San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1890-05-23
Yes. 1t is very bad, isn't it,"

lell me the whole truth.
you desire it? Sincerely"
Monteforte nodded acquiescence.
Then so be it, said Ferucci But
as it forms part of what wish to say
to you, let me begin at the beginning"
collected his thoughts for moment,
and then continued:
This morning l met NJ. Cardelli; his
daughter, Teresa, is very sick,
so seriously sick that the parents know
not which way to turn; the doctor him
self declares that he can do nothing"
Poor little creature~ exclaimed Mon
teforte, in tone Of commonplace COM
miseration.
Ferucci observed him out of the corner
of his eye; his friends emotion was not
very deep; he sighed lightly:
Listen, Orlando; the poor child is very
i'll. Do you know the reason?"
Orlando knit his brow, while a smile
containing a suspicion of cOnCeit played
over his lips.
Il see you understand me-" said the
old painter, translating the expression Of
his face. There is no reason to smile,
or to grieve, for that matter; for, being the
cause of the sickness, you can furnish the
cure.
"Ohl no, no." interrupted Orlando,
quickly. The cure! Are you going to
advise me to marry her? You too"
why not?" said Ferucci, TRANQUILITY.
why? Why not: And you ask me
that: Because, in the first place, am
entirely satisfied as a bachelor, and be-
cause, again, if should decide to takea
wife, should want an agreeable girl,
plump, pretty, healthy, appetizing and
rosy as a peach-one of those enticing
creatures that love. And yet prefer
not to marry"
Let Us reason" said Ferucci.
Very serious and with a deep wrinkle
crossing his forehead, he asked:
MY dear boy, are you well acquainted
with YOURSELF
Never mind that, said Orlando. Act
as if were not"
you are young, agreeable, sincere,
capable of very kind acts, and even of
realizations provided they do not re-
quire continuous effort. You have but
few needs, good digestion, and passions
or tastes that are easy to satisfy. When
you do not sell your paintings, as you
usually do not, your parents lodge you,
feed YOU and ClOthe you"
"Well, and what them" said Orlando,
seeing that his companion waS silent,
Ferucci then continued:
Il have been all that YOU are, minus
family. But in place of a family, had
the habit of persistent labor, the labor Of
those who have been poor from birth,
and this re-estaDIished the equilibrium.
As long as | was young all went well. 1t
is because know the future that awaits
men like ourselves that desire to talk to
you about it. Things go well until the
age of thirty; less gayly from then until
thirty-hye; at forty it is diomal!'
He stopped a moment his chest heav-
ing with long sigh, full Of bitterness.
After Il pauae he resumed:
"Your parents, my dear boy, have no
fortune; your father, at his age, is still
living by his voice; he even talks Of
starting for Valparaiso to become the
manager of a theatre, does he not
YES said Orlando.
"What will you do when your ia
tives have gone? Will you follow them?
Or do you hope to earn your living in
Naples"
zone or the other" said the young
man, carelcSoly.
you hope so, and you are going to
tell ME that you lack neither force, nor
courage, nor dignity? Who knows it
better than |? Only, on the other hand,
no one knows better than l how numer-
Gus, admirable and superficial are the
gifts that nature has lavished upon YOU"
Orlando smiled sadly and with little
constraint.
"DO you wish me to continue, my
dearest boy" asked Ferucci Our
friendship, which is so precious to me,
will not be impaired by my frankness?"
"No, my old friend" answered Or
lando, gently. Draw up my indict-
ment; take kindly your affectionate in
terest."
You will never get to the point of
persistent toll. You see, Monteforte, you
are the most agreeable instrument of art
that | have ever met. Your cords are
set in vibration by every generous breath,
but, fugitive as the passing song, your
impressions you cannot fix. You are
not an artist yourself; and, when it
comes to a question of realization, you
will always produce something like the
picture Of today-that is, nothing!'
His solitude in the midst of the world
had given the old painter a mania for