And now the curtain was furled up. When the violin solo came, Venik settled himself to his violin and played. In this solo the violinist was allowed some liberty and was not obliged to confine himself rigidly to the written score, he might improvise and he did improvise.
When Venik began to play, something thrilled the audience and caused it to cast a languid look at the orchestra and it was observed that someone different was performing to-day. Even those tones were different. And scarcely had people listened a moment longer when they held their breath.
That violin was all at once in tears and lamentation. The hillside and the woodland sobbed out in it, and man bewailed. And he bewailed with anguish and with wrath.
The theatre was thrilled anew, it was thrilled again and again. Its aspect was completely changed by the mere swaying of a hand. Venik had brought the public to their senses, and now he played “The Orphaned Child.”
It was a horrible outpouring of grief, and beneath it all lay a hidden tempest of emotion. People wiped away their tears, and their flesh crept.
And that violin seemed to wish to speak as follows: “Like two flower-cups, we grew together on one stalk, and thou, rapacious hand of society hast torn away the one and I the other am orphaned.
