ted, "and he who plays upon it
dies at once. But," he added cheerfully, "that need not worry you. I
noticed a marvelous facility in your arm work. Your staccato and
spiccato are wonderful. Every form of bowing appears child's play to
you. It will be easy for you to avoid touching the string."

"Why avoid it? Can it not be cut off?"

"Ah, that's the rub. If you examine the violin closely you will find
that the string of death is made up of the extra lengths of the other
four strings. To cut it off would destroy the others, and then pity,
hope, love and joy would cease to exist in the soul of the violin."

"How like life itself," Diotti reflected, "pity, hope, love, joy end
in death, and through death they are born again."

"That's the idea, precisely," said Satan, evidently relieved by
Diotti's logic and quick perception.

The violinist examined the instrument with the practised eye of an
expert, and turning to Satan said: "The four strings are beautifully
white and transparent, but this one is black and odd looking.

"What is it wrapped with?" eagerly inquired Diotti, examining the
death string with microscopic care.

"The fifth string was added after an unfortunate episode in the Garden
of Eden, in which I was somewhat concerned," said Satan, soberly. "It
is wrapped with strands of hair from the first mother of man."
Impressively then he offered the violin to Diotti.

"I dare not take it," said the perplexed musician; "it's from--"

"Yes, it is directly from there, but I brought it from heaven when
I--I left," said the fallen angel, with remorse in his voice. "It was
my constant companion there. But no one in my domain--not I,
myself--can play upon it now, for it will respond neither to our
longing for pity, hope, love, joy, nor even death," and sadly and
retrospectively Satan gazed into vacancy; then, after a long pause:
"Try the instrument!"

Diotti placed the violin in position and drew the bow across the
string of joy, improvising on it. Almost instantly the birds of the
forest darted hither and thither, caroling forth in gladsome strains.
The devil alone was sad, and with emotion said:

"It is many, many years since I have heard that string."

Next the artist changed to the string of pity, and thoughts of the
world's sorrows came over him like a pall.

"Wonderful, most wonderful!" said the mystified violinist; "with this
instrument I can conquer the world!"

"Aye, more to you than the world," said