The Indianapolis sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis, Ind.) 1880-1904, 1885-01-18

In the last year of her probation the
story of that wonderful soprano voice
was told, and the most celebrated mas
tiers and critics travelled TO hear and
judge OF her powers. Some went away
rejoicing, as only musician can rejoice,
over the perfection of vocalizstion;
Others, with envy and cbagrin. closed
their ears to the merits of so hopeless q
rival
And still she toiled on, never satisfied
with herself-neyer relaxing one iots of
the wesrisome drill until the grand hour
of triumph came, and La Scala rang
with the plaudits of An enthusiastic
audience.
She bad literally To tread path of
flowers in retiring from the stage, and as
q single spray of feathery horse chestnut
blossoms FILTERED down like q white
dove and caught IN the feathery lsces
above her throbbing bosom, she raised
it caressingly To her lips. then with an
Understandable grace carried il TO her
heart, and with one swift glance towards
the managers box she vanished in the
wings.
shall have my reward, or did the
familiar blooms stir up old memories,
ana thoughts of her mother force fond.
ness into her eyesy' mentally asked the
man, as he turned away from the scene
of his protegee's successful debut, yet
only haf-satisfed.
American interest and curiosity were
OF the qm viye.
Flaming posters and the press enthusi-
astlcally announced the opening night of
Bertolscci the new prima donna, in New
York
Foreign bulletins were widely copied,
| the fat of the mighty few had gone
forth, and expectation was running high
In anticipation of the moment when the
oantatrice should make her first bow TO
an audience of her couptry-peopIe.
While the printers ink was drying,
society discussing what it should wear,
and the chorus rehearsing, man and a
woman stood beneath horse-chestnut
tree whose autumn livery of gold and
crimson drifted helplessly in the soft
Indian summer breeze.
II have been true, Bertha. You are
famous. have given you back to your
mother stainless as You were the August
night you left here | have waited long
and patiently-nOw may | claim my re-
ward7" asked he
81 am yours, maestro. Through you
| am what | am. Take thine own.
Would that it were a worthier ofering"
My queen. My singing-bird! ask
no more of Fate. Beneath these shades
woOed thee; beneath these shades | won
thee, and beneath these shades | will
wei thee
Yes, but not until nave finished
my engagement for the season. | must
make the triumphal tour, as you call
it,"
81 am impatient of delays, my sweet !;
but your will must hencefOrth De my
law"
So it was finally arranged that they
were to be married when tie breath Of
spring had covered their trysting-tree
with feathery garlands of bridal white
They travelled from city 10 city, add
ing leaf by leaf to her laurel wreath!
He who had learned to love her so
well would sometimes hold her white
hands fast, as he listened to her voice
soaring and vibrating with more than
natural brilliancy and watched the rosy
color fade from her face, leaving it pale
and transparent as an agate.
After little, the rendering of few
bars would fetch out bright red spot
on either cheek that struck a cold fear TO
the lovers heart.
He pleaded that she should rest.
"When we are married." she would
answer him, with one of her rare, kind
ling smiles.
One night, as the whole audience sat
breathlessly entranced by the matcbless
sweetness of her liquid voice, the end
then came.
Like star suddenly gone out into
eternal space, she disappeared.
The silver bowl was broken, the golden
cord loosened. :
Bury me where first we met" she
whispered ere she died; and now the
waving bows fan gentle breezes, Nature
murmurs a soft lullaby, the little birds
sing sad requiems above her ashes, and
lonely man wanders restlessly over the
face of the earth.
af Iso