The herald. [volume] (New Orleans, La.) 1905-1953, 1922-01-26
The Soul of the
Artist
By HAZEL SMITH
&c. 1871. Western Newspaper Union)

Bittelman, leaning back in his swivel
chair before his desk in the opera
house offices and eXhalins a cloud OF
fragrant smoke. You make me tired,
Mr.. CIOugh.'
But the girl is genius ex-
claimed his wealthy patron eXcitediy.
81 tell you, Bittelman, you'll miss the
sensation Of the season unless you let
her play"
ZACH, you enthusiast" exclaimed
the director disgustedly. Genius!
There has been no viOlinist who was
genius since Lemarsky died. No
where outside of Poland can there be
a violinist who is a genius"
"Well, Miss Helen is a Pole" in
terrupted the other rudely. Let me
tell you about her"
"AIl right; go on" said Bittelman
resignedly. He knew that he could
not afford to offend the millionaire,
whose enthusiasms were, nevertheless,
the bane of his life.
Its like this, Bittelman," began the
millionaire Last Monday night
was walking home from my club.
saw this street musician-pretty look
ing girl, only about twenty. She was
playing Lists Rhapsody"
"Himmel. That's what they all
play"
an the street, and there was a
crowd listening. They didn't know
that the finest living viOlinist in Amer
lea was entertaining them for few
pennies. But know 1t. l have heard
Joachim and"
"Have you heard Lemarsky?' In
Quired Bittelman sOurly.
81 havew cried ClOugh triumphant
~. "And it was her playing that re-
minded me Of Lemarsky. l had
talk with her. And she's all alone In
the world and"
Enough" shouted the irascible
Bittelman. springing to his feet. Now
listen, Mr.. ClOugh. IL I'm to remain
director Of the opera house / don't
listen TO any more penniless geniuses
and tell them they're no good and
can't play no better than a cat. II
upsets my digestion and makes me
cross. Now, II you get this genius on
at Crossways hall some Sunday and
the critics say she's good-the good
critics. mind you'll hear her. Other
wise-no."
Clough had to yield.
"You will eggscuse me-" said Bit
lehman ponderously, as he shook
aGI te.,
and l tell you Something's. and Le-
marsky were like brothers I'm Warsaw
before l came over here. You know
about Lemarsky. Never was there
such GOd-sent viOlinist as him. And
he got married and his wife had a
baby and she died, and then Lemar-
sky used to get crazy drunk and ended
up, when the child was about twelve
years old, by cutting his throat, poor
devil. And so ever since then I do
not care to hear the violin"
When Clough was gone he sat down
in his chair and, from a secret drawer
ne took out a photograph. 1t showed
Lemarsky, his wife and their child
taken fifteen years and more ago.
They had saved Bittelman when he
was starving In the. gutter. He had
loved Lemarsky better than his life.
And after his death he had spent hun
dreds Of dollars to try to trace the
child who had been placed In some
institution.
A word from Clough would secure
for anyone a place in the orchestra,
but apparently the millionaire had
used his influence to better purpose.
Surely enough, on Sunday week, ac-
cording to the morning paper, Frau
lein Braun was to play solo. There
were dark hints Of discovery which
would amaze the musical world. Bit
lehman smiled maliciously; but he
went, buying his ticket like any or
binary mortal.
And when the girl walked on the
stage and bowed to the audience there
was something In her appearance
which arrested him and drove the
devils of malice out OF his heart.
The first strains Of the Rhapsody"
sobbed on the strings and the wild
music thrilled through the auditorium.
Bittelman was sitting up now, gasp
ing. He heard what the audience
heard. a wonderful technic coupled
with an interpretative skill that
showed the soul of the artist; but he
heard something that they did not
know, something that stirred his very
soul. This was the passage .
now she was coming to It.
None but Lemarsky had ever
played It In that way. Would shef
Would she?
The Rhapsody" was ended and the
house rang with applause, but Herr
Bittelman was behind the scenes, and
as the girl left the stage he rushed
forward with outstretched arms, and,
clasping her In them, kissed her on
either cheek.
"You are my little Stasha!' he
cried. "You know mel am Bittel-
man-old Blttelman, your fathers
friendw
He turned to the amazed million
aire.
mo. She will not play at the opera
house." he said. This is Stasha Le-
marsky. Don't you understand? Le-
marSkv'c GIRL ond htc sn,,l 90