Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 41, Number 124, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 November 1909 — THE MAGIC MUSICIAN. [ARTICLE]

THE MAGIC MUSICIAN.

Francois, first violin at the gilded Belvidere, had two precious secrets pent in his warm, Gallic heart. The first of these was known only to a very prouud, ancient family ppon the vine-clad banks of the Loire; the second was really no secret at alitor Francois told the beautiful story in the wailing, pleading tones of his belQved Strad every night to the gay parties that thronged the Case Belvidere. Thus was his love for the lady of the lavender ostrich plume. Francois had singled her out one night when her party was the merriest in tfye’ tinseled case. Madame of the lavender plume, when the others joined boisterously in the applause, had said merely “Good!” The next night Francois fixed his bright brown eyes upon madame and rendered ‘‘The Cavalier’s Golden Dream.’’ Madame, who was very sensitive to these things, dropped just one little, unbidden tear upon her lobster according to Newburg. Francois saw, and dreamed of her that night in his tiny, tenth-floor garret. After that the secret ceased to be a secret. Madame came nightly with her grand friends. After a bit, in his artist’s ecstasy, he would advance and face his lady, forgetting the crowd and Josef and Paul and the other musicians. Thus the thing became a rare jest with madame’s grand friends. Finally the great news came to Francois from across the sea, bearing a crest of ancient honor. The first precious secret was ready for the greedy world. Then Francois came down to the Case Belvidere in a rented dress suit of extraordinary splendor. When madame came with her friends, he stepped out upon the floor and played as even he had not played before. It was “The Sad Heart’s Message,” and the strains called and allured and beckoned to madame until she half arose from her chair. Francois saw and came near. “Oh, madame —come, please! ” She followed him,'while the crowd Wondered; and behind a friendly palm Francois halted. “Madame,” he said, simply, “I love —It is you whom 1 love!” “Ah!” sighed madame, reaching out her hands to him. Then she drew back. “What do you mean?” she added. Francois bright eyes- fairly burned her. “Then madame does not love me?” he questioned. “Madame, who is reech and ver’ gran’, would not marry ze poor museecian?”

Madame, who was crying again, shook her head. “Oh, can’t you understand,’ she whispered. “I could love you to madness —you with your strange, soulful chords and artist’s temperament. But it isn’t the way of the world, Francois. Francois snapped the strings of the priceless Strad, “See,’’ he cried, “so Is my life —like zat—a broken string!’’ y ■ Madame leaned forward and impulsively kissed him. “It is the way of the cold, cruel world,” she repeated, “and we would not be happy. But 1 love you for a minute, Francois of the magic chords.” Then Francois shouted “Ha!’’ with such zest that madame started back. The young ’musician produced the welcome summons upon which was stamped the arms of a noble house. “Zen you love Francois, the poor museecian, for one meenlt —how long you love ze Count Artois? Say, madame?” Madame read and her face grew pale. “No,” she said, “if I would not love Francois, the musician, I should be ashamed now to own that I love the Count Artois.” But Francois was pulling at the sleeve of her rich, creamy gown “Eeet ees enough,’’ he cried. “Lefe for a meenit is love forever!” Then he conducted madame back to the curious diners, to hear of the countess-to-be of Artois. —Stuart B. Stone.