Saint Mary's beacon. [volume] (Leonard Town, Md.) 1867-1983, 1894-08-02
A STRANGE STORY.

y
the Metropolitan Opera House, New
York, one evening last Winter arm
in arm with my friend, Signor
Fonetti, the celebrated violinist, /
paid him a small compliment as to
his marvellous skill in handling the
violin.
You Americans do great honor
to poor italian novice who scarce
ly knows one string from another,
he said in return, struggling his
shoulders.
'Signor, while believe you to be
a truthful man your remarks make
me increduloGs,' ] replied.
But it is the truth. The music
i read with ease, bat the handling
Of the instrument is a mystery to
me. My hearers applaud my per-
formance; they cry out 'Bravo'' SO
/ know they are pleased. But, my
friend, have never taken but one
lesson on the violin
4 see you believe me not he
continued, noting the look of sur
prise which ! could not conceal that
passed over my face, 'but l speak
the truth, and if you care..to hear
the story through / will tell it to
you.'
signified my desire to hear his
experience, and after lighting a
cigar he began: Twenty years, ago
in my own sweet Italian home, l
was considered promising singer,
possessed of rich baritone voice.
No festival or merry-makiDg was
complete unless ] was present to
please those of my neighbors and
friends, who were so proud of me,
by rendering half a dozen or so of
my selections. l was accompanied
in all my efforts by Marie Msroni,
a sweet maiden whom loved dear
ly and would have one day made
my wife but for the events that hap
pened, which l shall relate. Am
bition, the god of destruction of so
much human happiness, seized me;
the fattery of my heart, and even
the smiles and caresses of sweet
little Marie failed to compensate me
for my lack of worldly success. /
was carried away by the visions of
honors which / felt belonged to me,
and after an unusually successful
performance one evening | deter
mined to leave the county for
Rome. All, even yet that name
thrills my soul! You, will imagine
the feelings of my heart twenty
years ago. My sweet Marie pro-
tested, but in vain. babe fare
well, and was soon in Rome. Oh
those happy days in Rome!'
The tears forced their way out
and down his cheeks. In my heart
| was sorry for the great Signor
Fonetti, whose ability was such that
he could draw tears from the multi
tude or cause an ocean of applause
to break forth at his pleasure, 'Par-
don the emotion he said then con :
tinued: My love for Rome was my
ruin. forgot the little farm in
the provinces, the sweet Marie and
her loving ways-all were forgotten
and Rome and my profession were
my mistress. at last the victory
came, and Signor Fonetti was to
sing the leads at the carnival festi-
val. Never shall l forget the tre-
mendous applause. Never great
ness seemed so near as at that mo-
meut, when my effort completed,
my success apparently assured, l
was welcomed in every corner and
hailed as the prince of singers.
Alas, that these joys and hopes
should perish with the hour! That
night l retired in my old quarters
on one of the more quiet boulevards
and soon was lost in slumber, Oh,
that happy, happy dream! / was
awakened by voice at my side, in
the light Of the waning moon I be-
held a tall, lean, wirv individual
dressed in black. Under his arm
he carried violin and bow.
HALL Prince of vocalistsv he cried
in musical tones.
But thy laurels are insignificant
to what they shall be- l have
spoken, Fonetti. From this hour
thy power Of song shall be paralyzed.
Never more shall enraptured pop.
ulace hear thee sing. But famous
thou shalt be.
Who are your l cried. spring
ing up in my bed, and why do you