UC-NRLF 
 
 It 
 
 JOHN 
 

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 7 
 
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The Fifth String 
 
be FiftL 
 
 John Philip 
 
 Howard Chandler Cbr 
 
 The lone occupant of the box 
 
The Fifth String 
 
 By 
 
 John Philip Sous a 
 
 The Illustrations by 
 Howard Chandler Christy 
 
 Indianapolis 
 
 The Bow en- Merrill Company 
 Publishers 
 
Copyright 1902 
 Bow en-Merrill Company 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
 
 BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 
 
 BROOKLYN, N. Y. 
 
The Fifth String 
 
ACADEMYo/MUSIC 
 
 DECEMBER i2TH-^8:oo P. M. 
 
 HRST APPEARANCE IN AMERICA OF 
 
 THE RENOWNED TUSCAN 
 
 VIOLINIST 
 
 ANGELO 
 DIOTTI 
 
 ASSISTED BY 
 
 ARTISTS OF INTERNATIONAL 
 REPUTATION 
 
 DIRECTION OF MR. HENRY PERKINS 
 
 SECOND CONCERT OF SIGNOR DIOTTI 
 DECEMBER 14 
 
The Fifth String 
 
 coming of Diotti to America 
 had awakened more than usual in 
 terest in the man and his work. His 
 marvelous success as violinist in the 
 leading capitals of Europe, together with 
 many brilliant contributions to the lit 
 erature 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. 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 Therefore, when Mr. Henry Perkins, 
 the well-known impresario, announced 
 with an air of conscious pride and par 
 donable enthusiasm that he had secured 
 Diotti for a " limited" number of con 
 certs, Perkins friends assured that 
 wide-awake gentleman that his fore 
 sight amounted to positive genius, and 
 they predicted an unparalleled success 
 for his star. On account of his wonder 
 ful ability as player, Diotti was a fa 
 vorite 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 de 
 but 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- 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 ing. He won the respect of the men 
 by his observations on matters of inter 
 national 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 unex- 
 plainable lulls that always occur in gen 
 eral drawing-room conversations, Diot- 
 ti turned to Mrs. Llewellyn and whis 
 pered : u 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 
 3 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 instant, a perfect embodiment of radi 
 ant 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 beautiful a queen by divine 
 right," cried he, and then with a min 
 gling 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 re 
 ceptions 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, re 
 member, you music-fed ascetic, many, 
 aye, very many, regard the transition 
 from Tschaikowsky to terrapin, from 
 Beethoven to burgundy with hearts 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 aflame with anticipatory joy and Mrs. 
 Llewellyn s dining-room was crowded. 
 
 Miss Wallace and Diotti had wan 
 dered into the conservatory. 
 
 " A desire for happiness is our com 
 mon heritage," he was saying in his 
 richly melodious voice. 
 
 " But to define what constitutes hap 
 piness 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 iden 
 tical, but the motives are antipodal." 
 
 " Then one possessing sufficient mo 
 tives could be happy without end? 3 
 she suggested doubtingly. 
 
 " That is my theory. The Niobe of 
 old had happiness within her power." 
 
 5 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 " 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? v 
 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 Him they 
 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- 
 6 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NO 
 
 other light seemed to change it by de 
 grees 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 patri 
 mony," 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 evi 
 dent 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. 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 " 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 in 
 significant. I painted Niagara. My 
 friends praised my effort. I saw Ni 
 agara again I destroyed the picture." 
 
 c But you must be prepared to ac 
 cept 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 
 domain never in man s. The resist 
 less, never-ending rush of the waters, 
 madly churning, pitilessly dashing 
 against the rocks below; the mighty 
 roar of the loosened giant; that was 
 8 
 
owofc 
 
THE F 
 
 the 
 
 " Perhaps," 
 thought fat 
 
 studied 
 I hope 
 
 effort. I saw Ni- 
 
 re." 
 
 to ac- 
 
 il viol i 
 
 -sist- 
 
 ;lly cl. 
 
 inst the rocks below; the mi 
 of the loosenec ; that 
 
 1 see each ivory key bobbing: up and down 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 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." 
 
 u Surely you have been stirred by the 
 wonders man has accomplished in mu 
 sic 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?" per 
 sisted 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 
 
 9 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 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 thus give us our 
 meed of praise. " 
 
 Slowly he replied: " Masters have 
 written in wondrous language and mas 
 ters 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 
 
 10 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 standing before him, not a block of 
 chiseled ice, but a beautiful, breathing 
 woman. He offered her his arm and 
 together they made their way to the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 "Perhaps, some day, one will come 
 who can sing a song of perfect love in 
 perfect tones, and your soul will be at 
 tuned to his melody." 
 
 " Perhaps and good-night," she 
 softly said, leaving his arm and joining 
 her friends, who accompanied her to the 
 carriage. 
 
 li 
 
II 
 
 intangible something that places 
 the stamp of popular approval on 
 one musical enterprise, while another 
 equally artistic and as cleverly managed 
 languishes in a condition of unendorsed 
 greatness, remains one of the unsolved 
 mysteries. 
 
 When a worker in the vineyard of 
 music or the drama offers his choicest 
 tokay to the public, that fickle coquette 
 may turn to the more ordinary and less 
 succulent concord. And the worker 
 and the public itself know not why. 
 
 It is true, Diotti s fame had preceded 
 him, but fame has preceded others and 
 
 12 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 has not always been proof against finan 
 cial disaster. All this preliminary, and 
 it is but necessary to recall that on the 
 evening of December the twelfth Diotti 
 made his initial bow in New York, to 
 an audience that completely filled ev 
 ery available space in the Academy of 
 Music a representative audience, dis 
 tinguished alike for beauty, wealth and 
 discernment. 
 
 When the violinist appeared for his 
 solo, he quietly acknowledged the cor 
 dial reception of the audience, and im 
 mediately proceeded with the business 
 of the evening. At a slight nod from 
 him the conductor rapped attention, 
 then launched the orchestra into the 
 introduction of the concerto, Diotti s 
 favorite, selected for the first number. 
 As the violinist turned to the con 
 ductor he faced slightly to the left and in 
 a direct line with the second proscenium 
 
 3 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 box. His poise was admirable. He was 
 handsome, with the olive-tinted warmth 
 of his southern home fairly tall, straight- 
 limbed and lithe a picture of poetic 
 grace. His was the face of a man who 
 trusted without reserve, the manner of 
 one who believed implicitly, feeling 
 that good was universal and evil acci 
 dental. 
 
 As the music grew louder and the 
 orchestra approached the peroration of 
 the preface of the coming solo, the vio 
 linist raised his head slowly. Suddenly 
 his eyes met the gaze of the solitary 
 occupant of the second proscenium box. 
 His face flushed. He looked inquiring 
 ly, almost appealingly, at her. She sat 
 immovable and serene, a lace-framed 
 vision in white. 
 
 It was she who, since he had met 
 her, only the night before, held his very 
 soul in thraldom. 
 
 H 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 He lifted his bow, tenderly placing it 
 on the strings. Faintly came the first 
 measures of the theme. The melody, 
 noble, limpid and beautiful, floated in 
 dreamy sway over the vast auditorium, 
 and seemed to cast a mystic glamour 
 over the player. As the final note of 
 the first movement was dying away, the 
 audience, awakening from its delicious 
 trance, broke forth into spontaneous 
 bravos. 
 
 Mildred Wallace, scrutinizing the 
 program, merely drew her wrap closer 
 about her shoulders and sat more erect. 
 At the end of the concerto the applause 
 was generous enough to satisfy the most 
 exacting virtuoso. Diotti unquestion 
 ably had scored the greatest triumph of 
 his career. But the lady in the box had 
 remained silent and unaffected through 
 out. 
 
 The poor fellow had seen only her dur- 
 
 5 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 ing the time he played, and the mighty 
 cheers that came from floor and galler 
 ies struck upon his ear like the echoes 
 of mocking demons. Leaving the stage 
 he hurried to his dressing-room and 
 sank into a chair. He had persuaded 
 himself she should not be insensible to 
 his genius, but the dying ashes of his 
 hopes, his dreams, were smouldering, 
 and in his despair came the thought : 
 " I am not great enough for her. I am 
 but a man ; her consort should be a god. 
 Her soul, untouched by human passion 
 or human skill, demands the power of 
 god-like genius to arouse it." 
 
 Music lovers crowded into his dress 
 ing-room, enthusiastic in their praises. 
 Cards conveying delicate compliments 
 written in delicate chirography poured 
 in upon him, but in vain he looked for 
 some sign, some word from her. 
 
 16 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 Quickly he left the theater and sought 
 his hotel. 
 
 A menacing cloud obscured the win 
 try moon. A clock sounded the mid 
 night hour. 
 
 He threw himself upon the bed and 
 almost sobbed his thoughts, and their 
 burden was: 
 
 "I am not great enough for her. I 
 am but a man, I am but a man ! " 
 
Ill 
 
 T)ERKINS called in the morning. 
 Perkins was happy Perkins was 
 positively joyous, and Perkins was self- 
 satisfied. The violinist had made a 
 great hit. But Perkins, confiding in 
 the white-coated dispenser who con 
 cocted his matin Martini, very dry, an 
 hour before, said he regarded the suc 
 cess due as much to the management as 
 to the artist. And Perkins believed it. 
 Perkins usually took all the credit for a 
 success, and with charming consistency 
 placed all responsibility for failure on the 
 shoulders of the hapless artist. 
 
 When Perkins entered Diotti s room 
 18 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 he found the violinist heavy-eyed and 
 dejected. "My dear Signer," he began, 
 showing a large envelope bulging with 
 newspaper clippings, "I have brought 
 the notices. They are quite the limit, I 
 assure you. Nothing like them ever 
 heard before all tuned in the same 
 key, as you musical fellows would say," 
 and Perkins cocked his eye. 
 
 Perkins enjoyed a glorious reputation 
 with himself for bright sayings, which 
 he always accompanied with a cock of 
 the eye. The musician not showing any 
 visible appreciation of the manager s 
 metaphor, Perkins immediately pro 
 ceeded to uncock his eye. 
 
 " Passed the box-office coming up," 
 continued this voluble enlightener; 
 " nothing left but a few seats in the top 
 gallery. We ll stand them on their 
 heads to-morrow night see if we 
 don t." Then he handed the bursting 
 
 19 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 envelope of notices to Diotti, who list 
 lessly put them on the table at his side. 
 
 "Too tired to read, eh?" said Per 
 kins, and then with the advance-agent 
 instinct strong within him he selected a 
 clipping, and touching the violinist on 
 the shoulder: "Let me read this one to 
 you. It is by Herr Totenkellar. He 
 is a hard nut to crack, but he did him 
 self proud this time. Great critic when 
 he wants to be." 
 
 Perkins cleared his throat and began: 
 "Diotti combines tremendous feeling 
 with equally tremendous technique. 
 The entire audience was under the 
 witchery of his art." Diotti slowly neg 
 atived that statement with bowed head. 
 "His tone is full, round and clear* his 
 interpretation lends a story-telling charm 
 to the music ; for, while we drank deep 
 at the fountain of exquisite melody, we 
 saw sparkling within the waters the 
 20 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NO 
 
 lights of Paradise. New York never 
 has heard his equal. He stands alone, 
 pre-eminent, an artistic giant." 
 
 "Now, that s what I call great," said 
 the impresario, dramatically; "when 
 you hit Totenkellar that way you are 
 good for all kinds of money." 
 
 Perkins took his hat and cane and 
 moved toward the door. The violin 
 ist arose and extended his hand wear 
 ily. "Good-day" came simultaneous 
 ly; then "I m off. We ll turn em 
 away to-morrow; see if we don t!" 
 Whereupon Perkins left Diotti alone in 
 his misery. 
 
 31 
 
IV 
 
 TTwas the evening of the fourteenth. 
 In front of the Academy a strong- 
 lunged and insistent tribe of gentry, 
 known as ticket speculators, were reap 
 ing a rich harvest. They represented a 
 beacon light of hope to many tardy pa 
 trons of the evening s entertainment, 
 especially to the man who had forgot 
 ten his wife s injunction "to be sure 
 to buy the tickets on the way down 
 town, dear, and get them in the family 
 circle, not too far back." This man s 
 intentions were sincere, but his newspa 
 per was unusually interesting that morn 
 ing. He was deeply engrossed in an 
 
 22 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NO 
 
 article on the causes leading to matri 
 monial infelicities when his bus passed 
 the Academy box-office. 
 
 He was six blocks farther down town 
 when he finished the article, only to 
 find that it was a carefully worded 
 advertisement for a new patent medi 
 cine, and of course he had not time to 
 return. "Oh, well," said he, " I ll get 
 them when I go up town to-night." 
 
 But he did not. So with fear in his 
 heart and a red-faced woman on his 
 arm he approached the box-office. 
 " Not a seat left," sounded to his hen 
 pecked ears like the concluding words 
 of the black-robed judge: " and may the 
 Lord have mercy upon your soul." But 
 a reprieve came, for one of the aforesaid 
 beacon lights of hope rushed forward, 
 saying: "I have two good seats, not 
 far back, and only ten apiece." And 
 the gentleman with fear in his heart 
 
 23 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 and the red-faced woman on his arm 
 passed in. 
 
 They saw the largest crowd in the 
 history of the Academy. Every seat was 
 occupied, every foot of standing room 
 taken. Chairs were placed in the side 
 aisles. The programs announced that 
 it was the second appearance in America 
 of Angelo Diotti, the renowed Tuscan 
 violinist. 
 
 The orchestra had perfunctorily 
 ground out the overture to " Der Frei- 
 schuetz," the baritone had stentorianly 
 emitted " Dio Possente," the soprano 
 was working her way through the closing 
 measures of the mad scene from " Lu 
 cia," and Diotti was number four on 
 the program. The conductor stood be 
 side his platform, ready to ascend as 
 Diotti appeared. 
 
 The audience, ever ready to act when 
 those on the stage cease that occupation, 
 24 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 gave a splendid imitation of the historic 
 last scene at the Tower of Babel. 
 Having accomplished this to its evident 
 satisfaction, the audience proceeded, like 
 the closing phrase of the " Goetterdaem- 
 merung" Dead March, to become ex 
 ceedingly quiet then expectant. 
 
 This expectancy lasted fully three 
 minutes. Then there were some impa 
 tient handclappings. A few persons 
 whispered: " Why is he late ?" "Why 
 doesn t he come ?" " I wonder where 
 Diotti is," and then came unmistakable 
 signs of impatience. At its height Per 
 kins appeared, hesitatingly. Nervous 
 and jerky he walked to the center of 
 the stage, and raised his hand begging 
 silence. The audience was stilled. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen," he falter- 
 ingly said, " Signer Diotti left his hotel 
 at seven o clock and was driven to the 
 Academy. The call-boy rapped at his 
 
 25 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 dressing-room, and not receiving a re 
 ply, opened the door to find the room 
 empty. We have despatched searchers 
 in every direction and have sent out a 
 police alarm. We fear some accident 
 has befallen the Signor. We ask your 
 indulgence for the keen disappointment, 
 and beg to say that your money will be 
 refunded at the box-office." 
 
 Diotti had disappeared as complete 
 ly as though the earth had swallowed 
 him. 
 
 26 
 
DEAREST SISTER: You 
 
 doubtless were exceedingly mys 
 tified and troubled over the report that 
 was flashed to Europe regarding my 
 sudden disappearance on the eve of my 
 second concert in New York. 
 
 Fearing, sweet Francesca, that you 
 might mourn me as dead, I sent the 
 cablegram you received some weeks 
 since, telling you to be of good heart 
 and await my letter. To make my ac 
 tion thoroughly understood I must give 
 you a record of what happened to me 
 from the first day I arrived in Amer 
 ica. I found a great interest mani- 
 
 2? 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 fested in my premiere, and socially ev-i 
 erything was done to make me happy. 
 
 Mrs. James Llewellyn, whom, you 
 no doubt remember, we met in Florence 
 the winter of 18 , immediately after I 
 reached New York arranged a recep 
 tion for me, which was elegant in the 
 extreme. But from that night dates 
 my misery. 
 
 You ask her name? Mildred Wal 
 lace. Tell me what she is like, I hear 
 you say. Of graceful height, willowy 
 and exquisitely molded, not over twen 
 ty-four, with the face of a Madonna; 
 wondrous eyes of darkest blue, hair in 
 describable in its maze of tawny color 
 in a word, the perfection of woman 
 hood. In half an hour I was her ab 
 ject slave, and proud in my serfdom. 
 When I returned to the hotel that even 
 ing I could not sleep. Her image ever 
 was before me, elusive and shadowy. 
 28 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 And yet we seemed to grow farther and 
 farther apart she nearer heaven, I 
 nearer earth. 
 
 The next evening I gave my first and 
 what I fear may prove my last concert 
 in America. The vision of my dreams 
 was there, radiant in rarest beauty. 
 Singularly enough, she was in the di 
 rect line of my vision while I played. 
 I saw only her, played but for her, and 
 cast my soul at her feet. She sat indif 
 ferent and silent. " Cold ?" you say. No! 
 No! Francesca, not cold; superior to 
 my poor efforts. I realized my limita 
 tions. I questioned my genius. When 
 I returned to bow my acknowledgments 
 for the most generous applause I have 
 ever received, there was no sign on her 
 part that I had interested her, either 
 through my talent or by appeal to her 
 curiosity. I hoped against hope that 
 some word might come from her, but I 
 29 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NO 
 
 was doomed to disappointment. The 
 critics were fulsome in their praise and 
 the public was lavish with its plaudits, 
 but I was abjectly miserable. Another 
 sleepless night and I was determined to 
 see her. She received me most gra 
 ciously, although I fear she thought my 
 visit one of vanity wounded vanity 
 and me petulant because of her lack of 
 appreciation. 
 
 Oh, sister mine, I knew better. I 
 knew my heart craved one word, how 
 ever matter-of-fact, that would rekindle 
 the hope that was dying within me. 
 
 Hesitatingly, and like a clumsy yokel, 
 I blurted: "I have been wondering 
 whether you cared for the performance 
 I gave? " 
 
 44 It certainly ought to make little 
 difference to you," she replied; " the 
 public was enthusiastic enough in its 
 endorsement." 
 
 30 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 "But I want your opinion," I plead 
 ed. 
 
 " My opinion would not at all affect 
 the almost unanimous verdict," she 
 replied calmly. 
 
 "And," I urged desperately, "you 
 were not affected in the least ?" 
 
 Very coldly she answered, " Not in 
 the least;" and then fearlessly, like a 
 princess in the Palace of Truth : "If 
 ever a man comes who can awaken my 
 heart, frankly and honestly I will con 
 fess it." 
 
 " Perhaps such a one lives," I said, 
 " but has yet to reach the height to win 
 you your 
 
 "Speak it," she said, " to win my 
 love!" 
 
 "Yes," I cried, startled at her can 
 dor, "to win your love." Hope slowly 
 rekindled within my breast, and then 
 
 3 1 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 with half-closed eyes, and wooingly, she 
 said : 
 
 66 No drooping Clytie could be more 
 constant than I to him who strikes the 
 chord that is responsive in my soul." 
 
 Her emotion must have surprised her, 
 but immediately she regained her placid 
 ity and reverted no more to the subject. 
 
 I went out into the gathering gloom. 
 Her words haunted me. A strange 
 feeling came over me. A voice within 
 me cried: " Do not play to-night. 
 Study ! study I Perhaps in the full frui 
 tion of your genius your music, like the 
 warm western wind to the harp, may 
 bring life to her soul." 
 
 I fled, and I am here. I am delving 
 deeper and deeper into the mysteries of 
 my art, and I pray God each hour that 
 He may place within my grasp the 
 wondrous music His blessed angels 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 sing, for the soul of her I love is at 
 tuned to the harmonies of heaven. 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 ANGELO. 
 ISLAND OF BAHAMA, January 2. 
 
 33 
 
VI 
 
 TJ^HEN Diotti left New York so 
 *" precipitately he took passage 
 on a coast line steamer sailing for the 
 Bahama Islands. Once there, he leased 
 a small cay, one of a group off the main 
 land, and lived alone and unattended, 
 save for the weekly visits of an old 
 fisherman and his son, who brought 
 supplies of provisions from the town 
 miles away. His dwelling-place, sur 
 rounded with palmetto trees, was little 
 more than a rough shelter. Diotti arose 
 at daylight, and after a simple repast, 
 betook himself to practise. Hour after 
 hour he would let his muse run riot 
 34 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NO 
 
 with his fingers. Lovingly he wooed 
 the strings with plaintive song, then 
 conquering and triumphant would be 
 his theme. But neither satisfied him. 
 The vague dream of a melody more 
 beautiful than ever man had heard 
 dwelt hauntingly on the borders of his 
 imagination, but was no nearer realiza 
 tion than when he began. As the day s 
 work closed, he wearily placed the 
 violin within its case, murmuring, 
 " Not yet, not yet; I have not found it." 
 Days passed, weeks crept slowly 
 on; still he worked, but always 
 with the same result. One day, 
 feverish and excited, he played on 
 in monotone almost listless. His tired, 
 over-wrought brain denied a further 
 thought. His arm and fingers refused 
 response to his will. With an uncon 
 trollable outburst of grief and anger he 
 dashed the violin to the floor, where it 
 
 35 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NG 
 
 lay a hopeless wreck. Extending his 
 arms he cried, in the agony of despair: 
 " It is of no use! If the God of heaven 
 will not aid me, I ask the prince of 
 darkness to come." 
 
 A tall, rather spare, but well-made 
 and handsome man appeared at the 
 door of the hut. His manner was that of 
 one evidently conversant with the usages 
 of good society. 
 
 " I beg pardon," said the musician, 
 surprised and visibly nettled at the in 
 trusion, and then with forced politeness 
 he asked: " To whom am I indebted 
 for this unexpected visit? " 
 
 "Allow me," said the stranger tak 
 ing a card from his case and handing 
 it to the musician, who read: " Satan," 
 and, in the lower left-hand corner, 
 "Prince of Darkness." 
 
 " I am the Prince," said the stranger, 
 bowing low. 
 
 36 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NG 
 
 There was no hint of the pavement- 
 made ruler in the information he gave, 
 but rather of the desire of one gentle 
 man to set another right at the begin 
 ning. The musician assumed a posi 
 tion of open-mouthed wonder, gazing 
 steadily at the visitor. 
 
 " Satan? " he whispered hoarsely. 
 
 " You need help and advice," said 
 the visitor, his voice sounding like that 
 of a disciple of the healing art, and im 
 plying that he had thoroughly diagnosed 
 the case. 
 
 " No, no," cried the shuddering vio 
 linist; " go away. I do not need you." 
 
 " I regret I can not accept that state 
 ment as gospel truth," said Satan, sar 
 castically, " for if ever a man needed 
 help, you are that man." 
 
 " But not from you," replied Diotti. 
 
 " That statement is discredited also 
 
 37 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 by your outburst of a few moments ago 
 when you called upon me." 
 
 " I do not need you," reiterated the 
 musician. " I will have none of you! >: 
 and he waved his arm toward the door, 
 as if he desired the interview to end. 
 
 "I came at your behest, actuated 
 entirely by kindness of heart," said Sa 
 tan. 
 
 Diotti laughed derisively, and Satan, 
 showing just the slightest feeling at 
 Diotti s behavior, said reprovingly: "If 
 you will listen a moment, and not be so 
 rude to an utter stranger, we may reach 
 some conclusion to your benefit." 
 
 "Get thee behind" 
 
 I know exactly what you were about 
 to say. Have no fears on that score. 
 I have no demands to make and no im 
 possible compacts to insist upon." 
 
 "I have heard of you before," know- 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 ingly spoke the violinist, nodding his 
 head sadly. 
 
 "No doubt you have," smilingly. 
 "My reputation, which has suffered at 
 the hands of irresponsible people, is not 
 of the best, and places me at times in 
 awkward positions. But I am begin 
 ning to live it down." The stranger 
 looked contrition itself. " To prove my 
 sincerity I desire to help you win her 
 love," emphasizing her. 
 
 " How can you help me? " 
 
 "Very easily. You have been wast 
 ing time, energy and health in a wild 
 desire to play better. The trouble lies 
 not with you." 
 
 "Not with me?" interrupted the vio 
 linist, now thoroughly interested. 
 
 "The trouble lies not with you," re 
 peated the visitor, "but with the miser 
 able violin you have been using and have 
 
 39 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NO 
 
 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 inter 
 rogated Diotti, vaguely realizing that 
 Satan knew. 
 
 66 In my possession," Satan replied. 
 
 " She would hate me if she knew I 
 had recourse to the powers of darkness 
 
 40 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NG 
 
 to gain her love," bitterly interposed 
 Diotti. 
 
 Satan, wincing at this uncompliment 
 ary 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, re 
 solving 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 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 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 cluster 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, re 
 plied : "Yes, it is, but not the kind of 
 violin I play on." 
 
 42 
 
THE F I F 
 
 the old ma 
 and tender so 
 many beau 
 of the curv< 
 
 looking 
 
 , he 
 
 poi 
 
 it a be: 1 
 
 The n , eying it keenly, 
 
 plied: "Yes, it is, but not the 
 violin I play on." 
 
 The old man held up the violin 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 "Oh, I see," carelessly observed the 
 other, "you refer to that extra string." 
 
 " Yes," answered the puzzled violin 
 ist, examining it closely. 
 
 " Allow me to explain the peculiar 
 characteristics of this magnificent instru 
 ment," 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 dis 
 played by the violinist, " that the posi 
 tion 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 
 
 43 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NG 
 
 the violin, a vague foreboding rising 
 within him. 
 
 "That," said Mephistopheles, sol 
 emnly, and with no pretense of sophis 
 try, " 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 re 
 peated, "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 wonder 
 ful. 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?" 
 
 "Ah, that s the rub. If you ex 
 amine the violin closely you will find 
 that the string of death is made up of 
 44 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NG 
 
 the extra lengths of the other four 
 strings. To cut it off would destroy the 
 others, and then pity, hope, love and joy 
 would cease to exist in the soul of the 
 violin. 5 
 
 " How like life itself," Diotti re 
 flected, "pity, hope, love, joy end in 
 death, and through death they are born 
 again." 
 
 "That s the idea, precisely," said 
 Satan, evidently relieved by Diotti s 
 logic and quick perception. 
 
 The violinist examined the instrument 
 with the practised eye of an expert, and 
 turning to Satan said: "The four 
 strings are beautifully white and trans 
 parent, but this one is black and odd 
 looking. 
 
 6 What is it wrapped with ? eagerly 
 inquired Diotti, examining the death 
 string with microscopic care. 
 
 "The fifth string was added after an 
 
 45 
 
THE FIFTH STRI N G 
 
 unfortunate episode in the Garden of 
 Eden, in which I was somewhat con 
 cerned," said Satan, soberly. "It is 
 wrapped with strands of hair from the 
 first mother of man . Impressively then 
 he offered the violin to Diotti. 
 
 "I dare not take it," said the per 
 plexed musician ; "it s from " 
 
 "Yes, it is directly from there, but I 
 brought it from heaven when I I left," 
 said the fallen angel, with remorse in 
 his voice. " It was my constant com 
 panion there. But no one in my do 
 main not I, myself can play upon it 
 now, for it will respond neither to our 
 longing for pity, hope, love, joy, nor 
 even death," and sadly and retrospect 
 ively Satan gazed into vacancy; then, 
 after a long pause: "Try the instru 
 ment!" 
 
 Diotti placed the violin in position 
 
 46 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 and drew the bow across the string of 
 joy, improvising on it. Almost instantly 
 the birds of the forest darted hither and 
 thither, caroling forth in gladsome 
 strains. The devil alone was sad, and 
 with emotion said : 
 
 "It is many, many years since I 
 have heard that string." 
 
 Next the artist changed to the string 
 of pity, and thoughts of the world s 
 sorrows came over him like a pall. 
 
 "Wonderful, most wonderful!" said 
 the mystified violinist; "with this in 
 strument I can conquer the world!" 
 
 " Aye, more to you than the world," 
 said the tempter, " a woman s love." 
 
 A woman s love to the despairing 
 suitor there was one and only one in this 
 wide, wide world, and her words, burn 
 ing their way into his heart, had made 
 this temptation possible: "No droop- 
 
 47 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 ing Clytie could be more constant than 
 I to him who strikes the chord that is 
 responsive in my soul." 
 
 Holding the violin aloft, he cried ex- 
 ultingly : "Henceforth thou art mine, 
 though death and oblivion lurk ever 
 near thee!" 
 
 48 
 
VII 
 
 PERKINS, seated in his office, 
 threw the morning paper aside. 
 "It s no use," he said, turning to the 
 office boy, " I don t believe they ever 
 will find him, dead or alive. Whoever 
 put up the job on Diotti was a past 
 grand master at that sort of thing. The 
 silent assassin that lurks in the shadow 
 of the midnight moon is an explosion of 
 dynamite compared to the party that 
 made way with Diotti. You ask, why 
 should they kill him? My boy, you 
 don t know the world. They were 
 jealous of his enormous hit, of our 
 dazzling success. Jealousy did it." 
 
 49 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NG 
 
 The "they" of Perkins comprised 
 rival managers, rival artists, news 
 paper critics and everybody at large 
 who would not concede that the attrac 
 tions managed by Perkins were the 
 "greatest on earth." 
 
 "We ll never see his like again 
 come in!" this last in answer to a knock. 
 
 Diotti appeared at the open door. 
 Perkins jumped like one shot from a 
 catapult, and rushing toward the silent 
 figure in the doorway exclaimed: "Bless 
 my soul, are you a ghost?" 
 
 "A substantial one," said Diotti with 
 a smile. 
 
 "Are you really here ?" continued 
 the astonished impresario, using Diot- 
 ti s arm as a pump handle and pinch 
 ing him at the same time. 
 
 When they were seated Perkins plied 
 Diotti with all manner of questions : 
 
 How did it happen?" " How did you 
 
 " 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 escape?" and the like, all of which Diotti 
 parried with monosyllabic replies, final 
 ly saying: " I was dissatisfied with my 
 playing and went away to study." 
 
 Do you know that the failure to ful 
 fill your contract has cost me at least ten 
 thousand dollars?" said the shrewd 
 manager, the commercial side of his 
 nature asserting itself. 
 
 "All of which I will pay," quietly 
 replied the artist. "Besides I am ready 
 to play now, and you can announce a 
 concert within a week if you like." 
 
 " If I like?" cried the hustling Per 
 kins. " Here, James," calling his of 
 fice boy, " run down to the printer s 
 and give him this," making a note of 
 the various sizes of "paper" he desired, 
 " and tell Mr. Tompkins that Diotti is 
 back and will give a concert next Tues 
 day. Tell Smith to prepare the news 
 paper ads and notices immediately. 
 
 " 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 In an hour Perkins had the entire 
 machinery of his office in motion. 
 Within twenty-four hours New York 
 had several versions of the disappear 
 ance and return, all leading to one 
 common point that Diotti would give 
 a concert the coming Tuesday evening. 
 
 The announcement of the reappear 
 ance of the Tuscan contained a line 
 to the effect that the violinist would play 
 for the first time his new suite a medi 
 tation on the emotions. 
 
 He had not seen Mildred. 
 
 As he came upon the stage that night 
 the lights were turned low, and naught 
 but the shadowy outlines of player and 
 violin were seen. His reception by the 
 audience was not enthusiastic. They 
 evidently remembered the disappoint 
 ment caused by his unexpected disap 
 pearance, but this unfriendly attitude 
 
 5 2 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 soon gave way to evidences of kindlier 
 feelings. 
 
 Mildred was there, more beautiful 
 than ever, and to gain her love Diotti 
 would have bartered his soul that mo 
 ment. 
 
 The first movement of the suite was 
 entitled " Pity," and the music flowed 
 like melodious tears. A subdued sob 
 rose and fell with the sadness of the 
 theme. 
 
 Mildred s eyes were moistened as 
 she fixed them on the lone figure of the 
 player. 
 
 Now the theme of pity changed to 
 hope, and hearts grew brighter under the 
 spell. The next movement depicted joy. 
 As the virtuoso* s fingers darted here and 
 there, his music seemed the very laugh 
 ter of fairy voices, the earth looked roses 
 and sunshine, and Mildred, relaxing her 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NO 
 
 position and leaning forward in the box, 
 with lips slightly parted, was the picture 
 of eager happiness. 
 
 The final movement came. Its sub 
 ject was love. The introduction de 
 picted the Arcadian beauty of the 
 trysting place, love-lit eyes sought each 
 other intuitively and a great peace 
 brooded over the hearts of all. Then 
 followed the song of the Passionate Pil 
 grim : 
 
 -If music and sweet poetry agree, 
 As they must needs, the sister and the brother, 
 Then must the love be great twixt thee and 
 
 me 
 Because thou lov st the one, and I the other. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Thou lov st to hear the sweet melodious sound 
 That Phoebus lute (the queen ofmusic^makes; 
 And I in deep delight, am chiejly drown d 
 When as himself to singing he betakes. 
 
 54 
 

THE FIFTH S T J 
 
 position and leaning ; 
 with lips slightly par 
 of eager happiness. 
 
 The final 
 ject w 
 
 trystin^ 
 
 i the s 
 
 Th >ts sound 
 
 Thatl usic^ma 
 
 And I in am chiefly drow, 
 
 When as himself to singing he betaf 
 
 He took her hand reverently 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 One god is god of both, as poets feign, 
 One knight loves both, and both in thee re 
 main.* 
 
 Grander and grander the melody 
 rose, voicing love s triumph with won 
 drous sweetness and palpitating rhythm. 
 Mildred, her face flushed with excite 
 ment, a heavenly fire in her eyes and in 
 an attitude of supplication, reveled in 
 the glory of a new found emotion. 
 
 As the violinist concluded his per 
 formance an oppressive silence pervaded 
 the house, then the audience, wild with 
 excitement, burst into thunders of ap 
 plause. In his dressing-room Diotti 
 was besieged by hosts of people, con 
 gratulating him in extravagant terms. 
 
 Mildred Wallace came, extending her 
 hands. He took them almost rever 
 ently. She looked into his eyes, and 
 he knew he had struck the chord respon 
 sive in her soul. 
 
 55 
 
VIII 
 
 * r*HE sun was high in the heavens 
 
 when the violinist awoke. A great 
 
 weight had been lifted from his heart; 
 
 he had passed from darkness into dawn. 
 
 A messenger brought him this note: 
 
 My Dear Signor Diotti I am at home this 
 afternoon, and shall be delighted to see you and 
 return my thanks for the exquisite pleasure you 
 gave me last evening. Music, such as yours, 
 is indeed the voice of heaven. Sincerely, 
 
 Mildred Wallace. 
 
 The messenger returned with this re- 
 
 My Dear Miss Wallace I will call at three 
 to-day. Gratefully, 
 
 Angelo Diotti. 
 
 56 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 He watched the hour drag from eleven 
 to twelve, then counted the minutes to 
 one, and from that time until he left the 
 hotel each second was tabulated in his 
 mind. Arriving at her residence, he 
 was ushered into the drawing-room. It 
 was fragrant with the perfume of vio 
 lets, and he stood gazing at her portrait 
 expectant of her coming. 
 
 Dressed in simple white, entrancing 
 in her youthful freshness, she entered, 
 her face glowing with happiness, her 
 eyes languorous and expressive. She 
 hastened to him, offering both hands. 
 He held them in a loving, tender grasp, 
 and for a moment neither spoke. Then 
 she, gazing clearly and fearlessly into 
 his eyes, said: " My heart has found its 
 melody! " 
 
 He, kneeling like Sir Gareth of old: 
 " The song and the singer are yours 
 forever." 
 
 57 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 She, bidding him arise : "And I for 
 ever yours." And wondering at her 
 boldness, she added, " I know and feel 
 that you love me your eyes confirmed 
 your love before you spoke." Then, 
 convincingly and ingenuously, "I knew 
 you loved me the moment we first met. 
 Then I did not understand what that 
 meant to you, now I do." 
 
 He drew her gently to him, and the 
 motive of their happiness was defined 
 in sweet confessions: " My love, my 
 life My life, my love." 
 
 The magic of his music had changed 
 her very being, the breath of love was 
 in her soul, the vision of love was danc 
 ing in her eyes. The child of marble, 
 like the statue of old, had come to life: 
 
 "And not long 1 since 
 I iv as a cold, dull stone! I recollect 
 That by some means I knew that I was stone; 
 That was the first dull gleam of consciousness j 
 
 53 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 I became conscious of a chilly self, 
 A cold, immovable identity. 
 I knew that I was stone, and knew no more! 
 Then, by an imperceptible advance, 
 Came the dim evidence of outer things , 
 Seen darkly and imperfectly -yet seen 
 The walls surrounding me, and I, alone. 
 That pedestal that curtain then a voice 
 That called on Galatea ! At that word, 
 Which seemed to shake my marble to the core, 
 That which was dim before, came evident. 
 Sounds, that had hummed around me, indis 
 tinct, 
 
 Vague, meaningless seemed to resolve them 
 selves 
 
 Into a language I could understand , 
 I felt my frame pervaded by a glow 
 That seemed to thaw my marble intojlesh ; 
 Its cold, hard substance throbbed with active 
 
 life, 
 
 My limbs grew supple, and I moved I lived! 
 Lived in the ecstasy of a new-born life! 
 Lived in the love of him that fashioned me! 
 Lived in a thousand tangled thoughts of hope. 
 
 Day after day he came ; they told their 
 59 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 love, their hopes, their ambitions. She 
 assumed absolute proprietorship in him. 
 She gloried in her possession. 
 
 He was born into the world, nurtured 
 in infancy, trained in childhood and 
 matured into manhood, for one express 
 purpose to be hers alone. Her own 
 ership ranged from absolute despotism 
 to humble slavery, and he was happy 
 through it all. 
 
 One day she said: "Angelo, is it 
 your purpose to follow your profession 
 always ? 
 
 " Necessarily, it is my livelihood," he 
 replied. 
 
 " But do you not think that after we 
 stand at the altar, we never should be 
 separated ? 
 
 " We will be together always," said 
 he, holding her face between his palms, 
 and looking with tender expression into 
 her inquiring eyes. 
 
 60 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 " But I notice that women cluster 
 around you after your concerts and 
 shake your hand longer than they 
 should and talk to you longer than 
 they should and go away looking self- 
 satisfied!" she replied brokenly , much 
 as a little girl tells of the theft of her 
 doll. 
 
 " Nonsense," he said, smiling, " that 
 is all part of my profession; it is not 
 me they care for, it is the music I 
 give that makes them happy. If, in my 
 playing, I achieve results out of the com 
 mon, they admire me!" and he kissed 
 away the unwelcome tears. 
 
 "I know," she continued, " but 
 lately, since we have loved each other, 
 I can not bear to see a woman near 
 you. In my dreams again and again 
 an indefinable shadow mockingly comes 
 and cries to me, he is not to be yours, 
 he is to be mine. : 
 
 61 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 Diotti flushed and drew her to him. 
 " Darling," his voice carrying convic 
 tion, "I am yours, you are mine, all in 
 all, in life here and beyond!" And as 
 she sat dreaming after he had gone, she 
 murmured petulantly, " I wish there 
 were no other women in the world." 
 
 Her father was expected from Europe 
 on the succeeding day s steamer. Mr. 
 Wallace was a busy man. The various 
 gigantic enterprises he served as presi 
 dent or director occupied most of his 
 time. He had been absent in Europe 
 for several months, and Mildred was 
 anxiously awaiting his return to tell him 
 of her love. 
 
 When Mr. Wallace came to his resi 
 dence the next morning, his daughter 
 met him with a fond display of filial af 
 fection; they walked into the drawing- 
 room, hand in hand; he saw a picture 
 of the violinist on the piano. " Who s 
 62 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 the handsome young fellow?" he asked, 
 looking at the portrait with the satisfac 
 tion a man feels when he sees a splendid 
 type of his own sex. 
 
 " That is Angelo Diotti, the famous 
 violinist," she said, but she could not 
 add another word. 
 
 As they strolled through the rooms 
 he noticed no less than three likenesses 
 of the Tuscan. And as they passed her 
 room he saw still another on the chif- 
 fonnier. 
 
 " Seems to me the house is running 
 wild with photographs of that fiddler," 
 he said. 
 
 For the first time in her life she was 
 self-conscious: "I will wait for a more 
 opportune time to tell him, " she 
 thought. 
 
 In the scheme of Diotti s appearance 
 in New York there were to be two 
 more concerts. One was to be given 
 
 63 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 that evening. Mildred coaxed her 
 father to accompany her to hear the 
 violinist. Mr. Wallace was not fond 
 of music; " it had been knocked out of 
 him on the farm up in Vermont, when 
 he was a boy," he would apologetically 
 explain, and besides he had the old puri 
 tanical abhorrence of stage people 
 putting them all in one class as puppets 
 who danced or played or talked for an 
 idle and unthinking public. 
 
 So it was with the thought of a 
 wasted evening that he accompanied 
 Mildred to the concert. 
 
 The entertainment was a repetition 
 of the others Diotti had given, and at 
 its end, Mildred said to her father : 
 " Come, I want to congratulate Signor 
 Diotti in person." 
 
 " That is entirely unnecessary," he 
 replied. 
 
 "It is my desire," and the girl led 
 64 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NG 
 
 the unwilling parent back of the scenes 
 and into Diotti s dressing-room. 
 
 Mildred introduced Diotti to her 
 father, who after a few commonplaces 
 lapsed into silence. The daughter s en 
 thusiastic interest in Diotti s perform 
 ance and her tender solicitude for his 
 weariness after the efforts of the even 
 ing, quickly attracted the attention of 
 Mr. Wallace and irritated him exceed 
 ingly. 
 
 When father and daughter were 
 seated in their carriage and were hur 
 riedly driving home, he said: " Mildred, 
 I prefer that you have as little to say to 
 that man as possible." 
 
 "What do you object to in him?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Everything. Of what use is a man 
 who dawdles away his time on a fiddle; 
 of what benefit is he to mankind ? Do 
 fiddlers build cities? Do they delve into 
 
 65 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 the earth for precious metals? Do they 
 sow the seed and harvest the grain? 
 No, no; they are drones the barnacles 
 of society." 
 
 " Father, how can you advance such 
 an argument? Music s votaries offer no 
 apologies for their art. The husband 
 man places the grain within the breast 
 of Mother Earth for man s material wel 
 fare; God places music in the heart of 
 man for his spiritual development. In 
 man s spring time, his bridal day, mu 
 sic means joy. In man s winter time, 
 his burial day, music means comfort. 
 The heaven-born muse has added to the 
 happiness of the world. Diotti is a 
 great genius. His art brings rest and 
 tranquillity to the wearied and despair 
 ing," and she did not speak again until 
 they had reached the house. 
 
 The lights were turned low when 
 father and daughter went into the 
 66 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 drawing-room. Mr. Wallace felt that 
 he had failed to convince Mildred of the 
 utter worthlessness of fiddlers, big or 
 little, and as one dissatisfied with the 
 outcome of a contest, re-entered the 
 lists. 
 
 " He has visited you? " 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 "Often?" 
 
 "Yes, father," spoken calmly. 
 
 "Often?" louder and more imperi 
 ously repeated the father, as if there 
 must be some mistake. 
 
 "Quite often," and she sat down, 
 knowing the catechizing would be likely 
 to continue for some minutes. 
 
 " How many times, do you think?" 
 
 She rose, walked into the hallway; 
 took the card basket from the table, 
 returned and seated herself beside her 
 father, emptying its contents into her 
 lap. She picked up a card. It read 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 "Angelo Diotti," and she called the 
 name aloud. She took up another and 
 again her lips voiced the beloved name. 
 "Angelo Diotti," she continued, repeat 
 ing at intervals for a minute. Then 
 looking at her father : " He has called 
 thirty-two times : there are thirty-one 
 cards here and on one occasion he for 
 got his card-case." 
 
 " Thirty-two!" said the father, ris 
 ing angrily and pacing the floor. 
 
 " Yes, thirty-two. I remember all 
 of them distinctly." 
 
 Her father came over to her, half 
 coaxingly, half seriously. " Mildred, I 
 wish his visits to cease ; people will 
 imagine there is a romantic attachment 
 between you." 
 
 " There is, father," out it came, "he 
 loves me and I love him." 
 
 " What !" shouted Mr. Wallace, and 
 
 68 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 then severely, " this must cease imme 
 diately." 
 
 She rose quietly and led her father 
 over to the mantel. Placing a hand on 
 each of his shoulders she said : 
 
 " Father, I will obey you implicitly 
 if vou can name a reasonable objection 
 to the man I love. But you can not. 
 I love him with my whole soul. I love 
 him for the nobility of his character, 
 and because there is none other in the 
 world for him, nor for me." 
 
IX 
 
 C\LD SANDERS as boy and man 
 had been in the employ of the 
 banking and brokerage firm of Wallace 
 Brothers for two generations. The firm 
 gradually had advanced his position un 
 til now he was confidential adviser and 
 general manager, besides having an in 
 terest in the profits of the business. 
 
 He enjoyed the friendship of Mr. 
 Wallace, and had been a constant vis 
 itor at his house from the first days of 
 that gentleman s married life. He him 
 self was alone in the world, a confirmed 
 bachelor. He had seen Mildred creep 
 from babyhood into childhood, and bud 
 70 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 from girlhood to womanhood. To Mil 
 dred he was one of that numerous army 
 of brevet relations known as "gran- 
 pop," "pop," or "uncle." To her he 
 was Uncle Sanders. 
 
 If the old man had one touch of hu 
 man nature in him it was a solicitude 
 for Mildred s future an authority arro 
 gated to himself to see that she mar 
 ried the right man; but even that was 
 directed to her material gain in this 
 world s goods, and not to any senti 
 mental consideration for her happiness. 
 He flattered himself that by timely sug 
 gestion he had "stumped" at least half 
 a dozen would-be candidates for Mil 
 dred s hand. He pooh-poohed love as a 
 necessity for marital felicity, and would 
 enforce his argument by quoting from 
 the bard: 
 
 "All lovers swear more performance 
 than they are able, and yet reserve an 
 
 7 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 ability that they never perform: vow 
 ing more than the perfection of ten, and 
 discharging less than the tenth part of 
 one." 
 
 "You can get at a man s income," 
 he would say, "but not at his heart. 
 Love without money won t travel as far 
 as money without love," and many 
 married people whose bills were over 
 due wondered if the old fellow was 
 not right. 
 
 He was cold-blooded and generally 
 disliked by the men under him. The 
 more evil-minded gossips in the bank 
 said he was in league with " Old 
 Nick." That, of course, was absurd, 
 for it does not necessarily follow, be 
 cause a man suggests a means looking 
 to an end, disreputable though it be, 
 that he has Mephistopheles for a silent 
 partner. The conservative element 
 among the employees would not openly 
 
 72 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 venture so far, but rather thought if his 
 satanic majesty and old Sanders ran a 
 race, the former would come in a bad 
 second, if he were not distanced alto 
 gether. 
 
 The old man always reached the office 
 at nine. Mr. Wallace usually arrived a 
 half hour later, seldom earlier, which was 
 so well understood by Sanders that he 
 was greatly surprised when he walked 
 into the president s office, the morning 
 after that gentleman had attended 
 Diotti s concert, to find the head of the 
 firm already there and apparently wait 
 ing for him. 
 
 " Sanders," said the banker, "I 
 want your advice on a matter of great 
 importance and concern to me." 
 
 Sanders came across the room and 
 stood beside the desk. 
 
 " Briefly as possible, I am much ex 
 ercised about my daughter." 
 
 73 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NG 
 
 The old man moved up a chair and 
 buried himself in it. Pressing his el 
 bows tightly against his sides, he drew 
 his neck in, and with the tips of his 
 right hand fingers consorted and co 
 quetted with their like on the opposite 
 hand; then he simply asked, " Who is 
 the man?" 
 
 " He is the violinist who has created 
 such a sensation here, Angelo Diotti." 
 
 " Yes, I ve seen the name in print," 
 returned the old man. 
 
 " He has bewitched Mildred. I never 
 have seen her show the least interest in 
 a man before. She never has appeared 
 to me as an impressionable girl or one 
 that could easily be won." 
 
 "That is very true," ejaculated San 
 ders; "she always seemed tractable and 
 open to reason in all questions of love 
 and courting. I can recall several in- 
 stances where I have set her right by 
 74 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NG 
 
 my estimation of men, and invariably 
 she has accepted my views." 
 
 "And mine until now," said the 
 father, and then he recounted his expe 
 rience of the night before. " I had 
 hoped she would not fall in love, but 
 be a prop and comfort to me now that 
 I am alone. I am dismayed at the 
 prospect before me." 
 
 Then the old man mused: "In the 
 chrysalis state of girlhood, a parent ar 
 ranges all the details of his daughter s 
 future ; when and whom she shall mar 
 ry. I shall not allow her to fall in love 
 until she is twenty-three, says the fond 
 parent. I shall not allow her to marry 
 until she is twenty-six, says the fond 
 parent. The man she marries will be 
 the one I approve of, and then she will 
 live happy ever after, concludes the 
 fond parent." 
 
 Deluded parent! false prophet! The 
 
 75 
 
THE FIFTH STRI N G 
 
 anarchist, Love, steps in and disdains 
 all laws, rules and regulations. When 
 finally the father confronts the defying 
 daughter, she calmly says, " Well, 
 what are you going to do about it ? " 
 And then tears, forgiveness, complete 
 capitulation, and, sometimes, she and 
 her husband live happily ever after 
 wards. 
 
 " We must find some means to end 
 this attachment. A union between a 
 musician and my daughter would be 
 most mortifying to me. Some plan 
 must be devised to separate them, but 
 she must not know of it, for she is im 
 patient of restraint and will not brook 
 opposition." 
 
 4 * Are you confident she really loves 
 this violinist?" 
 
 " She confessed as much to me," 
 said the perturbed banker. 
 
 Old Sanders tapped with both hands 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 on his shining cranium and asked, 
 "Are you confident he loves her?" 
 
 6 No. Even if he does not, he no doubt 
 makes the pretense, and she believes 
 him. A man who fiddles for money 
 is not likely to ignore an opportunity to 
 angle for the same commodity," and 
 the banker, with a look of scorn on his 
 face, threw himself back into the chair. 
 
 " Does she know that you do not ap 
 prove of this man ? 
 
 " I told her that I desired the mu 
 sician s visits to cease." 
 
 " And her answer? " 
 * " She said she would obey me if I 
 could name one reasonable objection to 
 the man, and then, with an air of abso 
 lute confidence in the impossibility of 
 such a contingency, added, But you 
 can not. 
 
 " Yes, but you must," said Sanders. 
 u Mildred is strangely constituted. If 
 
 77 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 she loves this man, her love can be 
 more deadly to the choice of her heart 
 than her hate to one she abhors. The 
 impatience of restraint you speak of and 
 her very inability to brook opposition 
 can be turned to good account now." 
 And old Sanders again tapped in the 
 rhythm of a dirge on his parchment- 
 bound cranium. 
 
 " Your plan?" eagerly asked the 
 father, whose confidence in his secretary 
 was absolute. 
 
 " I would like to study them together. 
 Your position will be stronger with 
 Mildred if you show no open opposition 
 to the man or his aspirations ; bring us 
 together at your house some evening, 
 and if I can not enter a wedge of dis 
 content, then they are not as others. 5 
 * * * & * & 
 
 Mildred was delighted when her 
 father told her on his return in the 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 evening that he was anxious to meet 
 Signor Diotti, and suggested a dinner 
 party within a few days. He said he 
 would invite Mr. Sanders, as that gen 
 tleman, no doubt, would consider it a 
 great privilege to meet the famous mu 
 sician. Mildred immediately sent an 
 invitation to Diotti, adding a request 
 that he bring his violin and play for 
 Uncle Sanders, as the latter had found 
 it impossible to attend his concerts dur 
 ing the season, yet was fond of music, 
 especially violin music. 
 
 79 
 
fc / HE little dinner party passed off 
 pleasantly, and as old Sanders 
 lighted his cigar he confided to Diotti, 
 with a braggart s assurance, that when 
 he was a youngster he was the best fid 
 dler for twenty miles around. "I tell 
 you there is nothing like a fiddler to 
 catch a petticoat," he said, with a sharp 
 nudge of his elbow into Diotti s ribs. 
 "When I played the Devil s Dream 
 there wasn t a girl in the country could 
 keep from dancing, and Rosalie, the 
 Prairie Flower, brought them on their 
 knees to me every time;" then after a 
 pause, " I don t believe people fiddle as 
 80 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 well nowadays as they did in the good 
 old times," and he actually sighed in 
 remembrance. 
 
 Mildred smiled and whispered to Di- 
 otti. He took his violin from the case 
 and began playing. It seemed to her 
 as if from above showers of silvery mer 
 riment were falling to earth. The old 
 man watched intently, and as the player 
 changed from joy to pity, from love 
 back to happiness, Sanders never with 
 drew his gaze. His bead-like eyes fol 
 lowed the artist; he saw each individual 
 finger rise and fall, and the bow bound 
 over the finger-board, always avoiding, 
 never coming in contact with the middle 
 string. Suddenly the old man beat a 
 tattoo on his cranium and closed his 
 eyes, apparently deep in thought. 
 
 As Diotti ceased playing, Sanders ap 
 plauded vociferously, and moving to 
 ward the violinist, said: " Magnificent ! 
 81 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 I never have heard better playing! 
 What is the make of your violin? " 
 
 Diotti, startled at this question, hur 
 riedly put the instrument in its case; 
 " Oh , it is a famous make," he drawled. 
 
 "Will you let me examine it?" said 
 the elder, placing his hand on the case. 
 
 "I never allow any one to touch my 
 violin," replied Diotti, closing the cover 
 quickly. 
 
 " Why; is there a magic charm about 
 it, that you fear other hands may dis 
 cover?" queried the old man. 
 
 "I prefer that no one handle it," 
 said the virtuoso commandingly. 
 
 " Very well," sighed the old man re 
 signedly, "there are violins and violins, 
 and no doubt yours comes within that 
 category," this half sneeringly. 
 
 "Uncle," interposed Mildred tactfully, 
 " you must not be so persistent. Signor 
 Diotti prizes his violin highly and will 
 82 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 not allow any one to play upon it but 
 himself," and the look of relief on 
 Diotti s face amply repaid her. 
 
 Mr. Wallace came in at that moment, 
 and with perfunctory interest in his 
 guest, invited him to examine the splen 
 did collection of revolutionary relics in 
 his study. 
 
 " I value them highly," said the 
 banker, both for patriotic and ances 
 tral reasons. The Wallaces fought and 
 died for their country, and helped to 
 make this land what it is." 
 
 The father and the violinist went to 
 the study, leaving the daughter and old 
 Sanders in the drawing-room. The 
 old man, seating himself in a large arm 
 chair, said : " Mildred, my dear, I do 
 not wonder at the enormous success of 
 this Diotti." 
 
 " He is a wonderful artist," replied 
 Mildred; "critics and public alike place 
 
 83 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 him among the greatest of his profes 
 sion." 
 
 " He is a good-looking young fellow, 
 too," said the old man. 
 
 " I think he is the handsomest man I 
 ever have seen," replied the girl. 
 
 " Where does he come from? " con 
 tinued Sanders. 
 
 " St. Casciano, a small town in Tus 
 cany." 
 
 " Has he a family?" 
 
 "Only a sister, whom he loves 
 dearly," good-naturedly answered the 
 girl. 
 
 "And no one else?" continued the 
 seemingly garrulous old man. 
 
 " None that I have heard him speak 
 of. No, certainly not," rather impetu 
 ously replied Mildred. 
 
 " How old is he? " continued the old 
 man. 
 
 84 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 " Twenty-eight next month ; why do 
 you wish to know? ?: she quizzically 
 asked. 
 
 " Simply idle curiosity," old Sanders 
 carelessly replied. "I wonder if he is 
 in love with any one in Tuscany? : 
 
 " Of course not; how could he be? " 
 quickly rejoined the girl. 
 
 " And why not? " added old Sanders. 
 
 " Why? Because, because he is in 
 love with some one in America." 
 
 "Ah, with you, I see," said the old 
 man, as if it were the greatest discovery 
 of his life ; l are you sure he has not 
 some beautiful sweetheart in Tuscany 
 as well as here ? 
 
 "What a foolish question," she re 
 plied. " Men like Angelo Diotti do 
 not fall in love as soldiers fall in line. 
 Love to a man of his nobility is too 
 serious to be treated so lightly." 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NO 
 
 " Very true, and that s what has ex 
 cited my curiosity! " whereupon the old 
 man smoked away in silence. 
 
 6 Excited your curiosity ! said 
 Mildred. "What do you mean? " 
 
 " It may be something; it may be 
 nothing; but my speculative instinct has 
 been aroused by a strange peculiarity in 
 his playing." 
 
 " His playing is wonderful ! " replied 
 Mildred proudly. 
 
 "Aye, more than wonderful! I 
 watched him intently," said the old 
 man; "I noted with what marvelous 
 facility he went from one string to the 
 other. But however rapid, however diffi 
 cult the composition, he steadily avoided 
 one string; in fact, that string remained 
 untouched during the entire hour he 
 played for us." 
 
 " Perhaps the composition did not 
 
 86 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 call for its use," suggested Mildred, un 
 conscious of any other meaning in the 
 old man s observation, save praise for 
 her lover. 
 
 " Perhaps so, but the oddity im 
 pressed me; it was a new string to me. 
 I have never seen one like it on a violin 
 before." 
 
 " That can scarcely be, for I do not 
 remember of Signor Diotti telling me 
 there was anything unusual about his 
 violin." 
 
 " I am sure it has a fifth string." 
 
 "And I am equally sure the string 
 can be of no importance or Angelo 
 would have told me of it," Mildred 
 quickly rejoined. 
 
 " I recall a strange story of Paga- 
 nini," continued the old man, appar 
 ently not noticing her interruption; " he 
 became infatuated with a lady of high 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 rank, who was insensible of the admira 
 tion he had for her beauty. 
 
 " He composed a love scene for two 
 strings, the E and G, the first was 
 to personate the lady, the second him 
 self. It commenced with a species of 
 dialogue, intending to represent her 
 indifference and his passion; now sport 
 ive, now sad; laughter on her part and 
 tears from him, ending in an apotheosis 
 of loving reconciliation. It affected the 
 lady to that degree that ever after she 
 loved the violinist. * 
 
 " And no doubt they were happy? " 
 Mildred suggested smilingly. 
 
 " Yes," said the old man, with as 
 sumed sentiment, " even when his pro 
 fession called him far away, for she had 
 made him promise her he never would 
 play upon the two strings whose music 
 had won her heart, so those strings were 
 mute, except for her." 
 88 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NG 
 
 The old man puffed away in silence 
 for a moment, then with logical direct 
 ness continued : " Perhaps the string 
 that s mute upon Diotti s violin is mute 
 for some such reason." 
 
 " Nonsense," said the girl, half im 
 patiently. 
 
 " The string is black and glossy as 
 the tresses that fall in tangled skeins on 
 the shoulders of the dreamy beauties of 
 Tuscany. It may be an idle fancy, but 
 if that string is not a woven strand from 
 some woman s crowning glory, then I 
 have no discernment." 
 
 u You are jesting, uncle," she re 
 plied, but her heart was heavy already. 
 
 " Ask him to play on that string; I ll 
 wager he ll refuse," said the old man, 
 contemptuously. 
 
 " He will not refuse when I ask him, 
 but I will not to-night," answered the 
 unhappy girl, with forced determina- 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 tion. Then, taking the old man s hands, 
 she said: " Good-night, I am going to 
 my room ; please make my excuses to 
 Signer Diotti and father," and wearily 
 she ascended the stairs. 
 
 Mr. Wallace and the violinist soon 
 after joined old Sanders, fresh cigars 
 were lighted and regrets most earnestly 
 expressed by the violinist for Mildred s 
 " sick headache." 
 
 No need to worry ; she will be all 
 right in the morning," said Sanders, 
 and he and the violinist buttoned their 
 coats tightly about them, for the night 
 was bitter cold, and together they left 
 the house. 
 
 In her bed-chamber Mildred stood 
 looking at the portrait of her lover. She 
 studied his face long and intently, then 
 crossing the room she mechanically took 
 a volume from the shelf, and as she 
 opened it her eyes fell on these lines : 
 90 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 " How art thou fallen from Heaven, O 
 Lucifer, son of the Morning 1 
 
 K- # # * # * 
 
 Old Sanders builded better than he 
 knew. 
 
XI 
 
 TTT HEN Diotti and old Sanders left 
 " the house they walked rapidly 
 down Fifth Avenue. It was after eleven, 
 and the streets were bare of pedestrians, 
 but blinking-eyed cabs came up the ave 
 nue, looking 1 at a distance like a trail 
 of Megatheriums, gliding through the 
 darkness. The piercing wind made the 
 men hasten their steps, the old man by 
 a semi-rotary motion keeping up with 
 the longer strides and measured tread of 
 the younger. 
 
 When they reached Fourteenth Street, 
 the elder said, " I live but a block from 
 here," pointing eastward; " what do 
 92 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 you say to a hot toddy ? It will warm 
 the cockles of your heart ; come over to 
 my house and I ll mix you the best 
 drink in New York." 
 
 The younger thought the suggestion 
 a good one and they turned toward the 
 house of old Sanders, 
 
 It was a neat, red brick, two-story 
 house, well in from the street, off the 
 line of the more pretentious buildings on 
 either side. As the old man opened the 
 iron gate, the police officer on the beat 
 passed ; he peered into the faces of the 
 men, and recognizing Sanders, said, 
 " tough night, sir." 
 
 "Very," replied the addressed. 
 
 "All good old gentlemen should be in 
 bed at this hour," said the officer, lift 
 ing one foot after the other in an effort 
 to keep warm, and in so doing showing 
 little terpsichorean grace. 
 
 ".It s only the shank of the evening, 
 
 93 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 officer," rejoined the old man, as he 
 fumbled with the latch key and finally 
 opened the door. The two men entered 
 and the officer passed on. 
 
 Every man has a fad. One will tell 
 you he sees nothing in billiards or pool 
 or golf or tennis, but will grow enthusi 
 astic over the scientific possibilities of 
 mumble-peg ; you agree with him, only 
 you substitute " skittles" for " mumble- 
 peg." 
 
 Old Sanders fad was mixing toddies 
 and punches. 
 
 6 The nectar of the gods pales into 
 nothingness when compared with a tod 
 dy such as I make," said he. " Am 
 brosia may have been all right for the 
 degenerates of the old Grecian and Ro 
 man days, but an American gentleman 
 demands a toddy a hot toddy." And 
 then he proceeded with circumspection 
 
 94 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 and dignity to demonstrate the process 
 of decocting that mysterious beverage. 
 
 The two men took off their overcoats 
 and went into the sitting-room. A pile 
 of logs burned brightly in the fire-place. 
 The old man threw another on the burn 
 ing heap, filled the kettle with water and 
 hung it over the fire. Next he went to 
 the sideboard and brought forth the va 
 rious ingredients for the toddy. 
 
 " How do you like America?" said 
 the elder, with commonplace indiffer 
 ence, as he crunched a lump of sugar in 
 the bottom of the glass, dissolving the 
 particles with a few drops of water. 
 
 " Very much, indeed," said the Tus 
 can, with the air of a man who had an 
 swered the question before. 
 
 " Great country for girls ! " said San 
 ders, pouring a liberal quantity of Old 
 Tom gin in the glass and placing it 
 where it gradually would get warm. 
 
 95 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 "And for men!" responded Diotti, 
 enthusiastically. 
 
 "Men don t amount to much here, 
 women run everything," retorted the el 
 der, while he repeated the process of 
 preparing the sugar and gin in the sec 
 ond glass. The kettle began to sing. 
 
 " That s music for you," chuckled the 
 old man, raising the lid to see if the wa 
 ter had boiled sufficiently. "Do you 
 know I think a dinner horn and a sing 
 ing kettle beat a symphony all hollow 
 for real down-right melody," and he 
 lifted the kettle from the fire-place. 
 
 Diotti smiled. 
 
 With mathematical accuracy the old 
 man filled the two tumblers with boiling 
 water. 
 
 "Try that," handing a glass of the 
 toddy to Diotti; "you will find it all 
 right," and the old man drew an arm- 
 
 96 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NG 
 
 chair toward the fire-place, smacking his 
 lips in anticipation. 
 
 The violinist placed his chair closer to 
 the fire and sipped the drink. 
 
 4 4 Your country is noted for its beauti 
 ful women?" 
 
 " We have exquisite types of feminin 
 ity in Tuscany," said the young man, 
 with patriotic ardor. 
 
 "Any as fine looking as as as 
 well, say the young lady we dined with 
 to-night?" 
 
 "Miss Wallace?" queried the Tus 
 can. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Wallace," this rather im 
 patiently. 
 
 " She is very beautiful," said Diotti, 
 with solemn admiration. 
 
 " Have you ever seen any one pret 
 tier?" questioned the old man, after a 
 second prolonged sip. 
 
 97 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 " I have no desire to see any one 
 more beautiful," said the violinist, feel 
 ing that the other was trying to draw 
 him out, and determined not to yield. 
 
 " You will pardon the inquisitiveness 
 of an old man, but are not you musicians 
 a most impressionable lot?" 
 
 " We are human," answered the 
 violinist. 
 
 " I imagined you were like sailors and 
 had a sweetheart in every port." 
 
 " That would be a delightful prospect 
 to one having polygamous aspirations, 
 but for myself, one sweetheart is enough," 
 laughingly said the musician. 
 
 "Only one! Well, here s to her! 
 With this nectar fit for the gods and god 
 desses of Olympus, let us drink to her," 
 said old Sanders, with convivial dignity, 
 his glass raised on high. " Here swish 
 ing health and happiness to the dreamy- 
 
 98 
 
THE FIFTH STRI N G 
 
 eyed Tuscan beauty, whom you love and 
 who loves you." 
 
 "Stop!" said Diotti; " we will drink 
 to the first part of that toast," and hold 
 ing his glass against that of his bibulous 
 host, continued: " To the dreamy-eyed 
 women of my country, exacting of 
 their lovers; obedient to their parents 
 and loyal to their husbands," and his 
 voice rose in sonorous rhythm with the 
 words. 
 
 " Now for the rest of the toast, to the 
 one you love and who loves you," came 
 from Sanders. 
 
 To the one I love and who loves 
 me, God bless her !" fervently cried the 
 guest. 
 
 " Is she a Tuscan ? " asked old San 
 ders slyly. 
 
 " She is an angel!" impetuously an 
 swered the violinist. 
 
 99 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 " Then she is an American ! " said the 
 old man gallantly. 
 
 " She is an American," repeated 
 Diotti, forgetting himself for the instant. 
 
 " Let me see if I can guess her 
 name," said old Sanders. " It s it s 
 Mildred Wallace ! " and his manner sug 
 gested a child solving a riddle. 
 
 The violinist, about to speak, checked 
 himself and remained silent. 
 
 " I sincerely pity Mildred if ever she 
 falls in love," abstractedly continued 
 the host while filling another glass. 
 
 " Pray why?" was anxiously asked. 
 
 The old man shifted his position and 
 assumed a confidential tone and atti 
 tude: " Signer Diotti, jealousy is a more 
 universal passion than love itself. En 
 vironment may develop our character, 
 influence our tastes and even soften our 
 features, but heredity determines the in 
 tensity of the two leading passions, love 
 100 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 and jealousy. Mildred s mother was a 
 beautiful woman, but consumed with an 
 overpowering jealousy of her husband. 
 It was because she loved him. The 
 body-guard of jealousy envy, malice 
 and hatred were not in her composi 
 tion. When Mildred was a child of 
 twelve I have seen her mother suffer 
 the keenest anguish because Mr. Wal 
 lace fondled the child. She thought the 
 child had robbed her of her husband s 
 love." 
 
 " Such a woman as Miss Wallace 
 would command the entire love and ad 
 miration of her husband at all times," 
 said the artist. 
 
 " If she should marry a man she 
 simply likes, her chances for happiness 
 would be normal." 
 
 " In what manner?" asked the lover. 
 
 " Because she would be little con 
 cerned about him or his actions." 
 
 101 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 " Then you believe," said the mu 
 sician, " that the man who loves her and 
 whom she loves should give her up be 
 cause her chances of happiness would be 
 greater away from him than with him?" 
 
 " That would be an unselfish love," 
 said the elder. 
 
 " Suppose they have declared their 
 passion?" asked Diotti. 
 
 "A parting before doubt and jealousy 
 had entered her mind would let the im 
 age of her sacrificing lover live within 
 her soul as a tender and lasting memory; 
 he always would be her ideal," and the 
 accent old Sanders placed on always left 
 no doubt of his belief. 
 
 "Why should doubt and jealousy en 
 ter her life ? said the violinist, falling 
 into the personal character of the discus 
 sion despite himself. 
 
 "My dear sir, from what I observed 
 to-night, she loves you. You are a dan- 
 
 102 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 gerous man for a jealous woman to love. 
 You are not a cloistered monk, you are 
 a man before the public; you win the 
 admiration of many; some women do not 
 hesitate to show you their preference. To 
 a woman like Mildred that would be tor 
 ture; she could not and would not sepa 
 rate the professional artist from the lover 
 or husband." 
 
 And Diotti, remembering Mildred s 
 words, could not refute the old man s 
 statements. 
 
 " If you had known her mother as I 
 did," continued the old man, realizing 
 his argument was making an impression 
 on the violinist, "you would see the ag 
 ony in store for the daughter if she mar 
 ried a man such as you, a public servant, 
 a public favorite." 
 
 I would live my life not to excite her 
 suspicions or jealousy," said the artist, 
 with boyish enthusiasm and simplicity. 
 103 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NG 
 
 "Foolish fellow," retorted Sanders, 
 skeptically; "women imagine, they don t 
 reason. A scented note unopened on 
 the dressing table can cause more un- 
 happiness to your wife than the loss of 
 his country to a king. My advice to you 
 is: do not marry; but if you must, choose 
 one who is more interested in your gas 
 tronomic felicity than in your marital con 
 stancy." 
 
 Diotti was silent. He was pondering 
 the words of his host. Instead of seeing 
 in Mildred a possibly jealous woman, 
 causing mental misery, she appeared a 
 vision of single-hearted devotion. He 
 felt: "To be loved by such a one is 
 bliss beyond the dreams of this world." 
 
 104 
 
XII 
 
 yi TIPSY man is never interesting, 
 -*-* and Sanders in that condition 
 was no exception. The old man arose 
 with some effort, walked toward the 
 window and, shading his eyes, looked 
 out. The snow was drifting, swept 
 hither and thither by the cutting wind 
 that came through the streets in great 
 gusts. Turning to the violinist, he said, 
 "It s an awful night; better remain here 
 until morning. You ll not find a cab; in 
 fact, I will not let you go while this 
 storm continues," and the old man 
 raised the window, thrusting his head 
 out for an instant. As he did so the icy 
 10=; 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 blast that came in settled any doubt in 
 the young man s mind and he concluded 
 to stop over night. 
 
 It was nearly two o clock; Sanders 
 showed him to his room and then re 
 turned down stairs to see that everything 
 was snug and secure. After changing 
 his heavy shoes for a pair of old slippers 
 and wrapping a dressing gown around 
 him, the old man stretched his legs to 
 ward the fire and sipped his toddy. 
 
 " He isn t a bad sort for a violinist," 
 mused the old man; " if he were worth 
 a million, I believe I d advise Wallace to 
 let him marry her. A fiddler! A mil 
 lion! Sounds funny," and he laughed 
 shrilly. 
 
 He turned his head and his eyes 
 caught sight of Diotti s violin case rest 
 ing on the center table. He staggered 
 from the chair and went toward it; open 
 ing the lid softly, he lifted the silken 
 1 06 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 coverlet placed over the instrument and 
 examined the strings intently. " I am 
 right," he said; "it is wrapped with 
 hair, and no doubt from a woman s 
 head. Eureka!" and the old man, happy 
 in the discovery that his surmises were 
 correct, returned to his chair and his 
 toddy. 
 
 He sat looking into the fire. The 
 violin had brought back memories of the 
 past and its dead. He mumbled, as if 
 to the fire, " she loved me; she loved 
 my violin. I was a devil ; my violin 
 was a devil," and the shadows on the 
 wall swayed like accusing spirits. He 
 buried his face in his hands and cried 
 piteously, " I was so young; too young 
 to know." He spoke as if he would 
 conciliate the ghastly shades that moved 
 restlessly up and down, when suddenly 
 " Sanders, don t be a fool !" 
 
 He ambled toward the table again. 
 107 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 " I wonder who made the violin? He 
 would not tell me when I asked him to 
 night ; thank you for your pains, but I 
 will find out myself," and he took the 
 violin from the case. Holding it with 
 the light slanting over it, he peered in 
 side, but found no inscription. " No 
 maker s name strange," he said. He 
 tiptoed to the foot of the stairs and lis 
 tened intently ; " he must be asleep ; he 
 won t hear me," and noiselessly he 
 closed the door. "I guess if I play a 
 tune on it he won t know." 
 
 He took the bow from its place in the 
 case and tightened it. He listened 
 again. " He is fast asleep," he whis 
 pered. " I ll play the song I always 
 played for her until," and the old man 
 repeated the words of the refrain : 
 
 k<> Fair as a lily, joyous and free, 
 Light of the prairie home was she; 
 
 1 08 
 
THE FIFTH STRI N G 
 
 Every one who knew her felt the gentle $ower 
 Of Rosalie, the Prairie Flower." 
 
 He sat again in the arm-chair and 
 placed the violin under his chin. Trem 
 ulously he drew the bow across the mid 
 dle string, his bloodless fingers moving 
 slowly up and down. 
 
 The theme he played was the melody 
 to the verse he had just repeated, but the 
 expression was remorse. 
 
 # # # # * % 
 
 Diotti sat upright in bed. " I am pos 
 itive I heard a violin!" he said, holding 
 one hand toward his head in an attitude 
 of listening. He was wide awake. The 
 drifting snow beat against the window 
 panes and the wind without shrieked like 
 a thousand demons of the night. He 
 could sleep no more. He arose and 
 hastily dressed. The room was bitterly 
 cold; he was shivering. He thought of 
 
 109 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 the crackling logs in the fire-place below. 
 He groped his way along the darkened 
 staircase. As he opened the door lead 
 ing into the sitting-room the fitful gleam 
 of the dying embers cast a ghastly light 
 over the face of a corpse. 
 
 Diotti stood a moment, his eyes trans 
 fixed with horror. The violin and bow 
 still in the hands of the dead man told 
 him plainer than words what had hap 
 pened. He went toward the chair, took 
 the instrument from old Sanders hands 
 and laid it on the table. Then he knelt 
 beside the body, and placing his ear 
 close over the heart, listened for some 
 sign of life, but the old man was beyond 
 human aid. 
 
 He wheeled the chair to the side of 
 the room and moved the body to the 
 sofa. Gently he covered it with a robe. 
 The awfulness of the situation forced 
 itself upon him, and bitterly he blamed 
 no 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 himself. The terrible power of the in 
 strument dawned upon him in all its 
 force. Often he had played on the strings 
 telling of pity, hope, love and joy, but 
 now, for the first time, he realized what 
 that fifth string meant. 
 
 u I must give it back to its owner." 
 
 " If you do you can never regain it," 
 whispered a voice within. 
 
 " I do not need it," said the violinist, 
 almost audibly. 
 
 " Perhaps not," said the voice, "but 
 if her love should wane how would you 
 rekindle it? Without the violin you 
 would be helpless." 
 
 " Is it not possible that, in this old 
 man s death, all its fatal power has been 
 expended ? 
 
 He went to the table and took the in 
 strument from its place. " You won her 
 for me; you have brought happiness 
 and sunshine into my life. No ! No ! 
 in 
 
THE FIFTH STRI NG 
 
 I can not, will not give you up," then 
 placing the violin and bow in its case he 
 locked it. 
 
 The day was breaking. In an hour 
 the baker s boy came. Diotti went to 
 the door, gave him a note addressed to 
 Mr. Wallace and asked him to deliver it 
 at once. The boy consented and drove 
 rapidly away. 
 
 Within an hour Mr. Wallace arrived ; 
 Diotti told the story of the night. After 
 the undertaker had taken charge of the 
 body he found on the dead man s neck, 
 just to the left of the chin, a dullish, 
 black bruise which might have been 
 caused by the pressing of some blunt in 
 strument, or by a man s thumb. Con 
 sidering it of much importance, he noti 
 fied the coroner, who ordered an inquest. 
 
 At six o clock that evening a jury was 
 impaneled, and two hours later its ver 
 dict was reported. 
 
 112 
 
XIII 
 
 leaving the house of the dead man 
 Diotti walked wearily to his hotel. 
 In flaring type at every street corner he 
 saw the announcement for Thursday 
 evening, March thirty-first, of Angelo 
 Diotti s last appearance: " To-night I 
 play for the last time," he murmured in 
 a voice filled with deepest regret. 
 
 The feeling of exultation so common 
 to artists who finally reach the goal of 
 their ambition was wanting in Diotti this 
 morning. He could not rid himself of 
 the memory of Sanders tragic death. 
 The figure of the old man clutching the 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 violin and staring with glassy eyes into 
 the dying fire would not away. 
 
 When he reached the hotel he tried to 
 rest, but his excited brain banished 
 every thought of slumber. Restlessly 
 he moved about the room, and finally 
 dressing, he left the hotel for his daily 
 call on Mildred. It was after five o clock 
 when he arrived. She received him coldly 
 and without any mark of affection. 
 
 She had heard of Mr. Sanders death; 
 her father had sent word. " It shocked 
 me greatly," she said; " but perhaps the 
 old man is happier in a world far from 
 strife and care. When we realize all the 
 misery there is in this world we often 
 wonder why we should care to live." 
 Her tone was despondent, her face was 
 drawn and blanched, and her eyes gave 
 evidence of weeping. 
 
 Diotti divined that something beyond 
 
 114 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 sympathy for old Sanders sudden death 
 racked her soul. He went toward her 
 and lovingly taking her hands, bent low 
 and pressed his lips to them* they were 
 cold as marble. 
 
 " Darling," he said; " something has 
 made you unhappy. What is it?" 
 
 " Tell me, Angelo, and truly; is your 
 violin like other violins?" 
 
 This unexpected question came so sud 
 denly he could not control his agitation. 
 
 " Why do you ask?" he said. 
 
 " You must answer me directly! " 
 
 " No, Mildred; my violin is different 
 from any other I have ever seen," this 
 hesitatingly and with great effort at com 
 posure. 
 
 "In w T hat way is it different?" she 
 almost demanded. 
 
 "It is peculiarly constructed; it has 
 an extra string. But why this sudden 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 interest in the violin? Let us talk of 
 you, of me, of both, of our future," said 
 he with enforced cheerfulness. 
 
 "No, we will talk of the violin. Of 
 what use is the extra string ? 
 
 "None whatever," was the quick re- 
 
 p y- 
 
 " Then why not cut it off ? " 
 
 "No, no, Mildred; you do not un 
 derstand," he cried; " I can not do 
 that." 
 
 "You can not do it when I ask it?" 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 "Oh Mildred, do not ask me; I can 
 not, can not do it," and the face of the 
 affrighted musician told plainer than 
 words of the turmoil raging in his soul. 
 
 " You made me believe that I was the 
 only one you loved," passionately she 
 cried; "the only one; that your happiness 
 was incomplete without me. You led 
 me into the region of light only to make 
 116 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 the darkness greater when I descended 
 to earth again. I ask you to do a simple 
 thing and you refuse; you refuse because 
 another has commanded you." 
 
 " Mildred, Mildred; if you love me do 
 not speak thus ! " 
 
 And she, with imagination greater than 
 reasoning power, at once saw a Tuscan 
 beauty and Diotti mutually pledging their 
 love with their lives. 
 
 "Go," she said, pointing to the door, 
 "go to the one who owns you, body and 
 soul; then say that a foolish woman threw 
 her heart at your feet and that you 
 scorned it ! " She sank to the sofa. 
 
 He went toward the door, and in a 
 voice that sounded like the echo of de 
 spair, protested: "Mildred, I love you; 
 love you a thousand times more than I 
 do my life. If I should destroy the 
 string, as you ask, love and hope would 
 leave me forevermore. Death would 
 117 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 not be robbed of its terror! " and with 
 bowed head he went forth into the twi 
 light. 
 
 She ran to the window and watched 
 his retreating figure as he vanished. 
 Uncle Sanders was right he loves an 
 other woman, and that string binds them 
 together. He belongs to her!" Long 
 and silently she stood by the window, 
 gazing at the shadowing curtain of the 
 coming night. At last her face softened. 
 " Perhaps he does not love her now, but 
 fears her vengeance. No, no ; he is not 
 a coward ! I should have approached 
 him differently; he is proud, and may 
 be he resented my imperative manner," 
 and a thousand reasons why he should 
 or should not have removed that string 
 flashed through her mind. 
 
 " I will go early to the concert to 
 night and see him before he plays. 
 Uncle Sanders said he did not touch that 
 nS 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 string when he played. Of course he 
 will play on it for me, even if he will not 
 cut it off, and then if he says he loves 
 me, and only me, I will believe him. I 
 want to believe him ; I want to believe 
 him," all this in a semi-hysterical way 
 addressed to the violinist s portrait on 
 the piano. 
 
 When she entered her carriage an hour 
 later, telling the coachman to drive direct 
 to the stage-door of the Academy, she 
 appeared more fascinating than ever be 
 fore. 
 
 She was sitting in his dressing-room 
 waiting for him when he arrived. He 
 had aged years in a day. His step was 
 uncertain, his eyes were sunken and his 
 hand trembled. His face brightened as 
 she arose, and Mildred met him in the 
 center of the room. He lifted her hand 
 and pressed a kiss upon it. 
 
 "Angelo, dear," she said in repentant 
 119 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 tone; " I am sorry I pained you this af 
 ternoon; but I am jealous, so jealous of 
 you." 
 
 " Jealous?" he said smilingly; " there 
 is no need of jealousy in our lives; we 
 love each other truly and only." 
 
 " That is just what I think, we will 
 never doubt each other again, will we?" 
 
 " Never!" he said solemnly. 
 
 He had placed his violin case on the 
 table in the room. She went to it and 
 tapped the top playfully; then suddenly 
 said: " I am going to look at your violin, 
 Angelo," and before he could interfere, 
 she had taken the silken coverlet off and 
 was examining the instrument closely. 
 " Sure enough, it has five strings; the 
 middle one stands higher than the rest 
 and is of glossy blackness. Uncle San 
 ders was right; it is a woman s hair ! 
 
 "Why is that string made of hair?" 
 she asked, controlling her emotion. 
 
 120 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 " Only a fancy," he said, feigning in 
 difference. 
 
 " Though you would not remove it at 
 my wish this afternoon, Angelo; I know 
 you will not refuse to play on it for me 
 now." 
 
 He raised his hands in supplication. 
 "Mildred! Mildred! Stop! do not ask 
 it!" 
 
 4 fi You refuse after I have come re 
 pentant, and confessing my doubts and 
 fears? Uncle Sanders said you would 
 not play upon it for me; he told me it 
 was wrapped with a woman s hair, the 
 hair of the woman you love." 
 
 " I swear to you, Mildred, that I love 
 but you!" 
 
 " Love me? Bah! And another wom 
 an s tresses sacred to you? Another 
 woman s pledge sacred to you? Tasked 
 you to remove the string; you refused. 
 I ask you now to play upon it; you re.- 
 
 121 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 fuse," and she paced the room like a 
 caged tigress. 
 
 "I will watch to-night when you 
 play," she flashed. " If you do not use 
 that string we part forever." 
 
 He stood before her and attempted to 
 take her hand; she repulsed him sav 
 agely. 
 
 Sadly then he asked: "And if I do 
 play upon it? " 
 
 " I am yours forever yours ^through 
 life through eternity," she cried pas 
 sionately. 
 
 The call-boy announced Diotti s turn; 
 the violinist led Mildred to a seat at the 
 entrance of the stage. His appearance 
 was the signal for prolonged and enthu 
 siastic greeting from the enormous audi 
 ence present. He clearly was the idol 
 of the metropolis. 
 
 The lights were lowered, a single cal 
 cium playing with its soft and silvery 
 
 123 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 rays upon his face and shoulders. The 
 expectant audience scarcely breathed as 
 he began his theme. It was pity pity 
 molded into a concord of beautiful 
 sounds, and when he began the second 
 movement it was but a continuation of 
 the first; his fingers sought but one 
 string, that of pity. Again he played, 
 and once more pity stole from the vio 
 lin. 
 
 When he left the stage Mildred rushed 
 to him. " You did not touch that string ; 
 you refuse my wish?" and the sounds 
 of mighty applause without drowned his 
 pleading voice. 
 
 4 I told you if you refused me I was 
 lost to you forever! Do you under 
 stand?" 
 
 Diotti returned slowly to the center of 
 
 the stage and remained motionless until 
 
 the audience subsided. Facing Mildred, 
 
 whose color was heightened by the in- 
 
 123 
 
THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 tensity of her emotion, he began softly 
 to play. His fingers sought the string 
 of Death. The audience listened with 
 breathless interest. The composition 
 was weirdly and strangely fascinating. 
 
 The player told with wondrous power 
 of despair, of hope, of faith ; sunshine 
 crept into the hearts of all as he pictured 
 the promise of an eternal day; higher 
 and higher, softer and softer grew the 
 theme until it echoed as if it were afar in 
 the realms of light and floating o er the 
 waves of a golden sea. 
 
 Suddenly the audience was startled by 
 the snapping of a string ; the violin and 
 bow dropped from the nerveless hands 
 of the player. He fell helpless to the 
 stage. 
 
 Mildred rushed to him, crying, "An- 
 
 gelo, Angelo, what is it? What has 
 
 happened?" Bending over him she 
 
 gently raised his head and showered un- 
 
 124 
 
TH E FIFTH STRING 
 
 restrained kisses upon his lips, oblivious 
 of all save her lover. 
 
 " Speak I Speak !" she implored. 
 
 A faint smile illumined his face; he 
 gazed with ineffable tenderness into her 
 weeping eyes, then slowly closed his own 
 as if in slumber. 
 
 THE END 
 
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