The record-union., 1891-09-26

/ pushed nv way out of the crowded house
and ioined M. Cristi ch at the stage-door,
where he waited witla eyes full of expect
ancy, the music still u fingered about me
like the faint, past fragrance OF incense,
and had no need ttp speak my thanks.
we walked toward his lodging silently,
the musician carrying his instrument in
it's somber case, and sshivering from time
to time, a tribute to- the keen, spring
night. He stopped a he walked, his
eyes trailing the grou nd, and certain
listlesness in his man ner struck me @
little strangely, as though he came fresh
from some solemn or hi,sratic experience,
Of which the reaction had already begun
to set in tediously, leaving him at the
last unstrung and jaded, "a little weary OF
himself and the too sire muous occasion.
1t was not until we had crossed the
threshold of a dingy, high house in a
by-way of Bloomsbury, and he had ush-
cred me, with apologies, into his shabby
room near the sky, that tho sense of his
hospitable duties seemed to renovate
him.
He produced timber from an obscure
recess behind his bed; set a kettle on the
fire, which scarcely smoldered with
flickers of depressing, sulplAurous flame,
talking of Indifferent subjects as he
watched for it to boil. OIly when we
had settled ourselves IN uneasy chairs
opposite each other, and he hsid composed
me what he termed "a grGg''-himself
preferring the more innoc4 mt mixture
known as eau sucre-did he allude to
'Fidelio." / praised heartily the discip-
line Of the orchestra, the priFna donna,
whom report made his counlirywoman,
with her strong, sweet voice and her ex-
traordinary beauty, the magnulcence OF
the music, the fine impression of the
whole.
M. Cristich, his glass in hand, nodded
approval. He looked intently into the
fire, which cast mocking shadows over
his quaint, incongruous figure, his anti
quated dress-coat, his FROST bitten .counte-
nance, his cropped gray hair. 'AFes," he
said, ''yes! So it pleased you, a.qd you
thought her beautiful? / am glad.7'
He turned round to me abruptly, and
laid thin hand impressively oQ my
knee.
You know L invented her, the Ro-
manoff, discovered her, taught her all
she learnt. Yes, Monsieur, l was proud
tonight, very proud, to be there, playing
for her, though she did not know. All !!
the beautiful creature! and
how badly [ played! execrably! You
could not notice that, Monsieur, but they
did, my cOpfrereS, and could not under
stand. How should they? How should
they dream that /, Maurice Cristich, sec
OIu NlOllIl Ill I1G OICuGSGId Ol tLG ODG
had to do with the Leonora; even /? Her
voice thrilled them. All, but it was /
who taught her her key notes They
praised her diamonds; yes, but once L
gave her what she wanted more than dia-
monds-bread and lodging and love.
Beautiful they called her; she was beau
tiful, too, when l carried her in my arms
through Vienna. | am an old man now
and good for very little, and there have
been days-God forgive me-when /
have been angry with her, but it was not
tonight. To see her there, so beautiful
and so great, and to feel that after all [
had a hand in it-that | invented her.
y es, yes! I had my victory tonight,
tonight, too, though it was so private-a
secret between you and me, monsieur. Is
it not?"
1 assured him of my discretion, but he
hardly seemed to hear. His sad eyes had
wandered away to the live Goals, and he
considered them pensively as though he
found them full of charming memories.
/ sat back respecting his remoteness; but
my silence was charged with surprised
conjecture, and indeed the quaint figure
of the Old musician, every line of his gar
ments redolent Of ill-success, had become
to me of a sudden strangely romantic.
Destiny, so amorous Of surprises, of pa
thetic or cynical contrasts, had in this in
stance excelled herself. My obscure ac-
quaintance Maurice Cristich! The re-
nowned Romanoff! Her name and ac-
knowled genius had been often in mems
mouths Of late, a certain luminous,
scarcely sacred glamour attaching to it,
in hundred idle stories, due, perhaps, as
much to the wonder OF her sorrowful
beauty as to any justification in knowl-
edge of her boundleSs extravaganza, her
magnificent fantasies, her various per-
versity, rumor pointing specially at those
Il
gether gratuitous it was said of exalted
personages. And with ali deductions
made, for malice, for the ingenuity Of the
curious, the impression of her perverSity
was left; she remained enigmatical and
notorious, somewhat scandalous hero
inc! And Cristich had known her; he had,
as he declared-and his accent was not
that Of ggadocio-invented her. The
conjuncture puzzled and fascinated me.
1t did not make Cristich less interesting
nor the prima donna more perspicuous
By and by the violinist looked up at
me; he smiled with little dazed air, as
though his thoughts had been far jour
ney.
Pardon me, monsieur! I beg you to fill
your glass. / seem poor host; but to
tell you the truth was dreaming; I was
quite away, quite away
He threw out his hands with a vague,
expansive gesture.
'FDear child!' he said to the flames, in
French, good little one! do not forget
thee" And he began to tell me.
1T was when | was at Vienna, ahl a
long while ago. 1 was not rich, but
neither was very poor; I still had my
tStrasse, very economically; it is a quar-
ter which many artists frequent. I hus-
bRnded my resources that / might be
able to work away at my art without the
tedium of making it means of Hveli-
hood. l refused many offers to play in
public that might have more leisure. 1
sh ould not do that now; but then was
ve.yy confident; 1 had great faith in me.
And j worked very hard at my sympho-
ny, and was full of desire to write an
opera. 1t was tall, dark house where 1
lived; there were many other dodgers, but
new scarcely any of them. I went
abmtt with my head full of music, and /
had my violin; had no time to seek ac-
quai htance. Only my neighbor at the
othe side of my passage / knew slightly
and bowed to him when we met on the
stairs. He was a dark, lean man, of a
very distinguished all; he must have
lived hard, he had death in his face. He
was iot an artist like the rest of us; sus-
pect ae was great profiigate and gam
bier; but he had the manners of q gentle
man. And when l came to talk to him
he di splayed the greatest knowledge of
music, that / have ever known. And it
was Il he same with all; he talked divinely
of ev erything in the world. but very
wildly and bitterly. He seemed to have
been everywhere and done everything,
and at last to be tired of it all, and of
himself the most. From the people of
the house / heard that he was a Pole, no.
BILE, and very poor; and, what surprised
me, th,st he had daughter with him, a
little girl. used to pity this child, who
must have lived quite alone. For the
Count was always out, and the child
never appeared with him; and for the
rest, with his black spleen and tempers,