Though the fiddler was a sad reprobate, and his playing of the worst description, he was tolerated; for the fact is that the most of the elder portion of the villagers cared only for drinking, and the younger ones thought of nothing but dancing; so he was good enough for them after all.
His disorderly life and cruelty had killed his poor wife, Jackey’s mother, who would have looked upon death as a real blessing, had she not feared for the future of her young son; however, Jackey, who was eight years old, had the thoughtlessness of youth and good health to support him, though, it is true, he cried bitterly after his father had been beating him, and felt sorrowful enough when he had not enough to eat, which happened but too often.
Jackey still remembered the time when, though at rare intervals, his father played really well; and the sweet sounds of music had so entered his very soul that he felt a secret consolation within him, amidst all his troubles.
This love of music, though it consoled him, occasionally caused him more bitter sorrow than the most cruel beatings; for when he looked at the violin, hanging against the wall, neglected and covered with mud, he thought of the sweet sounds that were still within it, though there was no one to bring them out.
Now, one day, when Jackey had been staring longer than usual at the violin, and his mind was filled with sad thoughts, his father happened to come in, and the poor boy, mustering up all his courage, said—
“My dear Father, do not be angry if I ask what the poor fiddle has done to you that you neglect it so? Take care or it will die too, as my dear good mother did, of a broken heart.”
The only answer to this was a sound thrashing; and, as the beating had been more severe than usual, so Jackey cried longer and more bitterly, all by himself, for his father had gone again; but, as the pain grew less, his crying was not so violent nor loud; then he thought he heard a voice, like sobbing, come from the wall.
There was no mistaking it, the sobbing proceeded from the violin, and Jackey’s tears burst forth afresh; but there must be an end to all things, and when he had become calmer, he got on a chair, so as to be nearer the instrument, and whispered—
“My dear Fiddle, you pity me, and now I have a friend in the place of my good lost mother. But you, too, I am afraid, are not more happy than she was. Tell me if I can do anything for you.”