the fifth string-第1章

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The　Fifth　String



by　John　Philip　Sousa











I



The　coming　of　Diotti　to　America

had　awakened　more　than　usual

interest　in　the　man　and　his　work。　His

marvelous　success　as　violinist　in　the

leading　capitals　of　Europe；　together　with

many　brilliant　contributions　to　the

literature　of　his　instrument；　had　long　been

favorably　commented　on　by　the　critics

of　the　old　world。　Many　stories　of　his

struggles　and　his　triumphs　had　found

their　way　across　the　ocean　and　had　been

read　and　re…read　with　interest。



Therefore；　when　Mr。　Henry　Perkins；

the　well…known　impresario；　announced

with　an　air　of　conscious　pride　and

pardonable　enthusiasm　that　he　had　secured

Diotti　for　a　‘‘limited''　number　of

concerts；　Perkins'　friends　assured　that

wide…awake　gentleman　that　his　foresight

amounted　to　positive　genius；　and

they　predicted　an　unparalleled　success

for　his　star。　On　account　of　his　wonderful

ability　as　player；　Diotti　was　a

favorite　at　half　the　courts　of　Europe；　and

the　astute　Perkins　enlarged　upon　this

fact　without　regard　for　the　feelings　of

the　courts　or　the　violinist。



On　the　night　preceding　Diotti's　debut

in　New　York；　he　was　the　center　of

attraction　at　a　reception　given　by　Mrs。

Llewellyn；　a　social　leader；　and　a　devoted

patron　of　the　arts。　The　violinist　made

a　deep　impression　on　those　fortunate

enough　to　be　near　him　during　the　even…

ing。　He　won　the　respect　of　the　men

by　his　observations　on　matters　of

international　interest；　and　the　admiration　of

the　gentler　sex　by　his　chivalric　estimate

of　woman's　influence　in　the　world's

progress；　on　which　subject　he　talked

with　rarest　good　humor　and　delicately

implied　gallantry。



During　one　of　those　sudden　and

unexplainable　lulls　that　always　occur　in

general　drawing…room　conversations；　Diotti

turned　to　Mrs。　Llewellyn　and　whispered：

‘‘Who　is　the　charming　young

woman　just　entering？''



‘‘The　beauty　in　white？''



‘‘Yes；　the　beauty　in　white；''　softly

echoing　Mrs。　Llewellyn's　query。　He

leaned　forward　and　with　eager　eyes

gazed　in　admiration　at　the　new…comer。

He　seemed　hypnotized　by　the　vision；

which　moved　slowly　from　between　the

blue…tinted　portieres　and　stood　for　the

instant；　a　perfect　embodiment　of　radiant

womanhood；　silhouetted　against　the

silken　drapery。



‘‘That　is　Miss　Wallace；　Miss　Mildred

Wallace；　only　child　of　one　of　New

York's　prominent　bankers。''



‘‘She　is　beautifula　queen　by　divine

right；''　cried　he；　and　then　with　a　mingling

of　impetuosity　and　importunity；

entreated　his　hostess　to　present　him。



And　thus　they　met。



Mrs。　Llewellyn's　entertainments　were

celebrated；　and　justly　so。　At　her　receptions

one　always　heard　the　best　singers

and　players　of　the　season；　and　Epicurus'

soul　could　rest　in　peace；　for　her　chef　had

an　international　reputation。　Oh；

remember；　you　music…fed　ascetic；　many；

aye；　very　many；　regard　the　transition

from　Tschaikowsky　to　terrapin；　from

Beethoven　to　burgundy　with　hearts

aflame　with　anticipatory　joyand　Mrs。

Llewellyn's　dining…room　was　crowded。



Miss　Wallace　and　Diotti　had

wandered　into　the　conservatory。



‘‘A　desire　for　happiness　is　our　common

heritage；''　he　was　saying　in　his

richly　melodious　voice。



‘‘But　to　define　what　constitutes

happiness　is　very　difficult；''　she　replied。



‘‘Not　necessarily；''　he　went　on；　‘‘if

the　motive　is　clearly　within　our　grasp；

the　attainment　is　possible。''



‘‘For　example？''　she　asked。



‘‘The　miser　is　happy　when　he　hoards

his　gold；　the　philanthropist　when　he

distributes　his。　The　attainment　is　identical；

but　the　motives　are　antipodal。''



‘‘Then　one　possessing　sufficient

motives　could　be　happy　without　end？''

she　suggested　doubtingly。



‘‘That　is　my　theory。　The　Niobe　of

old　had　happiness　within　her　power。''



‘‘The　gods　thought　not；''　said　she；

‘‘in　their　very　pity　they　changed　her

into　stone；　and　with　streaming　eyes　she

ever　tells　the　story　of　her　sorrow。''



‘‘But　are　her　children　weeping？''

he　asked。　‘‘I　think　not。　Happiness

can　bloom　from　the　seeds　of　deepest

woe；''　and　in　a　tone　almost　reverential；

he　continued：　‘‘I　remember　a　picture　in

one　of　our　Italian　galleries　that　always

impressed　me　as　the　ideal　image　of

maternal　happiness。　It　is　a　painting　of

the　Christ…mother　standing　by　the　body

of　the　Crucified。　Beauty　was　still　hers；

and　the　dress　of　grayish　hue；　nun…like　in

its　simplicity；　seemed　more　than　royal

robe。　Her　face；　illumined　as　with　a　light

from　heaven；　seemed　inspired　with　this

thought：　‘They　have　killed　Himthey

have　killed　my　son！　Oh；　God；　I　thank

Thee　that　His　suffering　is　at　an　end！'

And　as　I　gazed　at　the　holy　face；　an…

other　light　seemed　to　change　it　by

degrees　from　saddened　motherhood　to

triumphant　woman！　Then　came：　‘He

is　not　dead；　He　but　sleeps；　He　will

rise　again；　for　He　is　the　best　beloved

of　the　Father！'　''



‘‘Still；　fate　can　rob　us　of　our　patrimony；''

she　replied；　after　a　pause。



‘‘Not　while　life　is　here　and　eternity

beyond；''　he　said；　reassuringly。



‘‘What　if　a　soul　lies　dormant　and

will　not　arouse？''　she　asked。



‘‘There　are　souls　that　have　no　motive

low　enough　for　earth；　but　only　high

enough　for　heaven；''　he　said；　with　evident

intention；　looking　almost　directly

at　her。



‘‘Then　one　must　come　who　speaks

in　nature's　tongue；''　she　continued。



‘‘And　the　soul　will　then　awake；''　he

added　earnestly。



‘‘But　is　there　such　a　one？''　she

asked。



‘‘Perhaps；''　he　almost　whispered；　his

thought　father　to　the　wish。



‘‘I　am　afraid　not；''　she　sighed。　‘‘I

studied　drawing；　worked　diligently　and；

I　hope；　intelligently；　and　yet　I　was

quickly　convinced　that　a　counterfeit

presentment　of　nature　was　puny　and

insignificant。　I　painted　Niagara。　My

friends　praised　my　effort。　I　saw

Niagara　againI　destroyed　the　picture。''



‘‘But　you　must　be　prepared　to

accept　the　limitations　of　man　and　his

work；''　said　the　philosophical　violinist



‘‘Annihilation　of　one's　own　identity

in　the　moment　is　possible　in　nature's

domainnever　in　man's。　The　resistless；

never…ending　rush　of　the　waters；

madly　churning；　pitilessly　dashing

against　the　rocks　below；　the　mighty

roar　of　the　loosened　giant；　that　was

Niagara。　My　picture　seemed　but　a

smear　of　paint。''



‘‘Still；　man　has　won　the　admiration

of　man　by　his　achievements；''　he　said。



‘‘Alas；　for　me；''　she　sighed；　‘‘I　have

not　felt　it。''



‘‘Surely　you　have　been　stirred　by　the

wonders　man　has　accomplished　in

music's　realm？''　Diotti　ventured。



‘‘I　never　have　been。''　She　spoke

sadly　and　reflectively。



‘‘But　does　not　the　passion…laden　theme

of　a　master；　or　the　marvelous　feeling　of

a　player　awaken　your　emotions？''　persisted　he。



She　stood　leaning　lightly　against　a

pillar　by　the　fountain。　‘‘I　never　hear　a

pianist；　however　great　and　famous；　but

I　see　the　little　cream…colored　hammers

within　the　piano　bobbing　up　and　down

like　acrobatic　brownies。　I　never　hear

the　plaudits　of　the　crowd　for　the

artist　and　watch　him　return　to　bow　his

thanks；　but　I　mentally　demand　that

these　little　acrobats；　each　resting　on　an

individual　pedestal；　and　weary　from　his

efforts；　shall　appear　to　receive　a　share

of　the　applause。



‘‘When　I　listen　to　a　great　singer；''

continued　this　world…defying　skeptic；

‘‘trilling　like　a　thrush；　scampering　over

the　scales；　I　see　a　clumsy　lot　of　ah；　ah；

ahs；　awkwardly；　uncertainly　ambling　up

the　gamut；　saying；　‘were　it　not　for　us

she　could　not　sing　thusgive　us　our

meed　of　praise。'　''



Slowly　he　replied：　‘‘Masters　have

written　in　wondrous　language　and　masters

have　played　with　wondrous　power。''



‘‘And　I　so　long　to　hear；''　she　said；

almost　plaintively。　‘‘I　marvel　at　the

invention　of　the　composer　and　the　skill

of　the　player；　but　there　I　cease。''



He　looked　at　her　intently。　She　was

standing　before　him；　not　a　block　of

chise