turn in / want to tell you
a ghost story of my own-one whose
truth I personally youch for"
Thompson and 1 filled our pipes, Uncle
Joshua hitched forward his chair and
began:
"Once upon a time way down in Geor-
gia there lived a loW-headed little
cracker. There We're several distinguish
ing features about him. He neither
dipped snuff nor ate clay, and he had a
after day, while his brothers and sisters
were making p~retense at work or idling
their time away in the neighbOring vii
lage, lie spent by himself in the lonely
pIney woods, playing, always playing.
He had never heard music other than
that the negroes made, but to him the
wind in the pines was filed with har-
mony, and at night, when the rain pat
tered on the roof over his little bunk,
he dreamed Of vast audiences and storms
of applause,
"In his character Of r%ecluse. as years
drew on, he came to be regarded as
gifted with magical powers. He never
played in public. He never even played
for their dances. But they said he played
for the birds and other wild things, and
that he could make them do whatever
he wished by the power of his music.
However true this may be, it is a fact
that he caught fish while others caught
none. And on still days just before a
storm, perhaps when even the insects
were quiet, the strains of his violin
would float up from the river bottoms,
sweet and clear and wonderfully sad.
Then all who heard would stop what
ever they were doing II listen. Even
the babies would stop their crying and
field hands would swear no more that af-
%ternoon.
"The boy and his violin were never
apart. Wherever he went he carried it
with him, and when he slept it lay at
his side. No mother was ever more con-
siderate Of her child than he was Of it.
The violin, in spite of its humble sur
rOundingS was a beautiful instrument.
Several attempts had been made to sell
it, but luckily the rich planters of the
region, who were the moneyed class,
knew nothing Of its value or did not
care. The boy had received the instru-
ment from his father. His father had in
herited it, so it was said, from his own
mother, to whom some other. lineal an
cestor had given it. Crackers do not
care much for ~pedigrees, but there was
Il sort of dim tradition in the family that
+hnu had NOT vvo hnnn ~ aIynrc-
that long, long ago, in the early days,
they had been rich and influential. But
now of all their forgotten wealth the
violin only was left.
"One evening when he returned to his
cabin after q day spent as usual in the
wildwood, he found his family in what,
for them, was a state OF great excite
ment. They had been in arrears for
their rent goodness knows how long.
But now, their landlord told them, it was
pay or go. They could move their scant
belongings easily enough, but where to
go and what to do confronted their SIM
pie minds like an insurmountable bar
rier.
The boy listened in silence to all that
they told him. Silently he ate his pone
and sweet potato. Then he washed
hilAself and put on his shoes.
1.-THE family looked in stolid silence
while he made his preparations. Only
his mother asked him where he was go
ing, and to her he made no answer, they
say, but to go up and kiss her. Mighty
little kissing the crackers do, but they
were used to his peculiar ways and
thought nothing Of it."
Uncle Joshua looked at us sharply over
his spectacles to see if we were following
him. and c~Oneinued:
"Well, he showed up in Atlanta that
night, he and his violin. about 9 o'clock.
He was tired and hungry and thirsty and
lonely, for he had walked all the way
from his cabin. twelve miles away. And
his heart was in his throat, too, | fancy,
for he had never been in such crowds
before, and he had come determined to
earn enough money to pay the rent.
"Timidly at first and with hands that
trembled he began to play. But as he
felt the caress of the violin against his
cheek and its voice responded to his
touch, his heart grew stronger. His
eyes closed and his spirit was again
among the sweet gum and the pine. He
was standing in Il shadow near the en-
franc" of a big hotel, and at first his
music attracted no attention. Several
gentlemen were sitting on the hotel
porch, it happened, chatting about cot
ton and other matters, and there was 81
momentary lull in the conversation. Sud
denly one of them exclaimed: Who IN
the world is that playing the violin? It's
beautiful They all listened. 1t was a
wonderful melody they heard, quivering,
flashing, full Of fire, and yet through it
all a sort of y~earning. unspeakable mel
ancholy. Not one of them moved. They
were fearful of losing a note.
"a crowd had gathered about the mu-
stefan by this time, staring and listening
with open mouths and bated breath. And
so they would have remained all night, I
supposed, but a heayy-faced william of a
policeman, with more authority than