The record-union., 1899-07-10
The kapeAmeister S CremOnas.

1t was the Emperor'S birthday. The
morning had been q glorious one; and
nowhere was any trace left of the cold,
: hard winter. Light slumbering spring
breatked over the whole city an air OF
peace and joy. Myriads of birds caroled
their delight, seemingly anxious to lend
their voices to the general expressions
OF joy and thanksgiving.
had just finished my light midday
meal, and sat wondering how could
best employ this beautiful day without
actually joining in the Germans fes-
tivities, when an old American ac-
quaintance whom / had not seen for
many months stumbled accidentally
across my den. In the course of con-
versation, he alluded to an old Russian
whom he had met in his wanderings
several years before-a bent, broken old
man whose only relatives and friends
consisted of two red-cheeked Cremona
fiddles The word Cremona was more
than sufficient to arouse my interest
and / proceeded to ask my acquaintance
a thousand and one questions which, of
course, he could not answer.
reckon said he. "old man Peters
could have given you an exceptional
treat in the way of Cremonas. Poor
Old man! 1 suppose he's dead by this
time. Poverty and rum have a dis
agreeable tendency to abbreviate ex-
1stence, and Peters purse could hardly
nave been more slender, or his stomach
more cruelty devoured by alcohol than
when last saw, him. Yes, 1 reckon his
Cremonas have found another master y
But" said I, who was this man
Peters. and how did you make his ac-
Quaintance?"
On, answered my companion with
a yawn, Il met him in Oberwald. In
MS younger days he had been Kapell-
meister of military band in Moscow
but growing restless and dissatisfied, he
resigned from his post and drifted to
germany. Year after year of a dreary
and profitless life sped away, and he
grew embittered with the whole world
and utterly reckless of the future. Am
bition fled, and, with it, all good re-
solves. Twenty years after leaving his
native soil he was a physical wreck
Kun and misfortune had done their
work"
Are you quite certain of the old
mans death?" said 1 rather thought
fully. Perhaps 1 might"
My companion interrupted me with
though he could not appreciate my feel
ings in the matter, he was nevertheless
not averse to render me some assist
ance.
TN tell you what we can do" said
he. with such good nature that l felt
my heart warm towards him. "Ober-
wald is but a short journey from Ber-
lin. We neither of US know how to
a ha off :
the next train, and find out whether
Peters is teaching fiddle in this world
or the next"
Good" cried Nothing will please
me better'
On the way Ito the station was ner-
yotls and impatient In my eaeerness
to- see, and perhaps possess, the old
Russians Cremonas, it did not once
cross my mind how slim was the chance
of finding him alive. Already 1 pic
tured myself in poverty-stricken attic
at Oberwald, examining those precious
bits of wood and varnish, with a calm
exterior but palpitating heart
We had just enough time to get COM
fortabfy settled in a third d-class car
riage, when the train slowly and silently
left the station. There was only one
other passenger in our coupe-a very
short, stout, greasy looking individual,
who proceeded to produce some re-
markable sounds by means of a large
red nose and a large red handkerchief
This curious little chunk of humanity
seemed very proud of his efforts: and
every time the handkerchief was
brought into play he would look at us
as though expecting approval and en-
iya llxy hn
endous blast, ending in rapid stacca1i
Which died away to pianissimo.
coughed several times, tugged away
at his cravat, and, regarding me intent
ly. said: Pardon me, sir, but you seem
to be an artist. A f1utist. perhaps, or
trombone player? No? All. yes.
see. You are a violin virtuoso 1 rec
ognize your instrument by the little
sore spot on your neck. What heaven
ly instrument it is. CWHl you take
some snuff? No? Too badD Yes
love the violin. But 1 never learned to
play it beyond getting the strings in
tune, which, 1 assure you, I did quite
beautifully. All, mel / always loved
music and artists 1 came very neal
being an artist myself. One day, my
father began to think what he should
AIidAS Vi ilc ne was d very llllclllSSIll
man, my father; and after considering
the matter a long time-during which
he decided that 1 was not much good
for anything in particular-he resolved
to make an artist of me. So I began
to study the French horn. Do take
some snuff No? All, you miss one oil
the real pleasures of ife.) Well. I was
getting on famously, when, one day
our neighbor (the butcher) and 1 came
to blows because he also played the
French horn and was envious of my
beautiful tone. He had a fist like a
sledge hammer. This / did not believe
till I had lost four of my front teeth
OF course, that settled my artistic ca
reer. But have always retained a
great love for the profession in which
/ gave such promise of shining; and
when / meet an artist like yourself, my
heart goes out to him, and could weeI
like a child
Here the disappointed artist blew a
mournfuk dirge on the wind instrument
which did not require of the performer
a full set of teeth; and the train stop
ping at Oberwald we alighted, after
expressing the deepest sympathy fol-
our companions misfortune.
At the station we found wreck oi
a cab, attached to which was horse
whose flesh was rapidly disappearing
The cabman's beery face betokened his
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