“Leave the violin alone, you old fiend from hell!” he cried, in hoarse and trembling tones.
He violently shut down the self-raising lid, and while firmly pressing his left hand on it, he seized with the right a piece of rosin from the table and he drew on the leathered-covered top the sign of the six-pointed star—the seal used by King Solomon to bottle up the rebellious djins inside their prisons.
A wail, like the howl of a she-wolf moaning over her dead little ones, came out of the violin-case:
“Thou art ungrateful ... very ungrateful, my Franz!” sobbed the blubbering “spirit-voice.” “But I forgive ... for I still love thee well. Yet thou canst not shut me in ... boy. Behold!”
“HE VIOLENTLY SHUT DOWN THE SELF-RAISING LID AND DREW ON THE LEATHER-COVERED TOP THE SIGN OF THE SIX-POINTED STAR, THE SEAL OF KING SOLOMON.”
And instantly a grayish mist spread over and covered case and table, and rising upward formed itself first into an indistinct shape. Then it began growing, and as it grew, Franz felt himself gradually enfolded in cold and damp coils, slimy as those of a huge snake. He gave a terrible cry and—awoke; but, strangely enough, not on his bed, but near the table, just as he had dreamed, pressing the violin-case desperately with both his hands.
“It was but a dream, ... after all,” he muttered, still terrified, but relieved of the load on his heaving breast.
With a tremendous effort he composed himself, and unlocked the case to inspect the violin. He found it covered with dust, but otherwise sound and in order, and he suddenly felt himself as cool and determined as ever. Having dusted the instrument he carefully rosined the bow, tightened the strings and tuned them. He even went so far as to try upon it the first notes of the “Witches”; first cautiously and timidly, then using his bow boldly and with full force.