The morning call., 1892-03-27


He covered his face with his hands, and
! could see the tears start between his thin
fingers. II ever j was sorry for a maa that
man was Beethoven K0ifsky. l tried to COM
yet be taken. but his present mood was
strong upon him and he would not be COM
foried.
NO." he said brokenly; ''no. without
money nothing can be done. My opera will
never be heard, never! and meanwhile we
shall starye. l have eaten nothing to-day.
and my wife and the children-tbey are
hungry. Aud / can do nothing! can't
, make money! can only make musicP'
,,,a tive n, II Up and turn your r, hand to some
me- iercely.
Give up music? Throw away my God-
given genius? What do you think of me?
| cannot. l tell you l cannot! L only live
seems only half real to me, but music is
real and strong; she draws me on-and
when she calls 1 must follow"
He resumed his seat at the piano.
Listen, this is K0sciuskO's song to his
loved 0ne."
1t WAS beautiful and passionate love
song. and KoffSky sang it as though in
| spired.
By the time he had finished it he had evil
IDENTITY forgotten my presence and went play
| Ing and singing dreamiiy on for more than
an hour. When at last lie arose his despond-
ent mood had vanished.
IAN. il is glorious operaI' he cried 'lt
will take the world by stormi Some day
you will hear IT. Mr.. Bleneowe, and then
You will be proud of your poor friend
Beethoven KoffSky."
A few days after my last interview with
koffsky was fortunate enough TO obtain
six months engagement as bear leader
The Hon. Herbert Aleernon Cecil Fitz-
TaltOrk was only Is, but he possessed AN
| Obstinacy beyond his years and an immova-
bic ignorance that no examining could shake
| L led my growing and refractory charge
through Italy and Switzerland, failing sys-
tematically Ia implant the faintest knowl-
| edge o! anything in the siDgularly unpro-
! ductiye soil he called his brain; and / was
heartily thankful when we went our sep
arate ways, the Hon. BERTHE bound for his
| parents mansion" In Berks hire, | for my
| dlggingS in the temple.
had not forgotten poor koffsky all this
time, and had not been back many DAYS
before | paid him a visit. The same thumb
! sucking. dirty-aprOned urchn opened the
| door FOR me, but L noticed that bis frock
was black and unusually respectable.
! There was singular absence of noise in
| the house; there were no children sliding
| down the banisierS; no baby crawling on
the stairs; no article Of childish apparel air
| ing on the landing. What had happened
| Mrs. kuffsky put down her sewing and rose
| as ] entered. The poor little wOnian'S life
! had never been very happy one, but she
! had always managed to keep bright and
cheerful; now, as she stood looking at me-
| paler and thinner for her black dress,
| thought had never seen SO sad 4 face. Her
! pretty blue eyes looked sunken and faded :;
her fair hair had tinge of gray.
"what is it? Is Koffsky-?"
:" Me-" she said in a quiet, dull voice,
! "K0tfsky is not dead-yet; but l think he
Is dying. l am in mourning tor my chill
dren," she added, CHANGING down at her
| dress. You remember poor little StaniSlas
! and my pretty Mary? they died three months
ago. An, MIR. Blencowe," she cried, clasp
ing her hands together. If you had been at
! home | should not he a broken-hearted
woman now, You have always been a
good friend to poor Beethoven. and you
would have helped us. | am sure"
- would. indeed" l said, "but how-?"
"Sit down" answered Mrs. Kofsky.
''and l viii tell you; it will do ME good TO
| speak, have so few friends"
She shaded her eyes with her hand and
went on rapidly:
I'VE have ALWAYS been very poor. YOU
know. Mr.. Blencowe; well, just when you
! left England we were poorer than ever.
! Beethoven had been entirely wrapt up in
! lis opera and had done nQthing to make
money! could only earn a few shillings by
| ntedlewoTk-we were nearly starving, and
| from cold and want Of feod the children fell
! sick. My husband was in despair; he went
everywhere with his poor opera, but no one
| IL
poorer and poorer, and the doctor said that
| only proper nursing and nOurisbment could
| save our children. | went 20 your rooms
but you were away and left no adhesive
had no other friends to go to. Oh. Mr.
! BlencCwe Il was terrible 10 see our children
! dying for want Of a little money! And
| then, just as we were in despair, and there
/ seemed no help anywhere, gentleman
! came to see us, a composer whom kOff sky
! had met once or twice. and-and he locked
uFf lta NJ fu of.kr md Ia Pa h.,
ven play and sing II to him-and then-then
lie offered to buy it,"
To buy iir' cried; "Koffsky's opera 90
She smiled dreaTily.
" Yes. he offered TO buy the opera, but
only on condition that Beethoven should
! allow him 10 bring it out with some atera-
| lions. a his own. He offered $50, and
| ana kofsky took the money. He parted
with the opera which was to bring him
| fame and fortune. He signed a paper,
don't know what it said, and-and the beau
| tifuI opera is gone. What else could we do.
Mr.. BlencOwe? We got food and wine for
the chldren-but it was too late. StanisIas
| and Mary are dead-and Beethoven will
| never be famous now"
/" Poor koffsky!" / muTmured.
" He did it to save US, said Mrs. Koifsky
| softly; "he gave US more than his lie. That
! opera was his very soul, and Beethoven has
never been the same since he lost it. He is
| diving"
{" What is the name of the man who
! bought the opPra?'
He calls himself EdgardO Campanile."
| said Mrs. Koffsky with a faint smile; my
| husband SAYS is real name Is Edward Bell
l started; L had some acquaintance with
| Campanile. and, though know pretty we'll
what meannesses most of my friends are
capable of, | should never have credited
| him with quite such Saseness.
When we had talked little further Mrs.
Koffsky took me into her husbands room !;
the poor fellow had expressed desire 10 see
me. KoffSky was stretched upon his bed,
looking deathlike. His skin, which was of
a dreadful yellow pallor, was stretched so
tightly over the almost feshless bones that
his face looked more like that of skeleton
than human being. His eyes shOne with
unnatural brilliancy from their hollow
sockets, and the intense Dackness of his
long tangled hair made his pailor still more
CHASTITY.
"My poor Koffsky," said, ~ am sorry
20 see you like this"
He reached me feeble cIaw-like hand
and his dry lips drew themselves into a
| ghostly smile.
g Has Mary told you2" he gasped. raising
himself with difficulty on his elbow.
About your opera? Yes"
Il sod it," he cried. his eyes flashing
| wildly. =" sold IL, my music, my hearts
blood, my own child sold il to a stranger.
! Ii is gone. L shall Eever compose annther.
and the name Of Beeth oven Koffsky will re-
main unknown and unhonored. / did it tor
their sakes. for Mary and the children, and
the children died aud / have sold my music,
NV fame, my life"
his voice died away In moan Pres
emily he plncked my sleeve and drew me
nearer to him.
1T is to be performed next week" he
whispered, lat Drury Lane. Oh, yes. fine
singers will sing in my opera. fine people
will hear it--but IL shall not hear it,
Campanie would not tell me about IL, but
have looked and asked and found ont
| everything for my self. He has changed the
| name and has found new Iibretto-he las
altered some OF my music"-here a spasm