The news & observer. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1894-current, 1905-09-03
lcidents and Observations.
THE FIDDLE AND THE BOW.
By r. Il. GRAY.


cept those rare souls in whose person
allty survives the strain of poetry that
cares nothing for words, and in whose
fortunes there exist the benefits of the
labor of harder headed and less SELL
timental ancestors. Since inheritance
varies for the most part in the effort
of the offspring to adjust himself TO
conditions the faster pace, the more
trying competition of the day, is ruin
ing a breed which used to be plenti-
full. There are few fiddlerS left who
play with fiddles or with life. Even
when the brain has caught the mel
ody of a long line of -fiddlers, when the
fingers lend themselves to the bow,
when the sour of music finds mortal
habitatlon in the twentieth century
financial degenerate, does he fiddle?
Not by the conservatory of muSlc!
Forthwith, with staring eyes glued
to a sheet of music, with his neck in
tiamed by the saw-like clutch of the
end-on collar, his arms in the tight
sleeves of; his dress suit and the sup
pleness of his wrists chatting for their
freedom hampered between boaId-like
cuffs, does he lean with heavy CO.
quetry against the Baby Grand on
which the lady with the prominent
clavicle is sobbing over the accom-
paniment' and play violin obliga-
TOT" Just as, instead of sitting with
back to apple tree in the shade of the
orchard and dreaming at the clouds.
or lying ON muddy bank watching
the torpid creek ripple around softly
bobbing cork the fellow of today
whose money might let him fiddle If
he would puts on his goggles, calls
his shower" mounts his auto-car and,
with a stencil of gasoline trailing be-
hind, vaniShes in cloud of dust in an
effort to break the club record to H
and back, regardless of what else may
be broken in the operation.
While thel. fellow who could fiddle
away his time an he had the chance
who could lie around the house or on
the grass and talk with utter uncon-
Germ about everything in heaven and
earth and gain perfect, happiness
in doing just nothing in PARTICULAR
must choke off even the dreams that
come in the middle of the night in or
der TO win the requisite rest for the
next days labor, and with sick soul
put foot to the tread mill of existence
for the fifth or six thousandth time!
So that at the end, even II he wins ne
has lost the power to glory in sweet
idIeness; and the tired brain that has
been driven for a lifetime, the slave
body that has answered so long to the
lash, shake themselves to final effort to
recoup and disappear around the hook
ot the road with the duSt-Swlrl eddy
ing in their wake and the cyclometer
regiStering-in meterS-b2 $40 mlleS
per hour!
And instead of the calm rest of the
heart, the rosy vision flittering be-
tween half shut eyes as the fiddle mu-
sic nestleS up to the .chimney-jam and
the light-wood. flicker gildse the black
spaces above the rafters into the
many-peopled half-lights of mystery;
instead of the heart swelling with love
of the maid treading Springtime paths,
her slim whiteness framed in dog
wood blossoms of the woods; instead
of the merry daredevil sprites leap
ing about, the fire in the open, drunk
on the wine of being alive, or the
voices calling like trumpets. to the
fight or the ereakinS of the tackle on
ships 'asailing overseas; instead of all
this i'm lieu of the fancies and the
mysteries and the audacfties OF the
old-time fiddler, there is substituted
the ever present cloud of dust which
is natures protest against speed, line
of sickening Keeling fence posts,
hazv rushing blur of the life that
is being bolted to catch train-with
a question mark looming up az the
final goal!
Have we'-and the question comes
from lungs still painting with effort
ibid we miss the flag
Poor, old spawned, stimulated cam
paigner, what if you have made re-
cord. and die at last without the
stretch of the pasture?
Enough for those who would in the
heart of them fiddle away their ire
and can't because they have to i've
The simple times have gone. LuXurieS
are crowding to the front with all the
show of the veriest necessities. the
simple life is an eX post facte dream.
done up i'm a parcel of the up-to-date
so that one may take his simplicity
with or without frills, being simply
rich or simply out of car fare as tn:
case may be. The new doctrine Seeils
to be to be simply what you can make
Yourself with only such luxuries and
amusements and fads and notions and
frrbelows and SchimS and schemes
and dress and food and society and
philosophy and religion as one may
accumulate-simply that and moth
ing more 1t is simple task
measured by the pocket book. bu.
there is no chance left in the plan fo,'
simple fiddling. That is of by-gone
age.
But, glory be. there are relicts yer
Away out in the pine woods you may
find them growing up untouched by the
world, without training other than the
practice of a Sunday in the far
meadow. rocking to their own melody.
content with their lot.
The matter-of fact have ever SLAM
dered the man who indies. NOT
knowing. uncaring, unheeding. they
have put him down as a neer-do-well
They have scoffed at his calling made
light of the Inconsistencies of his life as
they would order it-forgetting the
consistency of the man and his arr.
Yet with a ponderous condescenson
do they love the fiddler. love him for
the very strangeness of his manner.
the modest self-sacrifice which he lays
as daily tribute to the compulsion OF
his passion 1T costs a fiddler moth
ing to play one might infer and
again the injustice--"he is worth moth
ing else anyhow
Costs him nothing? Did you ever
see a natural born fiddler work
All. the pity of it! Working in the
field, this man with the music rollick-
ing in his head. twitching at his
fingers, With the eyes of his mind
shifting about the scene spread out
before him of the long room with its
prancing couples. of the old folks III
the corner. their heels a-tap, their
heads nodding to his mood. feeling
I, i- acto knowing