A SKETCH
I had watched him for months, this old
man, a faded, worn specimen of humanity, who
every morning tottered down the long flight
of steps and then up the crowded streets,
with a violin tucked under his arm; and just
as often when the gloom of night was
settling over the great city, ascended the
same stairs with a tread, if possible, more
unsteady than in the morning.
I had had no communication with him except
occasionally a passing greeting as he came
or went, which usually consisted of "Good
morning, my lad! luck to you," or "Good
night son, sleep well." But
his feeble smile and words of good cheer had
often helped me in many ways.
He was a street musician, who had long
since passed his three score and ten, and
whose worldly possessions consisted only of
his worn violin, which I had learned to
think of as a part of him, and the few
pennies which some of the passing throng
might think to drop into the extended hat,
while he played on the corner. Often, when I
was enjoying the quiet of my room in the
evening, or deeply engrossed in study or
reading, I could hear the plaintive wail of
the old violin in the room next, which
sounded as if it had a soul and the soul was
speaking forth on the worn strings, bringing
comfort and companionship to the loving
hands that played it. His music was always
of that soft, appealing sort that surrounds
you with sweetest reveries, and one could
but notice the marks of refinement in his
selections, though the tunes, some of them,
were very quaint.
Still his life could not go on always
thus, and it was in early winter he laid
down its burdens. All the fall he had been
getting weaker and more feeble-in fact, he
had never rallied from the withering heat of
summer, which few can realize who have not
experienced it in a dingy part of a
smothering city. On not seeing him for a few
days, and not having met him in my coming
and going, I wondered, but thought it barely
possible that I had by some chance missed
him; but on the third morning when he did
not appear I grew anxious-all day at my work
I thought of him. On
returning home, I immediately went to his
room, and, upon receiving no answer to my
repeated knocks, I softly pushed the door
open and entered. In the farthest corner of
the room lay the prostrated form of the old
man, with his precious violin clutched with
one hand and resting on his breast. I
thought on entering that he was sleeping the
last sleep, and softly stepped across the
uncarpeted floor to where he lay. But, on
lifting the instrument and placing my hand
above his heart, I found there still a faint
fluttering. Aroused by the touch of my hand,
he raised his head and gave me a look of
recognition. From the
strained expression and the struggling
effort to speak I inferred that he had
something to tell me or some message to
leave. He fingered tremblingly his violin,
and at the merest touch of his fingers a
string snapped in two with a terrible
twang. A look of abject
pain and remorse crossed his face. His
dimming eyes wandered first to me, then to
the broken string. On
noticing the instrument, I saw only one
string left.
"Faith is gone," he
murmured. "But it lasted
till the end most, and has just gone a
little in front to lead me on." I supposed
he might be talking incoherently, and
scarcely noticed what he had said until he
continued, raising himself with almost
superhuman strength.
"She named 'em; Ann named 'em all
four. 'Twas this way: we
was happy then, and all in our new little
house which I had built myself, and though
'twasn't fine as some, 'twas ours, and we
had youth and strength then, and loved
it. She planted vines
around the door, and I made a rough bench
just outside. At nights,
when the day's work was done, here we'd go,
and I'd get my fiddle down and play till we
both grew tired. She loved
it same as I loved my fiddle and the sweet
music it made. So one night
when we had been playing long, and was so
happy, she says: `Lige, I have named the
strings on your fiddle, and they are Hope
and Faith and Life and
Love. This high one here is
Hope, because it will be bound to break
first, because as long as there is Hope the
other three will last. The
one next is Love. You
know why I call that one Love,
Lige? Because when either
one of us has gone from here, our love will
be no longer on this earth and one of us
will be almost sure to go when all hope has
left us. This deepest, strongest one is
Faith, because it will never break until
your work on earth is done. This one here
between Love and Faith is the string of
Life, and as love and faith is with it, it
will last.' I smiled on her
pretty thought, and would always think of it
when I played. "She said
right. Good fortune did not
long 'tend us. We soon lost our children,
and later our
possessions. I had been so
busy with our many troubles I had not played
the fiddle for a long time, but when I got
it down from off its peg one night, thinking
a little music might comfort us, I found
that the highest string, the one Ann named
Hope, had broken."
Here he stopped, the deathly pallor
spreading over his face. I
gave him more water. I
feared he wouldn't be able to finish, though
I was deeply
interested. But in gasping
breaths he continued:
"We lived on - - then - - - a few years -
- -but life was not the same - - - and Ann
grew weaker all the time - -- under pressure
of years. I saw she was not
long to be with me - - and at the close of
one day when the - - reflection of the
sunset shone in the little cabin, - - she
told us good-bye. At her faltering request -
- - I played her a soft -- - tune - on the -
-- - three - - strings
left. With a sweet smile -
- - she reached out and laid her hand on the
one of mine that held the quavering - - -
strings, and closed her tired eyes - - - and
- - - went away. At her
gentle touch the string - - - of Love - -
fell in two. Still, these
two, Faith - - and Life - - have lingered
with me, - - and I came here some years ago
to make my living. I got
too old to work - - - and turned - - to my
old companion - for help. I
couldn't play very well because - - - I only
had - - the two strings, - - but after she
named them - - and then - -and then they
broke - - none others can ever - - have
their place."
He fell back now, completely exhausted.
"I am going to - - die - - and - - take -
- with me! Put - it - with
me."
I knew what he meant, though the words
could scarcer be understood, and I assured
him that his fiddle should find a last
resting-place with him. He
raised his fading eyes once more to mine
with a grateful look, and then closed them
slowly, and so quietly his breathing stopped
that I scarcely marked the time, save that
with a faint vibration the last string on
the violin sprung in two.
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