The picture to our left is a Carlo Bergonzi violin that I purchased on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. One of my hobbies I have, which make for great stories to tell from a musical and a collecting point of view. Or should I say it for what it really is, and that is rescuing instruments I find. Just like the Bergonzi, which the famous craftsman made himself in 1733 in Italy. Interesting thing about instruments, verses people, they can out live just about everyone. I sat for many hours holding, and viewing the instrument in every angle to really study the instruments perfection, and obvious imperfections from being hand carved. Doing this you will see all of the fine qualities carefully crafted into each square inch of this timeless instrument. I hope and pray that each of us can have fine qualities that we carefully craft, even with our imperfections to leave something behind so that someone in the future can admire them and study them.Amazed Again,
Tony Watson,
Found the writing/poem:
ReplyDeleteIt was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
but he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bid, good people", he cried,
"Who starts the bidding for me?"
"One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
"Two dollars, who makes it three?"
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three,"
But, No,
From the room far back a gray bearded man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet
As sweet as the angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"
As he held it aloft with its' bow.
"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"
"Two thousand, Who makes it three?"
"Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone", said he.
The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
"We just don't understand."
"What changed its' worth?"
Swift came the reply.
"The Touch of the Masters Hand."
And many a man with life out of tune
All battered with bourbon and gin
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin
A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is going and almost gone.
But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Masters' Hand.
Myra Brooks Welch