Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1875-04-23
BROUGHT TO LIGHT.-.A TRUE
STORY.
pY GEORGE 1owE11 Arsr1N.

BY GEORGE LOWELL AUSTIN.
1t was the season of the carnival at
Florence and public rejoicing had reached
its climax. Balls, operas and concerts
were innumerable, and the deepest solem-
nifty enshrouded them, as had long been
the custom. The freest license was per-
mitted to everyone; all quarrels ceased
and kind, fraternal feeling centered in
every breast.
Within the parlor of one of the large
hotels of the beautiful city sat young
man of apparently not more than twenty
five years of age. His form was half con-
cealed in the folds of an easy-chair. No
other parsonage was visible, save servant
who sat in one corner of the room and
who had very nearly fallen asleep over a
newspaper which he held carelessly in his
hand.
1t was late in the afternoon and the last
rays of the declining sun stealing in
through the window shed dreamy luster
do22ed and dreamed and looked somewhat
depressed in spirits. His bold and rough
ly-hewn features and light, curly hair told
plainly that he was not of Southern origin,
but had wandered hither, pilgrim like,
from some home lying far beyond the
Alps. ...
And what was the story of this stranger?
His early life had been nurtured in power
ty and hardships. But people had said
that he was a genius, and had prophesied
for him place among the immortals.
He was passionately fond of music, and
this love was second only to the ability
and power with which he sported with
rich harmonies. He had studied old and
new masters, had practiced until patience
had developed success and understanding,
and was now worthy to be hailed as an ar
tist. He felt that he had won his title to
such, and, inflated, perhaps, by the con-
sciousness of superiority, he was prone
to build many air-castles upon the un-
stable sands of the future. Too often al
ready he had found that hopes were vain
and that dreams were as unreal as the
fairy phantoms of Morgana.
He had learned, too, that success gen.
orally hangs upon the greatness of the in
dividual; that a crowd is always attracted
by a celebrated name, and that external
appearances determine its judgment, and
that a light breeze is more fatal to popular
fancy than the grandest .fttror.
The young artist, | say, felt this much,
and more. He realized how uncertain
were the paths which he trod, and recalled
times that when he thought he had placed
! his foot on firm foundation had proven
| to be only quagmire which trembIed and
! gave way beneath his step. But this feel
| ing In no way disheartened him If he
/ would see his name enrobed in honor, he
knew that he must need travel the rough
ways which others had gone over before
him. Like the latter, he imagined life to
/ be vast continent diversified in its sur
/ face, in which there were mountains to be
! climbed over, rivers and valleys to be
crossed, and smooth plains, luxurious and
In splendor clad, to be skirted and over
stepped.
From his home in the North lie had
drifted to Paris, where, intoxicated by the
gorgeousness of scenes, the activity and
excitement of everyday life, glowing
fashions and gilded magnificence, he was
/ tempted to forget his heart and surrender
himself TO dissipation. He passed through
the streets alone, unmolested and unknown
He had come at a time when the Oriental
scourge was waylaying its Victims, and
when almost every household in the proud
metropolis, from the noblest to the hum.
blest, was forced to hang the gloomy token
of bereavement upon the door -post-when
the Angel of Death had no respect for per
sons, and condemned those whom he had
slain to the dark depths of one common
grave. ~
Amid such utter confusion what could 8
poor young artist hope to accomplish
Enterprise was dead, and there was small
sympathy for the fine arts. Moreover
Paris was already thronged with stars In
one circle Auber swayed caprice by his
fantastic movements. In another Bellini
tonedto grief, was the revered idol; and
then too, the hyper-romantic Meyerbeel
was about TO unlOose his mischievous
"Diavolo." Singers of all gradesa and ma
tionalities demanded hearing, from the
bewitching Malibran down to the young
est flle. of the Conservatory.
The hero of our story was, nevertheless
resolved ON making himself fknown. When
the hour for his concert had arrived the
salon was filled TO overtiowing. The
strange and unique name of the artist
posted as 1t was in every part of the city
had awakened curiosity. In him the audi
ence, who were rather spectators than list
eners, hoped to behold man clothed il
the flTs Of the North, and possessed of I
voice as loud and terrible as the thunder
II was before such an assembly that III
was TO appear, TO contest the honor already
won by Paganini and DE Beriot
Alas for the concert and the artist Th'
former was pleasing enough, they said
but the latter could scarcely be called mOr
than a second-rate fiddlerl
Whittier, now, If Paris failed to applaud
him, should he direct his footstepsS II
Italy, where, In his own imagination