night, Antonia's singing has
become, for the people of the town, a sort of romantic legend, as of
some splendid miracle, and even those who never heard her often say,
when some celebrated prima-donna comes to sing at a concert, 'Good
gracious! what a wretched caterwauling all this is, nobody can _sing_
but Antonia!'

"You know how anything of this sort always fascinates _me_, and you can
imagine how essential it became to me that I should make Antonia's
acquaintance. I had heard those sayings of the public about Antonia's
singing often, but I had had no idea that this glorious creature was
there, on the spot, held in thraldom by this crack-brained Krespel, as
by some tyrant enchanter. Naturally, that night, in my dreams I heard
Antonia singing in the most magnificent style; and as she was imploring
me, in the most moving manner, to set her free, in a gloriously lovely
_adagio_--absurdly enough, it seemed as if I had composed it myself--I
at once made up my mind that, by some means or other, I would make my
way into Krespel's house, and, like another Astolfo, set this Queen of
Song free from her shameful bonds.

"Things came about, however, quite differently to what I had
anticipated; for after I had once or twice met Krespel and had a talk
with him about fiddle-making, he asked me to go and see him. I went,
and he showed me his violin treasures: there ere some thirty of them
hanging in a cabinet; and there was one, remarkable above the rest,
with all the marks of the highest antiquity (a carved lion's head at
the end of the tail-piece, etc.), which was hung higher than the
others, with a wreath of flowers on it, and seemed to reign over the
rest as queen.

"'This violin,' said Krespel, when I questioned him about it, 'is a
very remarkable and unparalleled work, by some ancient master, most
probably about the time of Tartini. I am quite convinced there is
something most peculiar about its interior construction, and that, if I
were to take it to pieces, I should discover a certain secret which 1
have long been in search of. But--you may laugh at me if you like--this
lifeless thing, which I myself inspire with life and language, often
speaks out of itself, to me in an extraordinary manner; and when I
first played upon it, I felt as if I were merely the magnetiser--the
mesmerist--who acts upon his _subject_ in such sort that she relates in
words what she is seeing with her inward vision. No doubt you think me
an ass to