The watchman, who nightly patrolled the village and counted the stars, or carried on a low-toned conversation with the dogs in order to keep himself awake, more than once saw Janko's little white blouse scudding through the gloom to the alehouse. The child did not enter the tavern, but crouched close up to the wall and listened. Within, couples revolved merrily to lively music, and now and then a fellow would cry "Hooray!" One could hear the stamping of feet and the affected voices of the girls. The fiddles murmured softly, the big 'cello's deep notes thundered, the windows streamed with light, every plank in the taproom seemed to creak, to sing, to play, and Janko listened to it all. What would he not have given to have a fiddle that would give forth such sounds, a bit of board that would make such music! Alas! where was he to get it; how could he make it? If they would only allow him just to take one in his hand!... But no! all he could do was to listen, and so he listened till the voice of the watchman would call to him out of the darkness—
"Off to bed with you, you imp!"
"OFF TO BED WITH YOU, YOU IMP."
Then the little bare feet would patter away to the cabin, and the voices of the violins would follow him as he ran through the night.
It was a great occasion for him when at harvest time or at a wedding he heard the fiddlers play. At such times he would creep behind the stove, and for days would not speak a single word, looking straight before him with great glowing eyes, like those of a cat at night.
At last he made himself a fiddle out of a shingle, and strung it with horsehair, but it did not sound as beautifully as those in the alehouse; the strings tinkled softly, ever so softly, they hummed like flies or midges. All the same, he played on them from morning until night, though many a kick and cuff he got till he was black and blue. He could not help himself, it was in his nature.
The child grew thinner and thinner; his shock of hair became thicker, his eyes grew more staring and swam with tears, and his cheeks and chest became hollower. He had never resembled other children, he was more like his own poor little fiddle that one could scarcely hear. Moreover, before harvest-time he was almost starving, living as he did chiefly on raw turnips, and on his longing, his intense longing, to own a violin. Alas! this desire bore evil fruit.
Up at the Castle the footman had a fiddle that he sometimes played in the evening to please his pretty sweetheart and his fellow-servants. Janko often crept amongst the climbing plants to the very door of the servants' hall to hear the music, or, at least, to catch a glimpse of the fiddle. It generally hung on the wall, exactly opposite the door, and the youngster's whole soul was in his eyes as he gazed at it, an unattainable treasure that he was unworthy to possess, though he held it to be the most precious thing on earth. A dumb longing took possession of him to touch it just once with his very own hand—or, at any rate, to see it closer.... At the thought the poor little childish heart leaped with delight.
One evening there was no one in the servants' hall. The family had for a long time lived abroad, the house was empty, and the footman, with his sweetheart, was elsewhere. Janko, hidden amongst the creepers, had already been looking for many minutes through the half-open door at the goal of his desires.