Evening star., 1921-11-06

they were taking their coffee
under the pergola, although it
was still winter. The sparkling
sea, the glowing sun and the deep
azure of the sky made the air tremble
with it's own clarity.
! Magda, who was stretched on a
lounging chair. asked her husband:
Didn't we breakfast earlier than
usual? The violinist hasn't come yet
Have a little patience!" the young
man answered. with smile.
Twice a week. in fact-each Thurs
day and Sunday-the gray-bearded
old man, whom they called the violin
ist, came to their terrace to delight
them with furtive concert. He
played on his instrument, with its
shrill notes, unknown airs. fragile and
light, freighted with strange sensi-
| bility. When he finished he went
away without waiting for modest
gratuity. 1t was necessary to call
after him to induce him to accept this
offering.
! His reticence and modesty interest
ed the young couple, who led a life
of ease in this enchanted corner of
| the world. Luxury had neither cor
rupted their hearts nor spoiled their
delicacy of feeling. They didn't dare
! to question this singular artist. WHO
| who came. without being asked, to
! play for them airs which they had
1 never heard before.
| "If he doesn't appear" Magda went
on, in a tone of encouragement. 1--WE
shall have lost the opportunity to as
without knowing where he comes
from or why. with soul SO vibrant.
he is still poor and alone"
| 7'Bah"' said Marcel, shaking his
| But he realized that his words rang
false and that the mystery of this
lrecluse's existence would long occupy
their thoughts.
T that minute the first STRINGS
of the music reached their ears
and against the foliage of the orange
trees they saw the violinist's silhou-
ette. This time again he played a
motif of extreme simplicity, which
accorded with the sober lines of the
!
establishment, no redundance. But a
profound feeling welled up in these
notes, like a cry in the infinite.
Don't let him get away" Magda
begged, bending toward her husband.
Bring him here. 1 must speak to
him.
"You do me too much honor,
I ptct xx,ha
he was seated beside the young couple
whose curiosity he had excited. You
wish to know how my taste for music
came to me and how 1 learned my
profession. In the first place, music
isn't a profession, like the others 1t
| is a vocation, which seiZes hold on
you, without your choosing 1t, and
which you must follow. Mon Dieu,
yes! I could have been a lawyer or
a merchant, making money or losing
it, living in an office instead of run
1 ming about the worldI My father was
a registrar in the village where l
was born. I could have succeeded
him in that office. l say could have.
But, no, couldn't have: At eighteen
| I knew already that I couldn't do
anything else but devote myself to
music I had no ambition. I had
only the desire to respond to the voice
which spoke within me more strongly
than the voice of my blood or of my
will"
| He looked at his violin, which he
had stood on the ground beside him
and whose cords still trembled
against his leg. Magda understood
and stopped him with a gesture.
| $50 you bought this instrument and
| learned very quickly how to use it.
didn't you? You were delivered over
to your passion? And you became
| celebrated?" :.
| mo, madame, I have never been
celebrated, and 1 have often been
! unhappy"
| "you have exceptional talent. Nobody
] gives as well as you do with your bow
the impression that all is harmony
and order in the universe"
"Ah," cried the old man; that is
what we must strive for. And your
words give me more joy than a
fortune could"
II The two men shook hands. Put at
This ease by this mark of sympathy.
the obscure artist continued:
| Perhaps I could have attained
wealth and glory. although I was
never eager for them. But fate de-
cided differently. In one of the
countries I visited with the orchestra
of which I was a member l met
young girl. She spontaneously at
tached herself to me: She was an
married. Time passed. She fell i'll.
The doctors said that the only chance
/ of saving her was to bring her here.
! She felt better at first. Then she
grew worse. After lingering for a