Tom smiled.
“The violin is the only instrument that has got a soul,” said he. “Only God can create a soul. Doubtless God could make another instrument with a soul, to speak direct to the souls of men, but beyond doubt He has not done so yet.”
“And now you shall awaken all the soul which is in yours, and make it reveal its celestial mysteries to us,” said the father. “I am more than anxious to learn how you have progressed. I dare swear that you have not wasted your time in Italy?”
“Heaven only knows if I have done all that was in my power to do,” said the boy, after a curious pause.
He was staring at the furthest corner of the ceiling while he spoke. Then he got upon his feet and walked across the room and back again without speaking; then he threw himself down upon a sofa with a sigh.
“Now and again—only now and again—father, I think that I succeed in reaching the soul of the thing,” he said. “After long waiting and working and longing I sometimes hear its voice speaking to me, and then I feel that I am very near to God. Surely music is the voice of God speaking to the soul of man—speaking its message of infinite tenderness—gladness that is the gladness of heaven.... I think I have heard it, but not always—only at rare intervals. And I took up the violin when I was a child as if it were a simple thing—an ordinary instrument, and not a thing of mystery—a living thing!”
“You have learned the truth since those days!” cried the delighted father.
“The truth? Who is there alive that has learned the whole truth—the whole mystery of the violin?” said the boy. “I think that I have crept a little nearer to it during these years; that is all that I dare to say.”
“You are a musician,” said the father, and the tears of joy that were in his eyes were also in his voice. “The true musician is the one who fears to speak with assurance. He is never without his doubts, his fears, his hours of depression, as well as his moments of celestial joy. I thank heaven that I am the father of a musician.”