ow to rest on her left foot with the
right partly in front, then how to hold her violin, how it should rest
on her shoulder and how to grasp and support it. Hold it perfectly
still for ten minutes. Then lay it down for a few moments' rest. Take it
up again and hold it firm. With demure patience she bent her small
fingers over the strings as if to touch a chord. Head erect, left arm
bent and brought forward so that she could see her elbow under the
violin. Stand perfectly still with the right arm hanging down naturally.
Was she to have no bow? No, not yet. She must first learn to sustain the
weight of the violin, and accustom her arm to its shape. In silence and
motionless she held the instrument for perhaps ten minutes and then laid
it down again till she had become rested. This was the first lesson. For
two or three weeks she did this and nothing more, and at the end of that
time she had acquired sufficient strength to hold the violin with
firmness and steadiness.

Great was her delight when Felix Simon said she might take her bow. Now
rest it lightly on the strings and draw it down slowly and steadily. Not
a sound! What did that mean? Was she not to play? No. There was no rosin
on the bow and it slipped over the strings in silence. How could she
learn anything on a dumb violin? How make music on such a discouraging
thing?

Most children would have given up in despair. Not play at all? Nothing,
but positions and dumb motions? That was all. No music; not even finger
exercises. Simply, to learn to stand properly, to put the fingers in the
right place, and to make the right motions with the bow. The two hour
lesson slipped away quickly, and the little one went home satisfied that
she was now really making a good start.

Three times a week she took the long walk through the Rue Voltaire,
across the sunny Place Graslin, where the theatre stood, past the
handsome stores in the Place Royal, over the little bridge, where the
Erdre ran through the town, and then along the narrow Rue d'Orleans till
the grey towers of the old Chateau came in sight. Then to M. Simon's,
and the lesson on the dumb violin. Not a word of complaint; no asking
for "little pieces," after the silly fashion of American children; not
even a request for an exercise. With a patience past belief the little
one watched, listened, and tried her girlish best to do it right. The
violin would become dreadfully heavy. Her poor arms would ache, and her
limbs becom