The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1894-11-21
ly. I proceeded to sing it itindiaorensly

we'll.
"Well," replied the young prince,
| "you can congratulate yourself, my
dear sir, in having had such rare
treat. That melody is O song of the
sailors of Drontheim, away out in
Norway, and the beautiful voice must
have been that of Stolberg, with whom
we were all in love two years ago,
when she made her debut in st. Peters
burg-that Stolberg was the rival of
her countrywoman Nilsson, and who
would have become one of the great
est singers of the century il she had
not been suddenly snatched from art,
from the stage, from success of all
kinds by her love for Count Basil
Lobanof, at that time my com-
rado in the Guards, when we
were both cornets in the cavalry.
Yes, for two years we were without
news of Basil. He had given up his
commission and left Russia without
saying adieu TO any one. And we
only knew vaguely that he had hidden
himself in Paris with his wife; but
we were Ignorant of the place OF his
retreat till you now revealed it by
chance"
"So," said !, ''the wonderfully
gifted artist has renounced everything
for q little love affair"
''Say rather for a great passion !"
cried the prince. although very
young, Stolberg had had numerous
hirtations when she met Lobanof. j
was there in the green room on the
evening when Basil-who, / should
tell you, is as handsome as a god-was
presented TO her, and saw the diva
pale with emotion, even under her
powder and paint. Oh, it was start
ling, and 1 thought that she would
carry off our young friend that same
evening, pell-mell, with the trium-
phant bouquets, after the fifth act.
But Immediately he became ae jealous
as a Mussulman-yes, jealous of the
very public when she sang. He was
always there in the front seats of the
orchestra, and at each burst of ap-
plause he turned abruptly, and cast
sombre look over the house.
That look seemed to express
u dGclIO w blhp bhO NhOlO
audience in the face. Everything went
wrong. Even when the Czar was I''es-
ent, the prima donna had eyes foano
one but Basil--sang always to Basil.
That caused trouble behind the scenes,
and the poor girl decided to leave the
stage. She did so at the end of three
months, at the close of her engage
ment. He married her and since
then they have hidden themselves in
Paris, in the retreat which you dis
covered They must be dead in love.
But will wager that Basil will get
over it. He is built like the Farnese
Hercules, and they say poor Stolberg
is consumptive. They pretend even
that it is disease which gives her voice
its wonderful power and extraordi-
nary sweetness and pathos. Her gift
is the result of disease, like the pearl
All the same, no matter how much in
love with Lobanof the poor girl is, she
will die of weariness in that cage in
which he keeps her. Then she must
sing very rarely, since in the many
times you have passed before their
house you have heard her but once,
that night of the storm. Well, it will
end badly"
The conversation turned to other
things, and the next day left Dieppe
to go with some friends to Lower Nor
mandy. had only been there ten
days when l read accidentally in a the
atrical paper the following notice
"We announce with sorrow the death
of Mile. Ida Stolberg, the Swedish
cantatrice, who shone so briefly and
brilliantly on the stage in Germany
and Russia, and who renounced her
lyrical career in the midst of her sue
cess and has been living quietly in
Paris for two years past. She died of
pulmonary consumption"
l had never seen Stolberg. Once
only had heard that incompatible
voice. Still, the reading of this COM
monplace notice, which announced to
me the fulfilment of Prince Khaloff's
dismal prophecy, broke my heart 1
knew now the whole mystery of the
closed house. 1t was there that the
poor woman had languished and been
extinguished, deeply in love, no doubt,
but stihed also by the captivity to
which she was condemned by the
jealousy of her husband. No doubt,
also, sho was full of regrets for the
former triunphs of her abandoned
art. The fate of Stolberg seemed so
sad to me that 1 fairly hated the man
1 who had sacrificed her whole life.
He seemed to me fop, an egotist, a
brute. 1 was certain that he would
soon console himself for the loss of
his wife, that he would soon forget
the poor dead woman, and that, un-
worthy of the love which he had in
spired, he would also be incapable of
grief or fidelity.
Onmy return to Paris, one of the first
persons met on the Boulevard was
Prince Khaloff. told him how much
1 had been moved at the news of the
singers death, and l could not hide
from him tho instructive antipathy
which l felt toward Lobanof.
''Behold, you people of imagina-
tion IL cried the prince. 'You were
charmed for an instant by this wo-
mans voice, and you feel a posthu,
nous love for her, and a Retrospective
jealousy of my poor friend. own tC
you that have always thought Basi
more sensual than sensible man
/ more passionate than tender; but