“As my affairs went from bad to worse, I decided to earn my living by means of music.  As long as my money lasted, I practised and studied the works of the great masters, especially the old ones, copying all of the music.  But when the last penny had been spent, I made ready to turn my knowledge to account.  I made a beginning in private circles, a gathering at the house of my landlady furnishing the first opportunity.  But as the compositions I rendered didn’t meet with approval, I visited the courtyards of houses, believing that among so many tenants there must be a few who value serious music.  Finally, I even stood on public promenades, where I really had the satisfaction of having persons stop and listen, question me and pass on, not without a display of sympathy.  The fact that they left was the very object of my playing, and then I saw that famous artists, whom I didn’t flatter myself I equaled, accepted money for their performances, sometimes very large sums.  In this way I have managed to make a scanty, but honest, living to this day.

“After many years another piece of good fortune was granted to me.  Barbara returned.  Her husband had prospered and acquired a butcher shop in one of the suburbs.  She was the mother of two children, the elder being called James, like myself.  My profession and the remembrance of old times didn’t permit me to intrude; but at last they sent for me to give the elder boy lessons on the violin.  He hasn’t much talent to be sure, and can play only on Sundays, since his father needs him in his business during the week.  But Barbara’s song, which I have taught him, goes very well, and when we practise and play in this way, the mother sometimes joins in with her voice.  She has, to be sure, changed greatly in these many years; she has grown stout, and no longer cares much for music; but the melody still sounds as sweet as of old.”

With these words the old man took up his violin and began to play the song, and kept on playing and playing without paying any further attention to me.  At last I had enough.  I rose, laid a few pieces of silver upon the table near me, and departed, while the old man continued fiddling eagerly.

Soon after this incident I set out on a journey, from which I did not return until the beginning of winter.  New impressions had crowded out the old, and I had almost forgotten my musician.  It wasn’t until the ice broke up in the following spring and the low-lying suburbs were flooded in consequence, that I was again reminded of him.  The vicinity of Gardener’s Lane had become a lake.  There seemed to be no need of entertaining fears for the old man’s life, for he lived high up under the roof, whereas death had claimed its numerous victims among the residents of the ground floor.  But cut off from all help, how great might not his distress be!  As long as the flood lasted, nothing could be done.  Moreover, the authorities had done what they could to send food and aid in boats to those cut off by the water.  But when the waters had subsided and the streets had become passable, I decided to deliver at the address that concerned me most my share of the fund that had been started for the benefit of the sufferers and that had assumed incredible proportions.