The violin has a soul. The voice of the violoncello is a spirit's cry.
A tone's a tone, of course, just as a man's a man; yet as some men have kingly and prophetic spirits, and some are but little better than animals, so some tones come all surrounded with suggestions, enclosing strange implications, attended by spiritual connotations, drenched with mystery, dripping with the waters of the infinite.
I wonder if it is the catgut? Does this fragment of a dead animal become the medium speaking to us the unknowable secrets of that darkness into which animal-souls go when the body dies?
When I hear a skillful cellist draw his bow across the string, the sound that penetrates me is not like that of a drum or a harp-string, but it is a veritable voice, the voice of one calling across the lake of tears in my heart."
This little essay comes from a book titled "Four Minute Essays" by Dr. Frank Crane.
I found it rummaging around antique stores last week on a trip to the coast. The post below this one comes from the same book. A delightful, thought filled little book, quite a find for six bucks.
Picture by Alexander Kharlamov