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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