Part 3 (1/2)

”Not with me?” interrupted the violinist, now thoroughly interested.

”The trouble lies not with you,” repeated the visitor, ”but with the miserable violin you have been using and have just destroyed,” and he pointed to the shattered instrument.

Tears welled from the poor violinist's eyes as he gazed on the fragments of his beloved violin, the pieces lying scattered about as the result of his unfortunate anger.

”It was a Stradivarius,” said Diotti, sadly.

”Had it been a Stradivarius, an Amati or a Guarnerius, or a host of others rolled into one, you would not have found in it the melody to win the heart of the woman you love. Get a better and more suitable instrument.”

”Where is one?” earnestly interrogated Diotti, vaguely realizing that Satan knew.

”In my possession,” Satan replied.

”She would hate me if she knew I had recourse to the powers of darkness to gain her love,” bitterly interposed Diotti.

Satan, wincing at this uncomplimentary allusion to himself, replied rather warmly: ”My dear sir, were it not for the fact that I feel in particularly good spirits this morning, I should resent your ill-timed remarks and leave you to end your miserable existence with rope or pistol,” and Satan pantomimed both suicidal contingencies.

”Do you want the violin or not?”

”I might look at it,” said Diotti, resolving mentally that he could go so far without harm.

”Very well,” said Satan. He gave a long whistle.

An old man, bearing a violin case, came within the room. He bowed to the wondering Diotti, and proceeded to open the case. Taking the instrument out the old man fondled it with loving and tender solicitude, pointing out its many beauties--the exquisite blending of the curves, the evenness of the grain, the peculiar coloring, the lovely contour of the neck, the graceful outlines of the body, the scroll, rivaling the creations of the ancient sculptors, the solidity of the bridge and its elegantly carved heart, and, waxing exceedingly enthusiastic, holding up the instrument and looking at it as one does at a cl.u.s.ter of gems, he added, ”the adjustment of the strings.”

”That will do,” interrupted Satan, taking the violin from the little man, who bowed low and ceremoniously took his departure. Then the devil, pointing to the instrument, asked: ”Isn't it a beauty?”

The musician, eying it keenly, replied: ”Yes, it is, but not the kind of violin I play on.”

[Ill.u.s.tration]

”Oh, I see,” carelessly observed the other, ”you refer to that extra string.”

”Yes,” answered the puzzled violinist, examining it closely.

”Allow me to explain the peculiar characteristics of this magnificent instrument,” said his satanic majesty. ”This string,” pointing to the G, ”is the string of pity; this one,” referring to the third, ”is the string of hope; this,” plunking the A, ”is attuned to love, while this one, the E string, gives forth sounds of joy.

”You will observe,” went on the visitor, noting the intense interest displayed by the violinist, ”that the position of the strings is the same as on any other violin, and therefore will require no additional study on your part.”

”But that extra string?” interrupted Diotti, designating the middle one on the violin, a vague foreboding rising within him.

”That,” said Mephistopheles, solemnly, and with no pretense of sophistry, ”is the string of death, and he who plays upon it dies at once.”

”The--string--of--death!” repeated the violinist almost inaudibly.

”Yes, the string of death,” Satan repeated, ”and he who plays upon it dies at once. But,” he added cheerfully, ”that need not worry you. I noticed a marvelous facility in your arm work. Your staccato and spiccato are wonderful. Every form of bowing appears child's play to you. It will be easy for you to avoid touching the string.”

”Why avoid it? Can it not be cut off?”