The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1925-12-18


At times. she would be lssaiiel
by sudden recollections Of tri-
hmphs on the stage, and ON such
occasions, setting the piano ring
ing with the sublime fury of the
Valkryies' Ride, she would begin
to shout Brunhilde's "Hojotojo.
the impetueus, savage war-cry of
Wotan's daughter q melodious
scream with which she had
brought many an audience TO its
feet, and which, in that deserted
paradise, made Rafael shuddsr
and admire.
And then again, throwing her
beautiful body back In her chair,
as If In her minds eyes she
could see some old palatfal hall
festooned with roses, and IN 1t
a maze Of hoop skirts, powdered
wigs, and red heels, whirling in
the dance, she would brush the
KEYS with a minuet by Mozart, as
subtly fragrant as priceless per-
fume, as seductive as the snails
Of painted princess with beauty
patches and false dimples!
Rafael had not, forgotten the
first night of their friendship, nor
the fingers that had been offered
to his lips in that selfsame par
lor. Once he was moved to re-
peat the scene, and bending low,
over the keys, tried to kiss Leo
nora's hand.
The actress started. as lie
awakening from 81 dream. Her
eyes flashed angrily, though her
lips did not lose their smile; and
she raised her hand threate ningly,
with all its fantastic glitter Of
jewelry, and pretended to strike
at him:
take care, d2afael; you're a
child and I'll treat YOU as such.
You already know that don't
like to be annoyed won't send
you away this time, but IL you
do 1t again, you'll get gond cuff.
fling. Don't forget that when I
want my hand kissed begin by
giving it voluntarily. What a
nuisance! Such q thing happens
only once In q lifetime. But, /
understand; no more music for
today; it's ali over! I'll have to
entertain the little boy SOS he
won't fuss"
And she began to tell aim
stories of her professional career,
which Rafael at once appraised as
new progress toward intimacy
with the divine beauty.
Across the whole world, and
everywhere in triumph, that
whimsical, adventuresone mad
cap woman, Of whose life as an
actress so many stories were told,
had carried the arrogance Of the
virgin warrior-maid conceived by
the master Wagner, In bulky
book, of uneven, irregular pages,
where the singer with the minute
cunscicntioilsness of q child, had
preserved everything the news
papers OF the globe had written
about her, Rafael found echos OF
her stormy ovatjons.
Later she showed him some Of
her more personal Tlenentoes;
jewels of rare beauty, expensive
baubIes. testimonials, reminds
cent OF evenings Of honor, when
admirers had surprised her in the
green room while outside the
audiences was applauding wildly,
and she, lowering her lance, and
surrounded by ushers with huge
bouquets, would step forward to
the footlights and make her bow
Of acknowledgment.
In the presence of all the
trophies that the arrogant Val
kyrie had gathered IN on her tri-
unphal passage through the
world, Rafael felt pride, first OF
all. at being friends with such q
woman: but at the same time g.
sense of his own insignificance,
exaggerating, if anything, the diff
ference that separated them. How
in the world had he ever dared.
to make love to a person like
Leonora Brunna2
Finally came the most interest
ing, the most intimate Of all her
treasures-an album which she
allowed him hurriedIy to glimpse
through, forbidding him, however,
even to look at certain Of the
pages. It was a volume nodestly
bound in dark leather with silver
clasps; but Rafael gazed upon it
as on q wonderful fetish, and with
all the awe-str'Ick alteration in
spired by great names. Kings
and emperors were the least
among the celebrities who had
knelt in homage before the
goddess. The overshadowing
geniuses Of art were there, dedi-
eating a word of affection, line
of verse, q bar of music, to the
beautiful songstress. Rafael
stared I'm open -mouthed wonder
men at the signatures Of the old
Verdi and Of Boito.
Some Italian verses, written ain
a tremuIous hand and in crooked
lines, attracted Rafaefs attention.
He could half make thetir mean
ing out, but Leonora would never
let him finish reading them. 1t
was an amorous, desperate la
nent: a cry OF racking passion
condemned to disappointment,
writing in isolation like a wild
beast I'm its cage: Luigi Macchia.
And who is Luigi Macchia?"
asked Rafael. why such de-
spair?"
"9e was young fellow from
Naples" Leonora answered, at
last; one afternoon, in Il sad
voice, and turning her head, az
if to conceal the tears that had
come to her eyes. Zone day they
found him under the pine trees
of Posilipo, with bullet through
his head. He wanted to die, you
see, and he killed himself. But,
put all this aside and let's go
down to the garden. / need a
breath of air.
They sauntered along the ave-
nue. that was bordered with rose
bushes, and several minutes went
by before either Of them spoke
Leonora seemed quite absorbed
in her thoughts. Her brows were
lrnittnd and her Inns ed fighf-