The New Orleans daily Democrat. [volume] (New Orleans, La.) 1877-1880, 1878-08-04

detesCableW
But the fireworks are beautiful, ~
fenallosa,' said Chrystie. when John
sends up the rockets after dark from
the roof. and showers OF colored stars
fall into the sea that showers OF colored
oh that Ia beautiful"
THAT is. beautiful" said Fenallosa,
all at once In radiant humor. II shall
see to 1t. And will play your Yankee
Iootle on the toot-horns; you will give
| the instruction" And so Chrystie
| played him the desired tune, he stand
! ing beside her and adding to her guitar
strain according fourishes on the piano.
1T Ia quickstep, your national tune.
your last people do keep the time. But
It suits not the guitar. One night
Chrystie you shall lean from the bal
cony with me, and to hear the band
| down IN the plaza play the soft music
very different music! and the seas roll
ing other musicin the harbor, mountain
tops and south stars over us"
u do wish, Fenalloss," murmured
Chrystie, as he bent his ear to listen,
"that IL you will make love to me, you
wouIdn t make 1t before all the world. !"
What care [ for the world?" he cried,
'Ihe universe is nothing then If you
but to listenl" And he turned about
and caught my hand and kissed it in
passion OF delight, since he dared not
would not mind; for he saw here his
first good omen.
1t was on the afternoon Of the Fourth
itself that Fenallosa appeared before us
In deep mourning, clad in the BLACKLIST
habiliments OF woe from top to toe, T
confess [ thought it was part OF his
love- making, and he was only testifying
to the condition Of his emotions, or else
that some revolution had turned up in
South America that he was contrasting
with our happy day Of independence.
But it was quite otherwise. The news
had just come of the loss of great
who had left him silver mine in the
mountains, 8 troop of slaves, coffee
plantation, and few other trifles, II
shall go back one day now to maneuvre,
to manage my estate" he said grandilo-
quently. "But not alone I 90. They
are not mine; they are hers" And he
felt more than ever assured that after
this things must turn out as he wished,
and he surveyed himself and the inky
hue OF his garments with ineffable sat-
isfaction,- while Chrystie brought him
the iced lemonade with which he cele-
DRAFTED, and which he regarded with I'M
feigned contempt.
Garcia and Leon were playing q duet
on the piano as he came in. It Is true
that the music they played had never
been written, but they had a bound
volume Of the Bazar open on the rack
before them, and appeared to be going
through it Fundamentally, their eyes
fixed on the page and running along the
lines, turning the leaf religiously when
they. reached the foot, nodding their
heads to the time, going back for
fresh start or to play over some bar
more to their mind, and jabbering to-
gether now and then without looking
off concerning the lingering or the
phrasing, and getting out of 1t all not
Fenallosa came in the dark array, with
the shining new black hat In his hand,
they glanced at each other quickly, but
banged away, till having made his COM
pliments to the rest, he wheeled On
them, and with one Of his gestures,
which even Leon and Garcia never
thought OF disobeying, brushed them
from their seats, and adjusted himself
in their place. "They profane," he
said, looking up at me.
[ used to think that nobody ever
looked exactly like him, SO nobody ever
played exactly like Fenallosa. Playing
seemed to be as natural to him as breath
ing, as natural as lis to any fish to wave
his fins in the water, and the keys al
ways sang under his hands. Even Chrys-
tie listened when Fenallosa played.
'"They conquered the wild creatures
with the music in the old day." said he
to me, as leaned on the instrument.
II shall yet conquest Of her," indicating
Chrystie with his head. And there was
a conscious power about him as the great
chords rolled out.
'Ah, Fenallosa," cried Chrystie once
ways be the man that you are when you
are playing, and not the boy that
"Chrystie,'' he said, quietly, "why |
can you not to be the woman Of dignity |
that does to tell me my fault, and not |
the girl I see when I pass the window, |
dancing alone with her arms above her |
head and all silver bangles ringing |
like the Almee's bells? Eth? but the |
beautiful arms! The fair head"
s"There you go again!" cried Chris
tie.
To-day, as Fenallosa played, there
was something very grand and solemn
be was up among the purple slopes and
silver peaks Of the hills at home. BY
legress, though, more and more sweet
ness stole into the measures, with all
sorts Of hesitating turns and melan-
,holly cadences; he had forgotten him
self and his boyishness in the music.
But when at length he paused, it was to
see Chrystie' g eyes swimming in tears,
Ind all the boy was uppermost again.
She Is ice, but I melt her!" he cried
Ind Immediately he began playing,
With a total oblivion Of dead uncles and
living coffee estates, all sorts of gay
lance tunes and the airs Of sweet love
songs, ending with a medley Of national
airs framed in fanfaronade Of trumpet
calls, drum beats, and shrill cornet
strains, for Fenallosa was a master of
music. Then suddenly he arose, bowed
% everybody, and darted for the hall
ind his hat, found the hat gone, and in
ts place the light straw ruin that Garcia
lad left.
You should have seen the transport of
age into which Fenallosa fell, and have
heard the anathemas on the luckless
leads Of his compatriots, the adjura-