Araminta, the Violin

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIV, Issue 22628, 16 January 1937, Page 8 (Supplement)

Araminta, the Violin

By VICTORIA FUSSELL

A RAMINTA was feeling decidedly resentful. It was all very well, leaving her shut up in her case all alone in a deserted house. Nobody ever came near her, the lid of her case was never opened; in short, she was completely neglected. How she longed to be treated v/ith care, dusted and lingered with loving hands as of old. And bow she yearned to be played; her old master had always brought out the best in her, thrilling her from her pegs to her chin-rest. - And she was always ready to respond t6 ( those understanding fingers. "Araminta," her old master used to say, " vou and I have been friends for p long time, aye, I've kept you and played you and loved you for over forty •\ears. Think of it." Araminta thought of it and sighed a long self-pitying sigh. She recalled how, many many years ago, her bridge had slipped and fallen and the fihock had almost killed her. Her old master had always been most careful about her bridge after that. Araminta ceased soliloquising and listened. She distinctly heard the sound of someone moving; footsteps sounded along the passage coining closer. . . . Araminta heard an ejaculation of surprise, then felt the / lid of her case opening. The face of a boy about twelve or thirteen appeared, eyes wide' •with incredulity. " A violin," he whispered, in an awed voice, " a real live violin." And he looked at the name printed on the case in gold letters: "Araminta." " Araminta," he murmured, " what a pretty name." Then he gently lifted her from her case, dusted her with his handkerchief, tucked her under his chin, and slowly and carefully played the scales, the bow shaking with excitement. After several attempts he played them fairly well (he had never played any instrument before). He placed Araminta in her case, shut the lid, and carried her out of the deserted house.

Robin was a genius. He taught himself to play Araminta secretly. He told 110 one of his marvellous discovery for fear the precious violin would be taken away from him. So, as often as he couid, he took her into the woods for a practice. He stood on the banks of a noisy little stream and for nearly half an hour he listened intently to the music of the woods. The notes of the tui, the blackbird, the wind in the trees, the whisperings of the wild flowers and the brawling of the stream. He took in tho beauty of the yellow daffodils, which grew in clumps, the exquisite lacerv of the ferns which overhung the still pool and were reflected therein; the vivid greens and browns, the grey boulders, some covered with moss, and tho palo spring sunlight which filtered through the woods:

Then he played. Imitated the songs of the birds, the wind in the trees, described the beauty and the peace. Ho was inspired; and so was Araminta. She responded almost magically to his slightest touch, his mood; she thrilled as she had done with her old master. Robin lived in a world of his own. There was something inside him which seemed to'glow . . . creative genius. He almost worshiped Araminta who worshipped him. They understood each other. Robin bought a lump of resin and kept the bow in good order, and always, when he finished playing, dusted the violin with care. It was one of those dull, breathless days when' Nature seems to be waiting for something. The woods were silent; even the stream sounded a little subdued. Robin stood on a big boulder beside the pool. The woods seemed to be waiting attentively for him to play. He began, ; aiul played as be had never played before. The piercing sweetness

of the music filled the woods. The birds listened and marvelled; the daffodils, enchanted, raised their heads to their king, for so he seemed to them. Robin called his composition " Spring in the Woods " and remembered it always. At last he grew tired; the ethereal look vanished from his face. He laid Araminta in her case and sat down. Along the path came an old man. He saw Robin and paused, then, looking at the violin case 011 the ground, read the name 011 the lid. He came forward. Robin looked up startled. " It is Araminta," said the old man. "Where did you find her?" Robin looked terrified. Ho would never part with her. Never!

" In an empty house," he said, "Pine Tree Cottage. Oh, but you wouldn't take her from me? You couldn't take her away," he was almost breaking down. "1 love her so, and she loves ' The old man looked thoughtfully at Robin's face. "She used to be mine," he said; " she loved me once, but I deserted her. I had an accident and lost m.v left hand. 1 knew I could never play and I couldn't bear to sec her, soj I locked her in my cottage and wcpit abroad. Exploring in my cottage, were you? . . • But I'm glad you found her. You are right." His voice was sad. "I could not take her from you ... I can see . . . that you love her . . . and she loves vou ...!••• heard . . . . . . play."