St. Paul recorder., 1942-07-10

tized as if some anesthetic agent
had lulled them to sleep. Seconds
after the music had bounded away
to places unknown, they emerged
from the heavenly hypnotic daze,
bursting into a great roll of ap-
plause like the mad clapping of
thunder on a rainy summer day.
The young man-the soloist-
stood with head bowed reverently
while the audience with their ap-
plause placed a wreath of approval
on his head. Now smiling, and with
his violin under his arm, he turned
and took his seat with fellow mem
bers of the symphony.
Instruments of the violin kind
have soothed the souls of men from
an unknown antiquity. The struc-
ture of the violin is still imperfect
ly understood by modern musical
mechanists. The finest violins were
made by old masters and cannot be
initiated. They consisted of as
many as fifty-seven different parts
glued together. The back, neck
and sides were generally of syca-
more, the belly of deal, the finger
board and tail-piece of ebony.
The precise cause of the superb
ority of the violins by the old mas
ters have never been satisfactorily
explained. The famous Cremona
violins, made by the masters, stand
in the front rank. In several i'm
portant respects the violin is su-
perior to almost every musical in
strument, and there is none which
combines so many excellencies. It
was one of the famous Cremona's
which the young man gracefully
tucked under his arm as he bowed
courteously to the Philadelphia as
semblage.
But methinks, we are ahead of
the story. Let US go back several
years ago to a little pawnshop on
Washington Avenue in the city of
Minneapolis. On one side of the
counter stood a teen-age colored
youth. On the opposite side an
aged Jewish proprietor.
"Well," said the skull-capped
pawnbroker, casting an inquiring
glance over his silver-framed spec
tacles, "what can do for you?"
"My mother wants me to take
violin lessons. Have you got any
here?"
"No, we do not have lessons
here" smiled the shopkeeper, push
ing his glasses upon his forehead
"but we do have violins."
The shopkeeper escorted young
Burie Carmichael to the back of
the shop where a junk pile of vio-
Inns were stored.
"Now here is a prize" spoke the
aged gentleman, rescuing a one
string, battered-looking violin from
the bottom of the heap and hand
ing it to the youth, hesitating be-
fore he said, "for you-three dol
lars"
Burie dug deep into his pocket
and brought forth the three dol
lars the greater part of his weekly
pay which he had earned during
school-vacation season pressing
clothes and shining shoes at Ben
jamin Weiss's Tailor Shop on
Hennepin at Second Street.
Going by the pressing shop, he
exhibited his "prize" to Mr.. Weiss
who had a son about Burie's age
also interested in violin lessons.
In the evening he made his way
homeward. As he entered the front
room his mother was singing to
herself and playing the piano.
"Hello, mother" said young Car
michael.
"Son," she said laughing, "you
frightened me out of a years
growth. I didn't hear you come in.
What have you in the package q?
Oh! you bought it-I'm so glad"
After supper was over the mat
ter of violin lessons and getting
the instrument repaired was dis
cussed-pro and con.
"Well-er-mother-you see
it's this way . :"
"Now, now, son, when you go to
work in the morning take your vio-
lin down to the Metropolitan Music
Store and have it repaired"
AS they broke up for the night
Burie negotiated a fight of creak-
ing steps, prowled along a dark
ened hall, lingering to hear the
sweet voice of his mother at the
piano, and went into his room.
Days went into weeks, weeks
went into months nnnnthc ,,rort