The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1900-05-13


No. Surely it could not be Filomena. i
laughed bitterly at the suggestion. then
signing YEARLY continued my way.
One night while 1 sat reading by candle
light my door was opened suddenly and
man in smart livery stood in the entry.
1.-The Signor George Maguire?" he in
quired.
I rose quickly and took from his hand
letter. which 7 found to contain an urgent
request in Italian that I should accompany
the bearer, as the writer wished to see me
Immediately IT was signed I'll Maestro
Misterioso"
So he knew the title that old Ferroni had
given him. The letter was a surprise, but I
assumed my frayed overcoat and lost no
time in obeying. Below. a brougham
awaited me. and entering 1t I was driven
across the city and out by the Porta
Romano TO one of those beautiful villas
with which the hills around Florence are
studded. A man servant threw open the
door, and entering, I found myself in a
spacious hail. filled with palms and flow
ers. veritable winter garden.
followed him along the great hall and
through two enormous salons. where the
floors were Of marble, strewn with Eastern
rugs and the furniture richly gilt Truly,
1T was princely abode. 1t seemed incred-
ible that the shabby old gentleman, my
friend, should be it's owner.
Suddenly the servant opened door, and
found myself with the man who had res
cued me from starvation.
His face was haggard and anxious; his
eyes bore signs of recent tears, and as he
4. Il Ella n. r.
was trembling.
"Signorer' I cried. why, what is the
meaning of this?"
"FilomenaI'' he sobbed, in choking
voice. "She wished to see you, so I have
sent for you.'
"She is Ill? Tell me the truth quickly"
cried.
Come" he faltered: 'see for yourself"
and he led me to a handsome bedchamber
where in the subdued light 1 distinguished
two Sisters of Charity. in their big white
headdresses, tenderly watching their pa
tent Advancing to the bed, bent until
saw the poor pinched white face with the
wealth of fair hair straying over the pill
low. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed
to be sleeping, but as the old maestro APP
preached she suddenly raised her eyelids.
and her gaze wandering, fell upon me.
At first she seemed unable to recognize
me distinctly, but a moment later She put
forth her thin, wasted hand and / took 1t
tenderly, unable to utter a single word
unable to keep back the hot tears which
blinded me.
/ felt the soft pressure of her fingers, and
saw that long. wistful look in her pure blue
eyes
"You have come to me at last, Piccino"
she whispered softly in her musical Tuscan.
81 have waited so long-so very long, my
love-my lovev'
I stood there rooted to the spot
I felt her trembling. Her breast heaved
and fell slowly only once, and 1 saw that
with the words she had uttered the light
had suddenly died from her blue eyes.
Then dropped on my knees to kiss her
hand, but alas, 1T was only dead hand
that nv lips caressed. With that declara-
ton of her love--the love that l had feared
to tell her on that we'll remembered day
when we went up to Fiesolc-she had
passed peacefully away.
A couple of days later. the day of the
Befana, 1 turned from the Piazza Donatello
into the viale Amedeo, and halted before
large house facing the Gheradesca Gar
dens. the address of which the Mysterious
Master had given me. The house, found,
was a fine, handsome studio, and upon the
door was small brass plate, with the sim
gle inscription
CAV. CORRADINI.
Corradini, I stood aghast before the
door. The Cavaliere Giuseppe Corradini Is,
as every one knows, the most renowned
painter in Europe. chief of the modern
Italian school of art, and man who rarely
accepts commissions except from crowned
heads for their portraits. Every are student
knows and admires his marvellous work.
Indeed. there are few readers of this narra-
tive who have not seen in the shop windows
photographs of his pictures. the originals
of which are either in the Luxembourg or
in the galleries of London, Brussels, New
York or Munich.
I rang and inquired of the black-coated
cameriere whether the signor professore
was within. In response he led me through
the handsome salon, with its long windows
"a salon wherein many a reigning SOW
ereign has sat awaiting the pleasure of the
great master or pa1ntlng-alOng a small gal
lery, hung with his works, and entered
the large, bare and rather uncomfortable
studio.
And there found the sad-faced Maestro
Misterioso and discovered the truth. The
man who had watched me in the Uffizi,
and who had transformed my wretched
pictures. thus rescuing me from absolute
penury was none other than the great
Corridini whose fame was known the world
over, and whose wonderful pictures COM
manded the highest price of those Of any
living artist.
The white-haired cavaliere drew chair
for me, and when the door had closed ex-
planned the truth. He related, in his shaky
voice. how he had watched me struggling.
striving and starving, and how he had been
able to retouch my pictures so to give
them market value. He had done so, he
said, at the instigation of Filomena.
you must know the TRUTH he faltered.
The poor child loved you from the first.
but she was struck down by that curse
of the human race. consumption. Her
thoughts were ALWAYS of YOU. and of YOUR