The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1890-08-22

night before, and Ferucci.

night before, and Ferucc1.
By phenomenon that frequently &C.
ours Orlando felt himself suddenly
younger by the five last years that had
passed.
He shared their supper; then they
went to the Cafe dEurope.
These three men, so different in taste,
age, character, position and even origin,
found themselves as united as in former
days.
Rienzi's reputation was on firmer
footing than ever. But it was hard to
read his glory beneath the simplicity of
his happy grace. Already celebrated,
though scarcely as old as Orlando, this
young master, who had never been a
pupil, and who had made himself by his
own efforts, still kept his careless man.
ner of student.
Ferucci, thinner, more Quixotic and
even poorer than before, had become a
philosopher, alas! for want of something
better. He talked more, and his dry
voice seemed to be formulating aXioms,
so short were his phrases. His immense
Punch and Judy nose would have been
ridiculous but for the expression of his
intelligent, sincere and stern eyes.
He always loved Peppino de Rienzi;
he was his pride; he had predicted his
future. Furthermore, RienZi was of
aristocratic race, and his real, uncon-
scious distinction charmed the delicacies
of the Bohemian, who had remained of
the people through sincerity. In Rienzi
the man had realized the promise of his
boyhood, and Ferucci experienced the
noble enjoyment of having we'll placed
the only admiration of his life.
When the hour for separation came
Rienzi proposed that they take walk to
the shore.
mo-" said Orlando, dismally. 81 am
going home"
"By Bacchus! but it is only 10 o'clock.
Only for one evening. Come with us"
Monteforte hesitated. But the three
hundred francs in his vest pocket stiffen-
ed his courage. He had paid for the
drinks, performed an act of independ-
ence. In all things there must be a be-
ginning. Monteforte followed them.
AT Santa Lucia, Rienzi, seized with a
desire to renew the customs of his boy
hood, wanted to eat some of the products
of the sea. The name of a merchant
who used to supply his family gave him
great pleasure; it was Mucchietiello. OF
him they bought various shell fish fra
grant with the odor of the rocks They
drank Asti wine. The songs and shouts
whose joyous sound is heard even at the
top of San MARITIME seemed to be concen-
trated at the little port of Santa Lucia.
Rienzi recovered his old time animation,
speaking in his original dialect. Orlando
laughed gayly, forgetful of the rest of
the world. The hour? Little cared he
now what time it was!
An old fisherman approached Ferucci,
his cap in his hand.
ga fine night for little trip on the
water, Don Gennaro. Would you like
to take one?"
All the boatmen knew Ferucci. When
he had little money he ate macaroni on
the shore with the fishermen and spent
the rest in boating. A single passion re-
manned unchanged in the old painter
the passion for the sea. Never tired of
it he knew all the ships, flags and boats.
BY instinct his steps led him infallibly to
the harbor.
He glanced over the bay regretfully
and greedily. The others had turned to
go home. He was standing alone.
Sadly he shook his head.
mo money tonight, Padre Antonio"
But Peppino de Rienzi heard him. a
trip on the water in this beautiful moon
light, what happy idea!
Padre Antonio pointed to his boat;
they all stepped into it-Rienzi, his wife,
Monteforte and Ferucci. How long would
the trip last? Orlando did not ask.
At first they talked of those whom
Peppino used to know.
Del Vecchio? He showed himself
among them no more. He had inherited
some property and lived confined in his
material comfort, gradually thickening
his brain and his body. Another one
had emigrated into the provinces. they
knew not where A third, a musician,
had become infatuated with a pretty lit
tie flower girl, who was running him,
while his wife and children were coming
to want.
A fourth had abandoned painting.
All! indeed. art was discouraging in
these days. Formerly at least there was
hope. They awaited the coming of the
dealers, large and small-Meser, Ber-
trand, Cordier of Paris, Hartwell of
London, Leemann of New York, and
many others.
Now what misery and what struggle
and competition, just to sell one poor
canvas to the Society for the Promotion
of Artl No more true comradeship!
The aged Ferucci continued his bitter
indictment.
you, too" he concluded, looking at
Orlando-''you have lost all interest in
everything. Art? You mock at it, and
you take your walks, well dressed, with
a ford face, smiling at the beautiful la
dies in the row of passing carriages"
He stopped few moments. Rienzi
listened to him sadly. Ferucci contin-
ued, with a sigh:
my children, art is dying round about
us-art is dead! 1 am left, the last pom
tiff-no, the last servant-of the ideal.
Fortunately, for the servants of the ideal
die of poverty and hunger amid the well
dressed bourgeoisr
"Ah" he exclaimed, bitterly, "to eat
every day when one is hungry, to sleep
in good bed, to change ones linen fire.
quently, to wear stockings that have no
holes in them, knit by woman's hands
that is happiness, and the height of wis