ANATOLE'S PRIZE.

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 143, 19 June 1899, Page 7

ANATOLE'S PRIZE.

; By LEONARD LIEBLING.

If was the occasion of the annual jnusical competition at the Paris Conservatoire. Were it not for the extreme vivacity of its occupants the closely crowded Salle might have been compared with the traditional sardine box. Tho candidates for premier Jionours in singing, piano and declamation had been heard, adjudged and applauded, yet the perspiring, enthusiastic audience remained seated and looked expectantly at the platform occupied by the august director, M. Thomas, and his illustrious colleagues, SMM. Sfc. Saens, Massenet, Marsick and Cuilmant.

Mopping his distinguished forehead the director arose and instantly a chorus of 'pssts' drowned all further conversation on the part of the audience.

'The candidates for violoncello,' briefty announced M. Thomas, and Joud applause greeted the two youngmen who stepped forward. A hush fell on the audience as the opening notes of Romberg's second concerto were played on the piano, pnd a murmur of approval greeted the violoncellist, who whipped out the initial chords with firm, full attack and graceful, commanding bowing. Gradually, as the composition became more intricate, many glances •were directed towards the second candidate, who sat facing the audience ence, smiling unconcernedly whenever his roving eyes met the ga.ze of an acquaintance. There was something in the smile of the blonde, curlyheaded youth which kindled sympathy, for when his features expressed mirth many in the audience smiled ulso, though they did not even know him. The difficult finale of the concertp elicited loud cries of 'bon,' 'tres bien,' from the more susceptible listeners, whereupon the blonde Anatole cut his tongue in his cheek, and cocking1 his head on one side, looked so very quizzically at the demonstrative offenders, that they instantly became quiet, while his friends tittered audibly.

'M. Anatole Becard, if you please,' requested the director, after the first candidate had left the platform.. Anatole's jolly, indifferent demeanjpur had given place to an air of rapt ecstacy. During the hymn-like introductory measures, his eyes seemed riveted on space, as though he were gradually forgetting his prosaic surroundings. Then he began, softly, almost timidly, with a tone which quivered like the voice of a woman. !A melody, beautiful in itself, followed the sustained note, and Anatole poured forth his whole fervent musical goul into the wondrous andante that flowed from under his bow like one long stream of golden, liquid, mellifluous song. With hardly any interlude the character of ths music changed, and the slow movement led into a rollicking tarantella. Then it was that the young virtuoso revealed the full measure of his artistic temperament. His deft finsreiS' fairly flew over the strings; the waltzing, eparkling theme and its scintillating variations came forth with such vim and dash that even the veteran musicians on the jury felt their hearts jump into their throats. TKe extraordinary performance was rewarded with tumultuous applause, and a veritable whirlwind-"of*'acclamation greeted M. Thomas' official announcement. 'The "Premier Prix'.' for violoncello, consisting of" 50ft-francs, or, at the discretion of the Board of Directors, a violoncello worth at least that wnount, has been unanimously awardtd to M. Anatole Becard.' Tho fortunate young artist was the fecipient of an ovation such as only 1 popular student receives from his fellows. Flushed, delighted, Anatole iried out:

'Thanks, thanks, boys! Meet me at the Cafe Prance in half an hour; you all dine with me—and drink. Monnet, tell old Brisson to give us his best, at five francs "per couvert," ' and With that he dashed away.

Having thrown his instrument on the bed, exchanged his starched bow lor a white flowing scarf, and his drees coat for a soiled velvet jacket, Anatole lighted a cigarette and hurried from his room to join his waiting friends at M. Brisson's Cafe France. There pandemonium seemed to have taoken loose. The entire first floor iad been given over to the students »ad these, to the number of thirtj'five or forty, were seated about a long table that stretched through two adjoining rooms. Struggling waiters tcreamedl at the uproarious guests. ' The latter, nothing daunted, shouted defiant replies, and mingled with the loirse concert of these contending ' arose snatches of song, exTberant greetings and demonstrative wwersations at Ion;? range. 'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' pleaded 'tout little M. "Hrbson, malting use of jhemost effective word in his vocabu- j lay—a word which, by dint of slpl- i *?! vocal modulation, was made to fiPify anger, pleasure, exhortation, ot approval, as necessity required — j gentlemen,' pleaded M. j wifroa to a tearful voice, running up i 81<Uown the centre of his establishJ"at, not forgetting in his anguish, ™W£r, to dodge cleverly the miswles <jf bread and cake aimed at Ms "md fat head. Uree cheers were given when Ana•Jw entered the room, then three for j* Brisfon, three for Monnet, who j*JS master of ceremonies, and three '°r anybody and everybody whose M»e was mentioned. /he courses, interspersed with "°gs, jests and speeches, were dis*w*& almost as soon as served, so in a very short time nobody .^ in the least hungry, but all dis%ed illimitable thirst. Anatole's orders for champagne asnia ed such magnitude that M. Bris'«lt himself called upon to enter 5 protest. Qf».tlemen, gentlemen,' he addished. A host must never interfere with ! 8 guests,' hiccoughed Anatole, i '"P'lEg the proprietor's thin hair. ; * should look pleasant and act ns |. °£?n his bill were already paid.' , teiitiemen, genJemen,' piped M. | •won i a some alarm, 'I hope ' i r "° cause for worry, dear, good 1 assured Anatole; 'you know 11 receive 500 francs in the wom- •* * violoncello,' interposed the j less proprietor. ■|. onsense,' asserted Monnet, pulUnj? * Mprietor's necktie until it hung 1 his back. 'Since the past eight I the board has always voted the l 7 prize. ' , f* my credit good here?' sputAnatole. Pitlemen, gentlemen,' assauged i«8QB. | P We're not gentlemen, ; Ptudents,' interrupted Monnet. j ■JM my credit good?' repeated receives one hundred

francs monthly from home. Already he owes me one hundred and twenty francs, and that with to-night's bill will amount to four hundred and '

'I'll pay it all in the morning,' assured Anatole, 'only bring us something more to drink.' 'But how can I know —a pledge ' 'Here is my watch,' spoke the violoncellist grandiloquently, 'and 1 am sure,' he added, turning to the others, 'that these gentlemen put enough faith in my honour to add their valuables to mine.'

A tray with various articles of jewellery was soon handed to M. Brisson, whereupon the waiters were given 'carte blanche.'

At four o'clock in the morning Anatole and Monnet finally left the board. Most of the guests had gone home, and the remainder were asleep in their chairs.

'Just exactly five hundred francs,' reminded M. Brisson, as the two friends, arm in arm, floated through the doorway.

'In the morning!' shouted Anatole, waiving his adieux. 'In the morning,' echoed Monnet.

At noon next day Anatole was awakened from a deep slumber by a vigorous push in the ribs. 'I'll pay —in the morning,' he mumbled.

'Get up, get up! M. Thomas is at the door. He wishes to see you. I told him -'

The name acted like a cold douch

'M. Thomas—the director —here?' asked Anatole, sitting upright and blinking painfully i\t the landlady. 'Yes—yes; and he's coming upstairs. I told him you are ill—-you must see him.'

'I suppose I must—ah, the money!' he added, his eyes brightening. 'In a little while I'll be able to settle my account with you, Mama Bertin.' 'No hurry; but comb your hair a bit,' said good old Madame Bertin, hastening- away to escort the great man to the little attic room.

Anatole dashed water in his face, and tore out several dozen hairs, trying- in frenzied haste to comb his tang-led hair before the director ap* peared.

He had barely time to slip back into bed before M. Thomas entered the room and came towards him.

'Good morning, Monsieur Anatole,' said he cheerily. 'I'm sorry to hear that you are not well. Nothing serious, I hope?' 'Oh, no,' answered the mock patient, 'only a headache—the excitement of yesterdajr—the heat—and nervousness —that's all.'

'Of course, of course,' assented the* director. 'I might of thought of it. That won't last, especially after I have delivered the message of which I am the happy bearer. You surprised us all yesterday, Monsieur Anatole. No, no, credit where it is due,' hastened M. Thomas in answer to the young man's deprecatory gesture; 'the board is delighted, and declares that not since eight years has the "premier prix" been so well earned; and to show our appreciation we have voted ■you an extraordinary prize.' 'Oh, Monsieur le Directeur!' was all Anatole could say, blushing with surprise and pleasure. Already, in his mind's eye, he had paid M. Brisson as well as the landlady, and had a handsome surplus besides. 'Jean!' called M. Thomas, going1 to the door. 'Yes,' he continued, turninp towards Anatole, 'we have made, this departure because we believe it is •well grounded. We are convinced that, rather than spoil you, it will impel you to" further diligence 'ancT re-' newed ambition. You have the true spirit, my boy, and we look on your future with confidence and pride.' Anatole heard only the end of this speech, for he had been busily speculating on the probable amount of the 'extraordinary' prize. 'Jean,' again called the director, and the 'portier' of the conservatoire stepped into the room. 'Bring It in,' requested M. Thomas. With bated breath Anatole watched the door, and there was a momentary pause.

'The Board has decided to award you, instead of the customary prize of 500 francs -'

'Yes?' breathed Anatole, eagerly, as Jean came into the doorway. 'A magnificent Italian - loloncello, in a walnut'case, decorated with a silver plate, bearing your full name.' Anatole. tried to speak, but could not. M. Thomas and Jean hurried out. At the door the genial director whispered to Madame Lertin: 'He's overcome with joy. I fled to escape his thanks.' In his room Anatole was leaning" out of the window, bawling: 'Idiots.' Imbeciles!'