Democratic Sentinel, Volume 10, Number 52, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 January 1887 — FAUST AND MEPHISTOPHELES. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

FAUST AND MEPHISTOPHELES.

BY W. H. S. ATKINSON.

A large and fashionable crowd thronged Steinway Hall, New York. Usually a New York audience, selected from the “upper ten thousand, ” is not very demonstrative — esjiecially over a new aspirant for its appreciation and favors. But on the occasion of the debut of Miss Alta Alwyn as a public singer, New Y’ork society forgot itself. The new song-bird became a favorite before she had finished her first number— a difficult “show-piece” in Italian —and when, for an encore, she gave, with pathos and richness of tone, the tender and familiar “Swanee River,” the great audience rose en masse, and cheered to the echo, while costly bouquets fell in profusion at the feet of the young artist. And Alta Alwyn was happy, supremely happy. Such a night, such a success as this, Lad been her one cherished dream during four long years of incessant toil and study. Alta Alwyn was not in love—had never been in love, and was a total stranger to Dan Cupid and his tricks.' The ruling passion of her'young life had been ambition: a desire to excel in her chosen profession. Now that the first step on the road to fame had been taken, now that she found, at the very outset, all the wealth and fashion of wealth and fashion’s metropolis at her feet, she was happy. Two other persons in that brilliant assembly were also elated at Alta Alwyn’s success. One of these was her tutor and manager, Signor Rivera; the other was Mr. Richard Cameron, a wealthy young New York banker. The cause for Signor Rivera’s satisfaction is obvious; Dick Cameron’s unusually bright eye and flushed cheek will require some explanation. On the morning after the concert, Miss Alwyn sat alone in her morning room. The pretty apartment was filled with the rich perfume from a thousand roses—the offer-

ings of the previous evening—while a side table uas literally stacked with notes containing congratulations and invitations from great people, anxious to cultivate the acquaintance of this rising star. Alta Alwyn was a very beautiful woman; indeed, one word alone is fitting to properly describe her charming appearance. She was magnificent. With youth, beauty, talent, and assured success, life just then seemed all sunshine to her, and the reverie in which she indulged was a very pleasant one. In the midst of it a servant announced “Mr. Cameron. ” A slight shadow darkened the fair ariist’s brow for a moment. Only for a moment, however, for neither annoyance nor excessive pleasure were discernible in her countenance, as with cool indifference she bade her caller “good-morning.” “I suppose,” said Mr. Cameron, who ■was a peculiarly handsome man, perhaps thirty years of age, “I suppose congratulations are in order, Alta—only congratulations would be idle, common-place ■words coming from me. You know how more than pleased I am at your success, viewed merely as a success; and then there is something else.” Miss Alwyn toyed with a rose, but answered nothing. “Alta,” continued Dick Cameron, “three years ago I loved you—love you now. Three years ago I wished to make you my wife, out you refused and bade me wait until the wish of your life, the desire to shine as a success! ui singer, should become an accomplished fact. Your wish is now fulfilled; your success is greater than you could ever have dreamed it would be; and now I am come to claim your promise. Will you keep it, Alta?” Miss Alwyn’s eye» drooped, and she continued to pluck the petals from the lovely rose in her hand. Suddenly she raised her eyes and addressed her companion. “Dick, I will not pretend that I do not understand you; I do. But- 1 -! cannot keep my promise. I am not a woman, Dick; I am an artist. Where my heart should be is nothing but ambition. I do not love you, but I do love music; I do love the applause of listening crowds, and I do love fame. 1 could never make you happy, Dick, and as your wife I am certain life for me would be one long regret. You

have been very good to me, Dick. alwayi, and I appreciate, more than I seem to, your goodness. But please go away and forget me, for I cannot fulfill my old promise.” That was all. Dick Cameron made no reply, but, with a sad heart and heavy step, slowly left the room. Patiently and faithfully, for three tedious years, had Richard Cameron waited for the woman ho loved, trusting implicitly in her promise to marry him as soon as the world acknowledged her talent, and this was how that woman kept her word. Last evening he was so proud and happy, and this morning Dick Cameron, although one of the richest men m New York, was also one of the most miserable. That dismissal had another effect, also, upon Cameron. After that, his love, although not less strong, was less pure, and he was never quite as good a man afterward as he had been before. • « ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ A month passed away—a month which proved to Alta Alwyn the truth of the old adage, “that nothing succeeds like success.” As for Dick Cameron, he was almost forgotten by the now famous singer. One day Mr. Cameron sat in his office in Wall street, thinking (as he thought all the time now) of how he could ei.her win Alta Alwyn—or forget her. While thinking thus, there came a rap at the door, and it opened to admit Signor Rivera. The latter apologized for his intrusion, and then proceeded to explain the object of his call. “Mr. Cameron, I want money. At this moment I am only one step removed from a ruined man. I have staked everything upon my pupil, Miss Alwyn, and she has certainly, so far, justified my expenditure of time and money upon her. The expense of advertising her has been enormous, and I have reached that point where I must

money or stop. Of course my stopping will not seriously hurt my pupil; there are plenty of men who would be only too glad to back Miss Alwyn, but that will not help me—nor you. Now, I thoroughly understand how matters stand between yourself and my pupil. Listen, and don’t get angry. I can kill two birds with one stone. I must have money—money is all I care about. About twelve thousand dollars would relieve all pressure for the tijne being, and during the next three seasons (the period of my contract with Miss Alwyn) I could doubtless clear forty thousand dollars. But if you will give me seventy-five thousand dollars now I will ‘drop’ Miss Alwyn altogether, and so manage matters that in a very short time she will be only too glad to forget her music and accept your offer of marriage. Come, Mr. Cameron, the sum I have mentioned is a mere bagatelle to you.” Now Richard Cameron was, decidedly, very much in love; still, he was notsoentirely lost to things terrestrial but that he knew full well that this was a most unique and extraordinary offer. He certainly wanted Alta Alwyn for his wife, and to attain that end would gladly expend twice seventy-five thousand dollars. But were Rivera’s proposals honorable, were they worthy his consideration? Anyway, how could Rivera guarantee to bring his plans to a successful issue, and should a man who would break a contract with a woman be trusted in any degree? All these thoughts passed, one after another, through Cameron’s brain. “Well, Mr. Cameron?” urged the signor. “I do not quite see through your scheme, signor, ” said the young man. “I will be frank with you,” resumed Rivera. “It is clearly understood between us that I want cash and you want the lady. If my proposition is accepted, well; if not, well. Only, no riding the high horse —no strong expressions of indignat.on—nothing of that kind, please, or I stop right here.” “Go on,” said Cameron, as the Italian paused for a moment. “I flatter myself that I have ‘made’ Alta Alwyn as an artist; also, that I understand her nature thoroughly. As I have made her professional reputation, so I can unmake it—l can blast it. If I know anything of my pupil, she will not be able to take failure and disappointment very well. When it comes she will turn to you, and not until then. If necessary I will try something more. I will damage her private reputation; I will kill her socially; I will ”

“Stop!” exclaimed Cameron. “I do not wish to hear any more. But I must have that girl. I will give you seventy—no, I will give you eighty thousand dollars now, for a present, to help you out of your difficulties—a present, you understand, without regard to Miss Alwyn—l cannot make money bai gains on her account —I give you this as a present. Of course, if you can help me in any way, do so. But be careful. Call to-morrow, and you can have the money.” When the manager had gone, Cameron tried to soothe his conscience. But think as he would, try to persuade himself as he might, he could not drive from his brain the knowledge that he had agreed to pay money to an unscrupulous man for the purpose of destroying a woman’s fame, and, perchance, her good name. ***** * Right well Rivera succeeded in his plans. With a flush bank account he grew reckless, and his professional duties and obligations were thrown to the winds. This alone was sufficient to seriously hurt his protegee. But he did not stop at that. He used every means his cunning mind could desire to blast Alta Alwyn’s reputation, and, three months after the young singer had maae her triumphal debut, her fame nfe an artist was killed. Not only so, but many were the cruel stories, dropped from careless lips, in regard to her private life; and, though utterly untrue, they hurt her none the less. As Rivera had foretold, Alfa Alwyn codld ill brook disappointment. She had no near friends, and while her heart had held naught but ambition she had not felt their need. Now she yearned for some one in

whom she could confide, and the only one of whom she thought was Dick Cameron. Yet, when Dick Cameron came to her in her loneliness and once more offered his hand, she refused him. Not that she had the faintest suspicion of Cameron’s part in Rivera’s plot against herself—or, indeed, of the plot itself. For she had felt so S,I U’. V f° r at the loss he must necessarily (as she supposed) suffer on account of her failure, that she pressed upon him the greater part of her own share of the profits of her brief season. No; if she had twice refused Dick Cameron’s love, she had always trusted and respected him, and could never have associated his name with a mean action. But she was proud, and having, in the heyday of her triumph, refused his love, she felt it would be utterly impossible for her, with any degree of selfrespect, to take that love when all else failed. So yet again Richard Cameron w - as disappointed. Sick at heart and somewhat ashamed of himself, he left New York and took up his residence in the gav French capital. And when the girl who had once said that she had no heart, the girl who had so lately known nothing but ambition, who had cared for naught but success in her chosen profession—when this fame girl realized that the ocean lay between herself and Dick Cameron, she knew then, when it was too late, that she loved him. It was only the repetition of an old story: ’How could I know I should love thee to-day, Whom that day I held not dear? How could I tell I should love thee afar. When I did not love the anear?” Her professional failure and the unkind gossip of New Y’ork society had cut her to the quick; but all that was forgotten now, and, oh, if he would only come to her, for just a few minutes even, so that she might kneel before him and tell him how mistaken she had been! But the days and weeks wore on; and, at twenty-three, Alta Alwyn was disappointed, broken-hearted woman. Three years slipped away, and in the musical world the name of Alta Alwyn was almost forgotten, or at best only a dim memory.

A train was speeding along the iron track, on its way westward, in the evening of a day in late fall. In the parlor car sat a man of, perhaps, thirty-five years—a man with a tired and even dissipated expression upon his face, though he was decidedly distinguished-looking. He was weary after traveling for twenty-four hours, and was debating in his mind whether he should spend another night upon the cars or stop off and rest, when the porter yelled “Tiffton.”. That settled it. As a boy he had spent many jolly times at Tiffton, so he would renew his acquaintance with the old place and the well-remembered hotel, where the beds were, at least, more comfortable than Pullman car berths. So he alighted from the train and walked up to the hotel. As he signed the register he noticed that it was nearly ten o’clock; but he wanted exercise, and so sauntered out upon the familiar streets of the modest Western town. He had not wandered far before he came to the entrance of the Grand Opera House, where a plentiful display of flaming posters announced for that evening’s programme a performance of “Faust and Marguerite,” by the “Ansberg Opera Company, under the direction of Max Bischoff.” Extremes now met in our traveler. Exactly three weeks before he had formed one of a brilliant party in a box at the Grand Opera House in Paris, where a magnificent company had performed this very same opera of “Faust.” Now the whim took possession of him to witness the opera, performed by a third-rate company, in the theater of a country town. Ho bought his ticket, and as the house was almost full, he was compelled to take a seat very near the stage. The curtain was down when he entered the theater, and he guessed that there could be but one more act. There was no orchestra—only a piano, and soon the stranger heard it played, fingered by no mean hand. He glanced at the musician and then at his programme. —“Bischoff? No, that must be ah, well, perhaps I am mistaken,” he thought; and at that instant the curtain was raised, disclosing the prison scene. Lying upon her bed of straw, and not five yards from our stranger, was Marguerite. But she was not acting; she was dying. Blood flowed from between her lips, though only two people in the large audience noticed it. In one moment the music ceased, and in the same instant two men leaped upon the stage. One was our traveler Richard Cameron; the other was Max Bischoff, known in other days as Signor Rivera. It all happened so quickly that the Faust and Mephistopheles of the play had not yet appeared upon the stage. Yet none the less the excited audience beheld before them a modern Faust, supporting upon his kgqe a wronged and dying Mar-

guerite; while near by, and watching them both, stood a miserable specimen of a nineteenth century Mephistopheles. As the curtain was hurriedly lowered, Alta Alwyn breathed her last in the arms of Richard Cameron. ****** The next morning the Tiffton Tattler recorded the sudden death of Miss Addie Ansberg, and gave as the cause a hemorrhage of the heart, produced by overexertion. t Only two men who read that newspaper knew that Addie Ansberg was the once famoils Alta Alwyn, and that she died of a broken heart. It is easy enough in the evening to get up in the morning.

With a sad heart and heavy step, slowly left the room.

“Stop!" exclaimed Cameron.

Supporting upon his knee a wronged and dying Marguerite.