The Wilmington daily Republican., 1901-10-14
SOUL OF THE VIOLIN.
by MARGARET 8. GIFEIN,

1t was while ! was in Germany that l
found the violin. Its exquisite curves, its
old wine color and above all its angelic
sweetness Of tone fascinated me. l strug-
gled long before | bought it, for really it
was beyond my purse, but each time stole
back to look at it, the temptation to pos
sess the treasure grew stronger, until final
ly would have given twice over the two
months with Joachim that | relinqulshed,
to own it.
No, it is not a Cremona nor Stradivarius.
II is in class all by itself, and greater than
any OF them 1t has a soul, | tell you!
There was more in that violin tNan there
was in me. 1t irl'!a led me- There was
something there could not express some
thing that was beyond me. | could not
master it. 1t detied me to own it. My
utmost skill was bafed by it, though my
technique was almost perfect, and even that
bear, Herr Keller acknowledged that |
could make music with my fingers. Yes
that was the trouble; could make music
with my fingers" but could not make it
with my heart. And the violin knew it.
and would never tell me its secret. Ilsw
could it! It sang me songs, but they were
always "without Words and had had no
sorrow to give me sympathy TO read such
a secret as this.
would play for hours, hoping to sur
prise it. tried every kind OF music, but
it always eluded me- ! could not express
it. Sometimes | could draw from it tones,
grand and mellow, like rich organ notes and
full OF great despair, but for what!
Through joyous, tripping schcrzo could
hear ripping, bitter, almost nocking
laugh, but at what? And so it was always
In every song it sang there was tragedy,
in every melody II wall, but could not
interpret the meaning. Finally, my wom-
ans patience failed, and, in a veXaton
could not control, put it away, vowing
would not touch it again.
For two short, happy years kept my
vow, and even forgot that ! had another
violin. j do not need to tell yon the story
OF those sweet years, for all the world knows
t, | think. Can Il girl ever hide her happi-
less when she first loves and is loved: As
for me- was too happy 10 even try to hide
mlnc, and tnere seemed to be but one pos
sibc ending to my romance. II was the
utter uncxpectedness of the actual end that
made il so bitter and SO pitifu. You We're
all curious, weren't you: as to why broke
my engagement and went abroad so sud.
denly. never could give the reason, not
even to yon, because felt that you would
misunderstood and, PERHAPS blame him.
He is not to blame. Oh. you must not
blame him 1t was not his fault. You
wouldn't consider physical defect with
which IA man was born, his fault, would
sou! Truly, it "as no more his fault than
that, but he failed me and he knew it, He
was honest about it and told me the exact
truth, asking il the love he could give would
satisfy me, | wasn't foolish, was |! |
cared lor him just as much as ever, but
| told him No. And that night ! sat all
night by my window, watching until the
stars grew cold. Did you ever hold lee in
your hand t i'll the cold made your flesh
numb: That was the way my heart r,lt that
that long, dreadiu! night! !
shall never forget the coming OF the dawn
Ine sounds Of the day had not commenced,
and the sounds Of the night had sunk into
silence; not "A leaf rustlcd, not cr,cNet
chirped, not bird twittcrcd. 1t was still,
still until the very trees seemed dead, and
I'll the world was hushed into silent mourn
ing for the suffering and sorrow it held.
Slowly, slowly, the stars palad, and gray,
chill light showed the CLEAN Of the silver
poplars, and the dark masses OF the frs
aud pines A light breeze sprang UP, and
then suddenly it seemed to me, a rosy flush
spread over the sky, and single bird called
to lis mate.
Perhaps it was that melody. perhaps it
was some other subtle thing that III that
htply of tk, al; ,,J
It's lonely secret hut whatever the reason,
] felt sudden longing to lay my face against
it and tell it all my struggle and SORROW and
pain. | drew my bow lovingly across its
strings, and began TO play softly that great
tender serenade OF Schubcrt's that he and,
| had loved so well. And then drtted
from that into something else, and then into
Il know not what certainly, it was some
thing | had never heard before and never
shall again; something so sweet and strange
{ hat to this day it haunts my heart But
it was not | that was playing We had
changed places. ! was only the helpless,
sensitive instrument, and at last the rlo-
lin was sobblng forth its secret in wall
whose sweetness aud pathos would have
wrung your heart. For the first time III
al those terrible hours. the hot tears ran
iown my face, and splashed on its polished
surface. Only sorrow can comfort sorrow,
md the violin was comforting me, for its
sorrow was like my own. told you did
not know its romance, and do not, but
its secret was mine. 1t had loved and been
loved, even as |, and its lover had failed
IN the supreme test, as mine Rad done. In
that moment Of supreme suffering the VIC.
ms soul was born. that, taught by its own
despair and grief and hopeless longing. it
might vjhratc in sympathy with all the sor-
rows Of the world, and ease them with its
golden voice. And so know the
voin's secret, and the violin knows mine,
ard together we comfort the world.-West-
,rn Oxford.