DATo
06-01-2014, 10:06 AM
by
DATo
Part 1
Martin Hoffmann lived alone in a nondescript, and isolated wooden house nestled in a forest within the Bavarian Alps. The modest dwelling and trappings of his home belied the fact that Herr Hoffmann was a very wealthy man. Martin Hoffmann was once a master luthier whose stringed musical instruments now sang in the most celebrated opera houses and concert halls of the world, and were played by among the most famous and celebrated artists of his time. His violins were often compared to those of Antonio Stradivari. Though rare, it was sometimes possible to find the slightest flaw in the tonal value of a Stradivarius violin by individuals gifted with phenomenally acute pitch discrimination; but such was not the case when the violins made by Herr Hoffmann were examined, for every one of his instruments was the very epitome of unmitigated, absolute, and uncompromising perfection.
Hoffmann himself was not a musician but his father, who had also been a luthier, had been a personal friend of Johann Bach and Hoffmann could not remember a time in his life when his world was not surrounded by musicians, composers and the sound of music. Herr Hoffmann’s contribution, which was equally important to this world of music, was to be found in the exquisite instruments he created which gave voice to the genius of composers and the virtuosity of the artists who played their music.
Time, the great ravager of all men, had taken its toll on Martin Hoffmann. As he approached the twilight years of his life his formidable powers had slowly begun to betray him. His eyes could no longer see the subtle undulations of the wood. His hands lacked the steadiness to control the many wood chisels and scrapers. And that is why, on an autumn day in his sixty-seventh year, Herr Hoffmann lay down his tools vowing never to use them again, for he now lacked the ability to create perfection, and he would settle for nothing less in an instrument which bore his name.
But Hoffmann had one last contribution to offer the world. In his wisdom Herr Hoffmann was aware that knowledge of the genius he employed in the creation of his instruments was worth far more than the sum total of all the instruments he had created in his lifetime. His future ambition would be dedicated to the preservation of his skills and technique. For the last four years he had offered instruction in the art of violin making to those very few selected individuals fortunate enough to be accepted under his tutelage. Martin Hoffmann was both a kind and far-seeing man. He was not burdened by the vices of egotistical pride, greed and stinginess which have often disparaged the reputations of other famous individuals. Money held no importance or meaning to Hoffmann. He had refused instruction to people offering enormous sums but had sometimes accepted students who had no money with which to pay him. On the basis of a five minute interview something in Hoffmann’s insightful wisdom would determine whether a candidate was worthy of the investment of the now precious time which remained to him on this earth.
A certificate signed by Herr Hoffmann which could be offered by any former student as proof of his successful completion of Herr Hoffmann’s instruction would certainly guarantee the individual’s future success. A student who earned Hoffmann’s endorsement would be able to make and sell his creations for princely sums to the greatest musicians of the day, for it was widely known that Hoffmann’s uncompromising dedication to perfection would never allow him to offer such credentials to any but the most gifted student. After four years of instruction involving five students Hoffmann had yet to award such a certificate.
My dear friend, I trust that through our long association you have come to value my opinions and judgement. I am sending to you a young lady who has been in my employ for two years. She began service in my household as a scullery maid but quickly advanced on the basis of her sewing skills and gardening achievements. I tell you truly Martin this young woman possesses magic in her hands and fire in her heart. If anyone can satisfy the requirements of your demanding regimen it is she. Her name is Lisa Moeller. She is sixteen years old and she is alone in the world. She was abandoned at a convent as an infant. Two years ago the good sisters offered her to my service knowing that I would take her under my protection with kindness and a view to her future happiness. Little did I know the impact that her presence would make upon my own sad and lonely life. I must go further Martin, she has become a daughter to me. She has filled the void which was created by the death of my dear Berta. I have provided her with violin lessons and she is quickly mastering the instrument. She lives for the violin and her excitement knew no bounds when I told her of my plan to send her to you for instruction. Grant me this kindness my friend, and I shall be forever in your debt.
A girl? What does a girl know of tools and the crafting of wood? Sewing? Gardening? Has Dieter Klebow taken leave of his senses? thought Herr Hoffmann. He knew it would be futile to reply because by the time his epistle reached Herr Klebow Lisa Moeller would be standing on his doorstep. Hoffmann knew he could not evade this request for Dieter had been his childhood friend, and from those childhood days to the present Dieter Klebow had never denied Martin Hoffmann an accommodation of any kind.
And thus it was that two days later a young girl struggled up the path to Martin Hoffmann’s cottage from the road where she had been left by the carriage which traveled this route each day with mail and provisions. The cloth bag which contained the girl’s personal effects proved too heavy to carry with ease and she was required to stop from time to time to take her breath. Herr Hoffmann watched her from his doorway as she carried, and then ultimately dragged her bag behind her. Herr Hoffmann offered no assistance.
"Herr Hoffmann? I beg to present myself." Lisa Moeller then extended her nether lip outward and blew away the strands of hair which had fallen over her eyes as she continued to struggle with the bag. "I am Lisa Moeller. My employer, Herr Kel- ..."
"I know who you are and who has sent you." Herr Hoffmann softly interrupted. "This is a spartan domicile not suited to the female gender. We will have to make accommodation for our individual toilette and dressing which will prove damnably inconvenient to us both, and there is only one room for sleeping accommodation. Does this agree with your sensitivities?"
"Yes, Herr Hoffmann." replied Lisa.
"I have refused compensation from your benefactor. You will earn your board and instruction by the performance of domestic chores. Can you chop firewood?" asked Herr Hoffmann.
"I can learn."
"We have now established that you cannot chop wood. You can cook then, clean, sew and do whatever else I ask. Are we agreed?"
"Yes." Replied the girl.
"You will have one primary task. It will take precedence over all else. You will create a violin to my exacting standards. It will require one year of your life. You will eat with the result of your work in its various stages lying on the table beside your food. You will sleep with it. You will take it with you everywhere you go. When you wash dishes or scrub the floor it will be strapped to your back. It will never be more than an arm’s reach away from you for one entire year. If through clumsiness or carelessness you damage it in the slightest degree, or if at any time I determine that your skills or your commitment are not commensurate to this endeavor you will be immediately dismissed and sent back to your master. Do you accept my terms?"
"Yes, Herr Hoffmann. I agree to whatever you require of me." replied a wide-eyed Lisa Moeller.
Herr Hoffmann, who had been born with a gentle, kind and generous spirit, was charmed and delighted by the beautiful, fresh face peering through the bonnet Lisa Moeller wore, but he hoped not to betray his feelings for it was his desire to portray the image of a stern and demanding master whom Lisa Moeller would respect. He doubted that Lisa would succeed but she was here now, and he must be able to report to his friend, Herr Klebow, that he had at least made an honest effort in his behalf.
So it began. The first week Fraulein Moeller was introduced to the tools and materials Herr Hoffmann had stored at his cabin - the tools and materials with which she would be working for the next twelve months. She then advanced to learn techniques required to skillfully cut, form and shape wood with carving knives, chisels, scrapers and saws. She was quizzed upon what she had been taught each day as she performed her domestic chores. Not a minute of time was wasted from dawn till dusk in the pursuit of her instruction. Lisa listened to Herr Hoffman’s lectures regarding the proper creation and selection of glues and varnishes as she scrapped the wood of the soundboard and checked her accuracy with metal templates. It was only after dinner, in the evening, when the two of them sat on the long, wooden, front portico of the cabin that Herr Hoffmann forbade any discussion of violin-making. This was a time of rest, for Herr Hoffmann was wise enough to know that the stress he was introducing could break Lisa Moeller’s concentration and debilitate her ability before she had an opportunity to master the required skills. Though she would fail he did not want her failure to be the result of unfairness on his part.
But as time passed Herr Hoffmann came to understand why his friend Dieter Klebow had spoken so glowingly of the young woman for she was indeed extraordinarily intelligent and capable of learning and mastering the most difficult tasks to which she had been introduced. But there was something more. Lisa Moeller had an extraordinarily beautiful spirit as well. A spirit which had brought light and gaiety to his ascetic and secluded life. One day as Lisa was preparing breakfast Herr Hoffmann posed the following question.
"And so, your master informs me that your greatest wish is to learn to create a perfect violin. Is this true?"
Lisa stood at the stove with her back to Herr Hoffmann. She then lowered her head and more than a few moments passed before she replied. "No, good sir, this is not my greatest wish."
Herr Hoffmann was both surprised and intrigued by Lisa’s response which was presented in such an honest and forthright manner. He continued to watch her closely as she filled their bowls with porridge and poured coffee. When she had completed these tasks she walked slowly till she stood silently with her head bowed before her instructor who was seated at the breakfast table, and then she said, "My greatest wish has always been to have known my mother, and to know why she abandoned me. I have always wished this. I have wished for this knowledge every day of my life."
Martin Hoffmann struggled to hide his emotions. He at once wanted to take Lisa in his arms, to comfort her, for his own heart was breaking, but instead he replied, "We have much to do today. Your lesson will involve the proper manner with which to level the fingerboard. Make haste with the meal. Daylight is burning away."
Part 2
One afternoon during the ninth month of her instruction Lisa’s master, Herr Kelbow, paid a surprise visit. Lisa saw him walking the path to the cottage through the window beside which she was working whereupon she shrieked and immediately dropped the chisel and mallet with which she had been carving the scroll of her workpiece. Grabbing the unfinished violin she raced to meet him on the path. Herr Hoffmann watched the reunion of the pair through the the curtains of his window with pleasure and satisfaction. Their warm embrace was proof of their mutual affection. It was obvious to Hoffmann that his friend had not intended to make this an extended visit for he carried only two items. The first was a smaller version of Lisa’s cloth bag which undoubtably contained a few items of clothing, and the other, which Herr Kelbow held tightly to his chest, was smaller, wrapped in a red velvet cloth which had been tied with twine.
"How goes the battle my friend?", shouted Dieter Kelbow as he approached the doorway in which Hoffmann stood.
Hoffmann did not reply but his broad smile was evidence that he was happy to once more behold his lifelong friend. Lisa fairly skipped beside Herr Kelbow carrying his bag in one hand as her other clutched the result of nine months of work tightly, for she had been true to her word - the unfinished violin which she had been creating had never been more than an arm’s length away from her for nine months.
"I have important business to conduct in the vicinity and thought I would pay you both a visit." said Herr Klebow.
"You have always been a very unskilled liar Dieter." replied a grinning Herr Hoffmann.
"Yes, it’s true. You were always smarter than me Martin. I should have known that I could not deceive you." responded a laughing Dieter Klebow. "I have come to see my little angel. I have missed you dreadfully my dear. Postal communication will never be a satisfactory substitute for the joy of being in your presence."
"As I have missed you." said Lisa. "My daily chores and instruction have left me little time to think of Munich, but I have often dreamed of the beautiful home you have provide me, of you, and of your many kindnesses, when I sleep."
The three enjoyed a pleasant dinner together and in honor of Herr Kelbow’s visit Hoffmann decreed that wine be substituted for the cider which usually accompanied the evening meal. After dinner, as twilight enveloped the cottage, and as was the daily custom, the three sat on the front portico to enjoy the sight of the last lingering shafts of sunlight descending upon the distant, snow-capped mountains. After several minutes of talk Herr Kelbow excitedly excused himself, went into the cottage, and returned with the red velvet parcel which he gently presented to Lisa. Lisa smiled for she knew what the parcel contained. Relieved of its wrapping Lisa now held in her hands the violin upon which she had taken her lessons. Herr Hoffmann held out his hand and after a questioning glance directed first at Herr Klebow and then to her teacher Lisa presented her instrument to the master luthier. Hoffmann tapped the wood of the soundboard and the back of the instrument while listening intently to the resulting hollow reverberations of sound. He held it level with his eyes and examined it from various angles. He then took the bow and nestling the chin rest beneath his jaw played several notes. He then wordlessly handed it back to Lisa Moeller as one would extend a dead rat by its tail over the dustbin.
Dieter Klebow fidgeted in his seat and looked uncomfortably ill at ease. "I thought it best to start the child’s lessons with a modest instrument. But it is not so bad. It has been sufficient to allow her to learn the rudiments of the ..."
"Enough, Dieter." interrupted Herr Hoffmann. "Will you play something for us Lisa?"
Lisa sensed the mild tension between the two men as she stood and dutifully raised the instrument to her chin, and then, after a pause, began to play Toccata and Fugue, written long ago by the good friend of Hoffmann’s father, Johann Sebastian Bach. As the first halting bars sweetly sounded Hoffmann directed his sight upon distant mountains. And then came the furious avalanche of notes which even Hoffman knew were a challenge to the most accomplished violinists. As the precisely punctuated speed of Lisa’s attack mounted Herr Hoffmann slowly turned an unbelieving gaze upon her, then lifted his eyes to meet Klebow’s own which were glowing with pride. As the final dramatic notes of the piece faded in the night air Hoffmann said simply, "It is time for bed. We shall stretch the hammock for our student, and you, Dieter, will sleep in her bed. Tomorrow you will leave us my friend for she must return to her work, she has been distracted enough, and you will take this instrument with you. She will now have only one instrument in her life - this instrument!" Hoffmann held up the unfinished workpiece which rested carefully on the bench beside which Lisa Moeller had been sitting.
The day after Herr Klebow’s departure Hoffmann stood outside the cabin admiring the impressive explosion of color which was the result of the flower garden Lisa had planted and tended in front of the cottage during her evening respites. The seed with which the garden had been planted she had brought with her from the estate she shared with Herr Klebow. As Hoffmann attempted to place a name to the various taxon of flowers he became aware of the soft sound of Lisa’s voice from within the cottage. He quietly approached the window and peered inside to witness Lisa cradling the violin like a baby in her arms while speaking to it gently and soothingly. She then pulled it gently to her breast and began to sing to it very softly as she swayed from side to side in a graceful, dancing motion. As Hoffman stared at the event taking place within the cottage an unexplainable and curious fear began to gnaw at his heart.
The following month was dedicated to the creation of the all-important varnish. The tincture was required to be made in stages, each stage requiring time to age before proceeding. At one point Lisa Moeller was required to stir the contents of the small cauldron which gently boiled over the outdoor fire for a continuous ten hours. Hoffmann assured her as she worked that he too had often endured the tedium and muscle-ache she was experiencing, for though he could handily pay a helper to do this difficult but mindless task he trusted no one but himself to do it properly. Herr Hoffman provided the continuous stream of wood necessary to keep the fire going, but he did not place it on the fire, even this Lisa was made to do, for she must learn to keep the fire at precisely the right temperature that the varnish may thicken at the precisely required pace. On the second week of the tenth month Lisa Moeller painted the surface of her violin with the extremely soft, camel hair brush provided by Herr Hoffmann. The violin was then hung up, not to be touched for another three weeks as the surface of the varnish cured and hardened. During this period the bow, the strings, and the chin rest Hoffmann had ordered from the most prestigious supply house of violin hardware in Europe arrived by post from Italy. Signor Alfredo Bocca, a man whose talents were renowned throughout the music world, and a man who was indebted to Herr Hoffmann for the fame Hoffmann’s patronage brought to his firm, happily undertook the task which would otherwise have been delegated to subordinates. Bocca personally made the strings and strung the bow with his own two hands.
And so finally, on the hallowed day of Our Lord, Good Friday, and under the watchful eye of Herr Hoffmann, Lisa Moeller affixed the chin rest and strung the strings. Her creation was complete, with two weeks to spare. With her fingers on the tuning pegs and her eyes aflame she gave Herr Hoffmann an inquiring look. He nodded and Lisa began to tune the instrument. When she finished she glanced at him again with greater urgency and Herr Hoffmann smiled and nodded.
Lisa held the violin at arms length before her smiling face, then pressed it to her breast and whispered quietly to it. For the second time Herr Hoffmann was entertained with a nameless dread. And then, with draped eyelids, Lisa Moeller raised the violin to her chin and began to play. The plaintive strains of Johann Sebastian Bach's Ave Maria filled the humble cottage with an indescribably beautiful sound. Lisa continued to play as the tears fell from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, for the beauty of the music she and her violin were now creating surpassed anything Lisa had ever experienced in her life. The effect was not lost on Herr Hoffmann who felt his legs grow weak. After a lifetime of listening to the most famous violinists of the world play upon the finest instruments of his creation nothing in his memory had transfixed his emotions as the music to which he was now listening. The music was the story of a mother who had lost her child - had watched him die on a cross on this very day. The sweetness, the pity, the gentle yet indefinable shear power of the composition was elevated to sublime heights by a young girl who had never known her own mother - the mother she thought upon every day of her life. She now sang to her mother of her love, of her longing, of her loneliness through her instrument. With every note she lay her head upon her mother’s bosom, held her hand, kissed her cheek. The Madonna’s grief was now her own, a grief which was voiced in the ethereally beautiful interpretation she brought to Bach's printed score. The final two notes of the song, the amen, though played ever so gently, ever so quietly, ever so tenderly, reverberated in the room like a lost, echoed prayer long moments after Lisa Moeller’s bow had ceased to move. Lisa Moeller and Herr Hoffmann stood silently together in the room for many minutes.
"Come with me my child." said Herr Hoffmann gently as he opened the cottage door.
Lisa, in a daze, followed her instructor out the door as he made his way to the woodpile. He stopped before the aged tree stump upon which the logs were split for firewood. He then took off his coat and held out his hand.
"Give to me the violin my dear." said Herr Hoffmann.
Lisa handed the violin to her teacher with the simple trust which had developed between them over the last twelve months.
Hoffmann carefully placed his coat over the rough surface of the stump that the violin should not receive the slightest scratch from something so unworthy, and then carefully and gently laid the violin upon his coat. He then pulled the ax from a log in which it had been embedded and handed the ax to Lisa.
"This is my last instruction to you my dear child. Destroy the violin." said Herr Hoffmann, whose voice was now, for the first time in their association, steeped in emotion.
Lisa smiled and then laughed aloud. She pirouetted in a circle and clapped her hands. "Oh good teacher you are so funny today. Is it proper to make such jokes on this day when Our Lord was ...." Lisa’s voice stopped abruptly as Hoffmann’s face remained impassive. "Oh sir, you cannot be truthful. Tell me you are jesting. You would never, never ask me to do such a ..."
"Destroy it my child." Hoffmann held out the ax. As Lisa rushed forward in an attempt to rescue her violin Hoffmann interposed himself between her and the stump.
Lisa fell to the earth at the foot of the stump wrapping her arms as far around it as she could manage and began to weep bitterly.
"You must destroy it."
"I CANNOT !" Lisa screamed. "It is my child. I will never abandon it. Never, do you hear ?! I shall never be parted from my child!" Lisa was now shrieking like a madwoman.
"Destroy it."
Lisa spun violently on her hands and knees facing Herr Hoffman from the ground - a lioness between her cub and the danger which threatens it. Her face was a mask of both fear and rage. Her dress was now soiled completely by the mud she had thrashed upon. Her hair was flung wildly in every direction, it hung like a curtain before her once beautiful face, a face which was now contorted into the ugly semblance of a cornered, wild animal.
"I am your teacher." shouted Herr Hoffmann "I am the teacher you promised to obey. I am the teacher who holds the absolute trust of your benefactor, Herr Kelbow. I order you to destroy it or I shall!" Tears were now cascading freely from Herr Hoffmann’s eyes.
"Oh my dear God! Oh my dear God in Heaven! Why have you also abandoned me? Oh my dear Lord, help me!" Lisa had now thrown her full body forward into the mud, her hands were desperately clawing tufts of grass from their roots. Her body was racked with uncontrollable sobbing.
Herr Hoffmann could take no more. He too fell to the ground and took Lisa in his arms. Still sobbing bitterly, Lisa raised herself to her knees and threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.
"My dear Lisa, do you not understand? Your child is immortal. Your child sits not upon this stump. This impostor is only wood and glue and varnish. Your child resides within you. Your child is the talent found now in your skilled hands. It is the knowledge within your brain. It is the fire within your heart. Your child can never be separated from you for your child resides within you as you reside now with the mother who created you - as she resides within you."
As Herr Hoffmann spoke Lisa’s sobs slowly subsided. She then lifted her head. As she did so her hair fell to either side of her face like storm clouds parting to reveal the warm and beautiful sun once more. For God had not forsaken Lisa Moeller. Even as Herr Hoffmann spoke angels were rolling away the lifelong stone which had weighed upon Lisa Moeller’s heart.
"My child is immortal." whispered an exhausted Lisa Moeller.
"Yes." replied Herr Hoffmann.
"It is part of me. No one can ever separate us, as my mother lives in me, as she has always been with me."
"Yes, my dear, always."
Lisa struggled slowly to her feet. She then gripped the ax in both hands, raised it above her head, and with a mighty shout brought it down upon the violin. Her exertions caused her to fall once more into the wet puddles of water and mud. Herr Hoffmann offered her his hand and ever so carefully raised her once more to her feet. She then gently laid her head and her hands upon her teacher’s chest and with a new-found firmness in her voice said, "I understand now, my wise teacher. I can make another which is even better."
"Yes!"
Epilogue
On a balmy April morning four elegant, black-laquered broughams slowed before a three-storied dwelling in the fashionable suburbs of Munich. A raised, painted, and gilded escutcheon was visible on the doors of the second carriage. A small crowd began to gather on the opposite walkway - a crowd which was slowing growing in number. As the wheels of the carriages came to a complete stop footmen immediately and deftly descended from the rear of the emblazoned carriage as six immaculately uniformed military officers wearing plumed regimental hats, mirrored dress boots, and gleaming swords emerged from the first and third carriages. The footmen hastened to the curbside door; one carrying a portable stepping platform to aid the occupant’s egress as the other opened the carriage door. As this was taking place the military men had taken positions on both sides of the carriage, effectively surrounding it. An elderly and frail looking man exited the brougham and after speaking a few words to his assistants began to climb the six stairs to the doorway of the home alone. As he was half way ascended and became visible to those across the street the crowd burst into applause and cheers. The old man slowly turned and raised his hat to the crowd which elicited even greater cheers and shouts. He then raised and lowered the brass door knocker several times and waited patiently.
The door was opened by a beautiful, golden-haired girl of fourteen years wearing a light green chiffon dress who had outpaced the butler to the door as was her impish practice - a joke which the butler, who adored her, pretended to abhor.
"May I be of service sir?" said the young lady as she gawked in astonishment at the cavalcade of carriages and throng of people before her house.
"Ah, you must be Sophie. I have come to see your mother." said the elderly gentleman.
"Oh, but mother is working and she must never be disturbed at such times." said the young lady.
As she was speaking a tall, handsome and elegantly dressed man rushed forward and bowed before the old gentleman.
"Your Highness! We are pleased to welcome you. Sophie, you have had the honor of addressing Kronprinz Rupert."
The young girl who was now totally awed and confused performed a clumsy curtsy and sped off shouting, "I shall get mother immediately!"
Prince Rupert laughed heartily, which had the intended effect of putting the child’s father at ease.
"Please accept my apologies for my daughter’s behavior." said the host.
"Oh, I think we can dispense with formalities Rolf. How long has it been ... three years?"
"A bit more I think your majesty. We were honored to have been invited to the palace. Lisa spoke of nothing else but the ball for months after. Please come in and sit down."
"My wife and I are visiting for two weeks at the home of Baron von Stoltz, and as we are here I wanted to see your enchanting wife once more and to ask of her a special favor. I am the patron of an exceptionally talented violinist who approaches his twenty-first year: an amazingly gifted young man, who’s performances have amazed all who have heard them. I would like to commission your wife to make for him a violin for his birthday, for no one but she can create an instrument worthy of his talent. Of course money is no object. She may name her price."
Leaning against the doorway at the far end of the room unobserved by Prince Rupert and her husband was a middle-aged but extraordinarily beautiful woman wearing a smock.
"Don’t think you can seduce me with money your highness. You should know me better than that by now." said a broadly smiling Frau Brecht as she dried her hands with a linen cloth. Lisa would only speak to the Kronprinz in this manner in private, but she knew that her temerity had an enchanting effect upon him.
"Lisa, my dear!" shouted Prince Rupert as he bolted with uncharacteristic spryness for one his age from his chair and hastened to her outstretched arms to apply a grandfatherly kiss upon both her cheeks.
"I must meet this young man. I must know his heart before I accept this commission." Once again, only Lisa Brecht could make such a demand upon the Kronprinz with impunity, a demand with which the Kronprinz would certainly comply, for he held Lisa Brecht as one of the crown jewels of his domain.
Lisa joined her husband and Prince Rupert on the cushioned chairs to continue their discussion, and this is where we shall leave them. But before we go, if we are observant, we will note a glass case, the contents of which clash remarkably with the otherwise perfectly decorated room. For in the case, which rests upon an elegant parlor table, is the mutilated and violated remains of a perfectly constructed violin. And were we to observe further we would note a framed certificate hanging on the wall just above the glass case. The only certificate of its kind ever awarded.
Finis
DATo
Part 1
Martin Hoffmann lived alone in a nondescript, and isolated wooden house nestled in a forest within the Bavarian Alps. The modest dwelling and trappings of his home belied the fact that Herr Hoffmann was a very wealthy man. Martin Hoffmann was once a master luthier whose stringed musical instruments now sang in the most celebrated opera houses and concert halls of the world, and were played by among the most famous and celebrated artists of his time. His violins were often compared to those of Antonio Stradivari. Though rare, it was sometimes possible to find the slightest flaw in the tonal value of a Stradivarius violin by individuals gifted with phenomenally acute pitch discrimination; but such was not the case when the violins made by Herr Hoffmann were examined, for every one of his instruments was the very epitome of unmitigated, absolute, and uncompromising perfection.
Hoffmann himself was not a musician but his father, who had also been a luthier, had been a personal friend of Johann Bach and Hoffmann could not remember a time in his life when his world was not surrounded by musicians, composers and the sound of music. Herr Hoffmann’s contribution, which was equally important to this world of music, was to be found in the exquisite instruments he created which gave voice to the genius of composers and the virtuosity of the artists who played their music.
Time, the great ravager of all men, had taken its toll on Martin Hoffmann. As he approached the twilight years of his life his formidable powers had slowly begun to betray him. His eyes could no longer see the subtle undulations of the wood. His hands lacked the steadiness to control the many wood chisels and scrapers. And that is why, on an autumn day in his sixty-seventh year, Herr Hoffmann lay down his tools vowing never to use them again, for he now lacked the ability to create perfection, and he would settle for nothing less in an instrument which bore his name.
But Hoffmann had one last contribution to offer the world. In his wisdom Herr Hoffmann was aware that knowledge of the genius he employed in the creation of his instruments was worth far more than the sum total of all the instruments he had created in his lifetime. His future ambition would be dedicated to the preservation of his skills and technique. For the last four years he had offered instruction in the art of violin making to those very few selected individuals fortunate enough to be accepted under his tutelage. Martin Hoffmann was both a kind and far-seeing man. He was not burdened by the vices of egotistical pride, greed and stinginess which have often disparaged the reputations of other famous individuals. Money held no importance or meaning to Hoffmann. He had refused instruction to people offering enormous sums but had sometimes accepted students who had no money with which to pay him. On the basis of a five minute interview something in Hoffmann’s insightful wisdom would determine whether a candidate was worthy of the investment of the now precious time which remained to him on this earth.
A certificate signed by Herr Hoffmann which could be offered by any former student as proof of his successful completion of Herr Hoffmann’s instruction would certainly guarantee the individual’s future success. A student who earned Hoffmann’s endorsement would be able to make and sell his creations for princely sums to the greatest musicians of the day, for it was widely known that Hoffmann’s uncompromising dedication to perfection would never allow him to offer such credentials to any but the most gifted student. After four years of instruction involving five students Hoffmann had yet to award such a certificate.
My dear friend, I trust that through our long association you have come to value my opinions and judgement. I am sending to you a young lady who has been in my employ for two years. She began service in my household as a scullery maid but quickly advanced on the basis of her sewing skills and gardening achievements. I tell you truly Martin this young woman possesses magic in her hands and fire in her heart. If anyone can satisfy the requirements of your demanding regimen it is she. Her name is Lisa Moeller. She is sixteen years old and she is alone in the world. She was abandoned at a convent as an infant. Two years ago the good sisters offered her to my service knowing that I would take her under my protection with kindness and a view to her future happiness. Little did I know the impact that her presence would make upon my own sad and lonely life. I must go further Martin, she has become a daughter to me. She has filled the void which was created by the death of my dear Berta. I have provided her with violin lessons and she is quickly mastering the instrument. She lives for the violin and her excitement knew no bounds when I told her of my plan to send her to you for instruction. Grant me this kindness my friend, and I shall be forever in your debt.
A girl? What does a girl know of tools and the crafting of wood? Sewing? Gardening? Has Dieter Klebow taken leave of his senses? thought Herr Hoffmann. He knew it would be futile to reply because by the time his epistle reached Herr Klebow Lisa Moeller would be standing on his doorstep. Hoffmann knew he could not evade this request for Dieter had been his childhood friend, and from those childhood days to the present Dieter Klebow had never denied Martin Hoffmann an accommodation of any kind.
And thus it was that two days later a young girl struggled up the path to Martin Hoffmann’s cottage from the road where she had been left by the carriage which traveled this route each day with mail and provisions. The cloth bag which contained the girl’s personal effects proved too heavy to carry with ease and she was required to stop from time to time to take her breath. Herr Hoffmann watched her from his doorway as she carried, and then ultimately dragged her bag behind her. Herr Hoffmann offered no assistance.
"Herr Hoffmann? I beg to present myself." Lisa Moeller then extended her nether lip outward and blew away the strands of hair which had fallen over her eyes as she continued to struggle with the bag. "I am Lisa Moeller. My employer, Herr Kel- ..."
"I know who you are and who has sent you." Herr Hoffmann softly interrupted. "This is a spartan domicile not suited to the female gender. We will have to make accommodation for our individual toilette and dressing which will prove damnably inconvenient to us both, and there is only one room for sleeping accommodation. Does this agree with your sensitivities?"
"Yes, Herr Hoffmann." replied Lisa.
"I have refused compensation from your benefactor. You will earn your board and instruction by the performance of domestic chores. Can you chop firewood?" asked Herr Hoffmann.
"I can learn."
"We have now established that you cannot chop wood. You can cook then, clean, sew and do whatever else I ask. Are we agreed?"
"Yes." Replied the girl.
"You will have one primary task. It will take precedence over all else. You will create a violin to my exacting standards. It will require one year of your life. You will eat with the result of your work in its various stages lying on the table beside your food. You will sleep with it. You will take it with you everywhere you go. When you wash dishes or scrub the floor it will be strapped to your back. It will never be more than an arm’s reach away from you for one entire year. If through clumsiness or carelessness you damage it in the slightest degree, or if at any time I determine that your skills or your commitment are not commensurate to this endeavor you will be immediately dismissed and sent back to your master. Do you accept my terms?"
"Yes, Herr Hoffmann. I agree to whatever you require of me." replied a wide-eyed Lisa Moeller.
Herr Hoffmann, who had been born with a gentle, kind and generous spirit, was charmed and delighted by the beautiful, fresh face peering through the bonnet Lisa Moeller wore, but he hoped not to betray his feelings for it was his desire to portray the image of a stern and demanding master whom Lisa Moeller would respect. He doubted that Lisa would succeed but she was here now, and he must be able to report to his friend, Herr Klebow, that he had at least made an honest effort in his behalf.
So it began. The first week Fraulein Moeller was introduced to the tools and materials Herr Hoffmann had stored at his cabin - the tools and materials with which she would be working for the next twelve months. She then advanced to learn techniques required to skillfully cut, form and shape wood with carving knives, chisels, scrapers and saws. She was quizzed upon what she had been taught each day as she performed her domestic chores. Not a minute of time was wasted from dawn till dusk in the pursuit of her instruction. Lisa listened to Herr Hoffman’s lectures regarding the proper creation and selection of glues and varnishes as she scrapped the wood of the soundboard and checked her accuracy with metal templates. It was only after dinner, in the evening, when the two of them sat on the long, wooden, front portico of the cabin that Herr Hoffmann forbade any discussion of violin-making. This was a time of rest, for Herr Hoffmann was wise enough to know that the stress he was introducing could break Lisa Moeller’s concentration and debilitate her ability before she had an opportunity to master the required skills. Though she would fail he did not want her failure to be the result of unfairness on his part.
But as time passed Herr Hoffmann came to understand why his friend Dieter Klebow had spoken so glowingly of the young woman for she was indeed extraordinarily intelligent and capable of learning and mastering the most difficult tasks to which she had been introduced. But there was something more. Lisa Moeller had an extraordinarily beautiful spirit as well. A spirit which had brought light and gaiety to his ascetic and secluded life. One day as Lisa was preparing breakfast Herr Hoffmann posed the following question.
"And so, your master informs me that your greatest wish is to learn to create a perfect violin. Is this true?"
Lisa stood at the stove with her back to Herr Hoffmann. She then lowered her head and more than a few moments passed before she replied. "No, good sir, this is not my greatest wish."
Herr Hoffmann was both surprised and intrigued by Lisa’s response which was presented in such an honest and forthright manner. He continued to watch her closely as she filled their bowls with porridge and poured coffee. When she had completed these tasks she walked slowly till she stood silently with her head bowed before her instructor who was seated at the breakfast table, and then she said, "My greatest wish has always been to have known my mother, and to know why she abandoned me. I have always wished this. I have wished for this knowledge every day of my life."
Martin Hoffmann struggled to hide his emotions. He at once wanted to take Lisa in his arms, to comfort her, for his own heart was breaking, but instead he replied, "We have much to do today. Your lesson will involve the proper manner with which to level the fingerboard. Make haste with the meal. Daylight is burning away."
Part 2
One afternoon during the ninth month of her instruction Lisa’s master, Herr Kelbow, paid a surprise visit. Lisa saw him walking the path to the cottage through the window beside which she was working whereupon she shrieked and immediately dropped the chisel and mallet with which she had been carving the scroll of her workpiece. Grabbing the unfinished violin she raced to meet him on the path. Herr Hoffmann watched the reunion of the pair through the the curtains of his window with pleasure and satisfaction. Their warm embrace was proof of their mutual affection. It was obvious to Hoffmann that his friend had not intended to make this an extended visit for he carried only two items. The first was a smaller version of Lisa’s cloth bag which undoubtably contained a few items of clothing, and the other, which Herr Kelbow held tightly to his chest, was smaller, wrapped in a red velvet cloth which had been tied with twine.
"How goes the battle my friend?", shouted Dieter Kelbow as he approached the doorway in which Hoffmann stood.
Hoffmann did not reply but his broad smile was evidence that he was happy to once more behold his lifelong friend. Lisa fairly skipped beside Herr Kelbow carrying his bag in one hand as her other clutched the result of nine months of work tightly, for she had been true to her word - the unfinished violin which she had been creating had never been more than an arm’s length away from her for nine months.
"I have important business to conduct in the vicinity and thought I would pay you both a visit." said Herr Klebow.
"You have always been a very unskilled liar Dieter." replied a grinning Herr Hoffmann.
"Yes, it’s true. You were always smarter than me Martin. I should have known that I could not deceive you." responded a laughing Dieter Klebow. "I have come to see my little angel. I have missed you dreadfully my dear. Postal communication will never be a satisfactory substitute for the joy of being in your presence."
"As I have missed you." said Lisa. "My daily chores and instruction have left me little time to think of Munich, but I have often dreamed of the beautiful home you have provide me, of you, and of your many kindnesses, when I sleep."
The three enjoyed a pleasant dinner together and in honor of Herr Kelbow’s visit Hoffmann decreed that wine be substituted for the cider which usually accompanied the evening meal. After dinner, as twilight enveloped the cottage, and as was the daily custom, the three sat on the front portico to enjoy the sight of the last lingering shafts of sunlight descending upon the distant, snow-capped mountains. After several minutes of talk Herr Kelbow excitedly excused himself, went into the cottage, and returned with the red velvet parcel which he gently presented to Lisa. Lisa smiled for she knew what the parcel contained. Relieved of its wrapping Lisa now held in her hands the violin upon which she had taken her lessons. Herr Hoffmann held out his hand and after a questioning glance directed first at Herr Klebow and then to her teacher Lisa presented her instrument to the master luthier. Hoffmann tapped the wood of the soundboard and the back of the instrument while listening intently to the resulting hollow reverberations of sound. He held it level with his eyes and examined it from various angles. He then took the bow and nestling the chin rest beneath his jaw played several notes. He then wordlessly handed it back to Lisa Moeller as one would extend a dead rat by its tail over the dustbin.
Dieter Klebow fidgeted in his seat and looked uncomfortably ill at ease. "I thought it best to start the child’s lessons with a modest instrument. But it is not so bad. It has been sufficient to allow her to learn the rudiments of the ..."
"Enough, Dieter." interrupted Herr Hoffmann. "Will you play something for us Lisa?"
Lisa sensed the mild tension between the two men as she stood and dutifully raised the instrument to her chin, and then, after a pause, began to play Toccata and Fugue, written long ago by the good friend of Hoffmann’s father, Johann Sebastian Bach. As the first halting bars sweetly sounded Hoffmann directed his sight upon distant mountains. And then came the furious avalanche of notes which even Hoffman knew were a challenge to the most accomplished violinists. As the precisely punctuated speed of Lisa’s attack mounted Herr Hoffmann slowly turned an unbelieving gaze upon her, then lifted his eyes to meet Klebow’s own which were glowing with pride. As the final dramatic notes of the piece faded in the night air Hoffmann said simply, "It is time for bed. We shall stretch the hammock for our student, and you, Dieter, will sleep in her bed. Tomorrow you will leave us my friend for she must return to her work, she has been distracted enough, and you will take this instrument with you. She will now have only one instrument in her life - this instrument!" Hoffmann held up the unfinished workpiece which rested carefully on the bench beside which Lisa Moeller had been sitting.
The day after Herr Klebow’s departure Hoffmann stood outside the cabin admiring the impressive explosion of color which was the result of the flower garden Lisa had planted and tended in front of the cottage during her evening respites. The seed with which the garden had been planted she had brought with her from the estate she shared with Herr Klebow. As Hoffmann attempted to place a name to the various taxon of flowers he became aware of the soft sound of Lisa’s voice from within the cottage. He quietly approached the window and peered inside to witness Lisa cradling the violin like a baby in her arms while speaking to it gently and soothingly. She then pulled it gently to her breast and began to sing to it very softly as she swayed from side to side in a graceful, dancing motion. As Hoffman stared at the event taking place within the cottage an unexplainable and curious fear began to gnaw at his heart.
The following month was dedicated to the creation of the all-important varnish. The tincture was required to be made in stages, each stage requiring time to age before proceeding. At one point Lisa Moeller was required to stir the contents of the small cauldron which gently boiled over the outdoor fire for a continuous ten hours. Hoffmann assured her as she worked that he too had often endured the tedium and muscle-ache she was experiencing, for though he could handily pay a helper to do this difficult but mindless task he trusted no one but himself to do it properly. Herr Hoffman provided the continuous stream of wood necessary to keep the fire going, but he did not place it on the fire, even this Lisa was made to do, for she must learn to keep the fire at precisely the right temperature that the varnish may thicken at the precisely required pace. On the second week of the tenth month Lisa Moeller painted the surface of her violin with the extremely soft, camel hair brush provided by Herr Hoffmann. The violin was then hung up, not to be touched for another three weeks as the surface of the varnish cured and hardened. During this period the bow, the strings, and the chin rest Hoffmann had ordered from the most prestigious supply house of violin hardware in Europe arrived by post from Italy. Signor Alfredo Bocca, a man whose talents were renowned throughout the music world, and a man who was indebted to Herr Hoffmann for the fame Hoffmann’s patronage brought to his firm, happily undertook the task which would otherwise have been delegated to subordinates. Bocca personally made the strings and strung the bow with his own two hands.
And so finally, on the hallowed day of Our Lord, Good Friday, and under the watchful eye of Herr Hoffmann, Lisa Moeller affixed the chin rest and strung the strings. Her creation was complete, with two weeks to spare. With her fingers on the tuning pegs and her eyes aflame she gave Herr Hoffmann an inquiring look. He nodded and Lisa began to tune the instrument. When she finished she glanced at him again with greater urgency and Herr Hoffmann smiled and nodded.
Lisa held the violin at arms length before her smiling face, then pressed it to her breast and whispered quietly to it. For the second time Herr Hoffmann was entertained with a nameless dread. And then, with draped eyelids, Lisa Moeller raised the violin to her chin and began to play. The plaintive strains of Johann Sebastian Bach's Ave Maria filled the humble cottage with an indescribably beautiful sound. Lisa continued to play as the tears fell from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, for the beauty of the music she and her violin were now creating surpassed anything Lisa had ever experienced in her life. The effect was not lost on Herr Hoffmann who felt his legs grow weak. After a lifetime of listening to the most famous violinists of the world play upon the finest instruments of his creation nothing in his memory had transfixed his emotions as the music to which he was now listening. The music was the story of a mother who had lost her child - had watched him die on a cross on this very day. The sweetness, the pity, the gentle yet indefinable shear power of the composition was elevated to sublime heights by a young girl who had never known her own mother - the mother she thought upon every day of her life. She now sang to her mother of her love, of her longing, of her loneliness through her instrument. With every note she lay her head upon her mother’s bosom, held her hand, kissed her cheek. The Madonna’s grief was now her own, a grief which was voiced in the ethereally beautiful interpretation she brought to Bach's printed score. The final two notes of the song, the amen, though played ever so gently, ever so quietly, ever so tenderly, reverberated in the room like a lost, echoed prayer long moments after Lisa Moeller’s bow had ceased to move. Lisa Moeller and Herr Hoffmann stood silently together in the room for many minutes.
"Come with me my child." said Herr Hoffmann gently as he opened the cottage door.
Lisa, in a daze, followed her instructor out the door as he made his way to the woodpile. He stopped before the aged tree stump upon which the logs were split for firewood. He then took off his coat and held out his hand.
"Give to me the violin my dear." said Herr Hoffmann.
Lisa handed the violin to her teacher with the simple trust which had developed between them over the last twelve months.
Hoffmann carefully placed his coat over the rough surface of the stump that the violin should not receive the slightest scratch from something so unworthy, and then carefully and gently laid the violin upon his coat. He then pulled the ax from a log in which it had been embedded and handed the ax to Lisa.
"This is my last instruction to you my dear child. Destroy the violin." said Herr Hoffmann, whose voice was now, for the first time in their association, steeped in emotion.
Lisa smiled and then laughed aloud. She pirouetted in a circle and clapped her hands. "Oh good teacher you are so funny today. Is it proper to make such jokes on this day when Our Lord was ...." Lisa’s voice stopped abruptly as Hoffmann’s face remained impassive. "Oh sir, you cannot be truthful. Tell me you are jesting. You would never, never ask me to do such a ..."
"Destroy it my child." Hoffmann held out the ax. As Lisa rushed forward in an attempt to rescue her violin Hoffmann interposed himself between her and the stump.
Lisa fell to the earth at the foot of the stump wrapping her arms as far around it as she could manage and began to weep bitterly.
"You must destroy it."
"I CANNOT !" Lisa screamed. "It is my child. I will never abandon it. Never, do you hear ?! I shall never be parted from my child!" Lisa was now shrieking like a madwoman.
"Destroy it."
Lisa spun violently on her hands and knees facing Herr Hoffman from the ground - a lioness between her cub and the danger which threatens it. Her face was a mask of both fear and rage. Her dress was now soiled completely by the mud she had thrashed upon. Her hair was flung wildly in every direction, it hung like a curtain before her once beautiful face, a face which was now contorted into the ugly semblance of a cornered, wild animal.
"I am your teacher." shouted Herr Hoffmann "I am the teacher you promised to obey. I am the teacher who holds the absolute trust of your benefactor, Herr Kelbow. I order you to destroy it or I shall!" Tears were now cascading freely from Herr Hoffmann’s eyes.
"Oh my dear God! Oh my dear God in Heaven! Why have you also abandoned me? Oh my dear Lord, help me!" Lisa had now thrown her full body forward into the mud, her hands were desperately clawing tufts of grass from their roots. Her body was racked with uncontrollable sobbing.
Herr Hoffmann could take no more. He too fell to the ground and took Lisa in his arms. Still sobbing bitterly, Lisa raised herself to her knees and threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.
"My dear Lisa, do you not understand? Your child is immortal. Your child sits not upon this stump. This impostor is only wood and glue and varnish. Your child resides within you. Your child is the talent found now in your skilled hands. It is the knowledge within your brain. It is the fire within your heart. Your child can never be separated from you for your child resides within you as you reside now with the mother who created you - as she resides within you."
As Herr Hoffmann spoke Lisa’s sobs slowly subsided. She then lifted her head. As she did so her hair fell to either side of her face like storm clouds parting to reveal the warm and beautiful sun once more. For God had not forsaken Lisa Moeller. Even as Herr Hoffmann spoke angels were rolling away the lifelong stone which had weighed upon Lisa Moeller’s heart.
"My child is immortal." whispered an exhausted Lisa Moeller.
"Yes." replied Herr Hoffmann.
"It is part of me. No one can ever separate us, as my mother lives in me, as she has always been with me."
"Yes, my dear, always."
Lisa struggled slowly to her feet. She then gripped the ax in both hands, raised it above her head, and with a mighty shout brought it down upon the violin. Her exertions caused her to fall once more into the wet puddles of water and mud. Herr Hoffmann offered her his hand and ever so carefully raised her once more to her feet. She then gently laid her head and her hands upon her teacher’s chest and with a new-found firmness in her voice said, "I understand now, my wise teacher. I can make another which is even better."
"Yes!"
Epilogue
On a balmy April morning four elegant, black-laquered broughams slowed before a three-storied dwelling in the fashionable suburbs of Munich. A raised, painted, and gilded escutcheon was visible on the doors of the second carriage. A small crowd began to gather on the opposite walkway - a crowd which was slowing growing in number. As the wheels of the carriages came to a complete stop footmen immediately and deftly descended from the rear of the emblazoned carriage as six immaculately uniformed military officers wearing plumed regimental hats, mirrored dress boots, and gleaming swords emerged from the first and third carriages. The footmen hastened to the curbside door; one carrying a portable stepping platform to aid the occupant’s egress as the other opened the carriage door. As this was taking place the military men had taken positions on both sides of the carriage, effectively surrounding it. An elderly and frail looking man exited the brougham and after speaking a few words to his assistants began to climb the six stairs to the doorway of the home alone. As he was half way ascended and became visible to those across the street the crowd burst into applause and cheers. The old man slowly turned and raised his hat to the crowd which elicited even greater cheers and shouts. He then raised and lowered the brass door knocker several times and waited patiently.
The door was opened by a beautiful, golden-haired girl of fourteen years wearing a light green chiffon dress who had outpaced the butler to the door as was her impish practice - a joke which the butler, who adored her, pretended to abhor.
"May I be of service sir?" said the young lady as she gawked in astonishment at the cavalcade of carriages and throng of people before her house.
"Ah, you must be Sophie. I have come to see your mother." said the elderly gentleman.
"Oh, but mother is working and she must never be disturbed at such times." said the young lady.
As she was speaking a tall, handsome and elegantly dressed man rushed forward and bowed before the old gentleman.
"Your Highness! We are pleased to welcome you. Sophie, you have had the honor of addressing Kronprinz Rupert."
The young girl who was now totally awed and confused performed a clumsy curtsy and sped off shouting, "I shall get mother immediately!"
Prince Rupert laughed heartily, which had the intended effect of putting the child’s father at ease.
"Please accept my apologies for my daughter’s behavior." said the host.
"Oh, I think we can dispense with formalities Rolf. How long has it been ... three years?"
"A bit more I think your majesty. We were honored to have been invited to the palace. Lisa spoke of nothing else but the ball for months after. Please come in and sit down."
"My wife and I are visiting for two weeks at the home of Baron von Stoltz, and as we are here I wanted to see your enchanting wife once more and to ask of her a special favor. I am the patron of an exceptionally talented violinist who approaches his twenty-first year: an amazingly gifted young man, who’s performances have amazed all who have heard them. I would like to commission your wife to make for him a violin for his birthday, for no one but she can create an instrument worthy of his talent. Of course money is no object. She may name her price."
Leaning against the doorway at the far end of the room unobserved by Prince Rupert and her husband was a middle-aged but extraordinarily beautiful woman wearing a smock.
"Don’t think you can seduce me with money your highness. You should know me better than that by now." said a broadly smiling Frau Brecht as she dried her hands with a linen cloth. Lisa would only speak to the Kronprinz in this manner in private, but she knew that her temerity had an enchanting effect upon him.
"Lisa, my dear!" shouted Prince Rupert as he bolted with uncharacteristic spryness for one his age from his chair and hastened to her outstretched arms to apply a grandfatherly kiss upon both her cheeks.
"I must meet this young man. I must know his heart before I accept this commission." Once again, only Lisa Brecht could make such a demand upon the Kronprinz with impunity, a demand with which the Kronprinz would certainly comply, for he held Lisa Brecht as one of the crown jewels of his domain.
Lisa joined her husband and Prince Rupert on the cushioned chairs to continue their discussion, and this is where we shall leave them. But before we go, if we are observant, we will note a glass case, the contents of which clash remarkably with the otherwise perfectly decorated room. For in the case, which rests upon an elegant parlor table, is the mutilated and violated remains of a perfectly constructed violin. And were we to observe further we would note a framed certificate hanging on the wall just above the glass case. The only certificate of its kind ever awarded.
Finis