GUIDO, THE CELLIST.

Northland Age, Volume 2, Issue 44, 12 June 1906, Page 7

GUIDO, THE CELLIST.

BY CORDELIA ODENIOffMBR. •i The house was uncomfortably full, and the placard announcing, “Standing Room Only,” had been replaced by one stating “No More Money Received.” A suppressed expectancy pervaded the air. As the curtain rose there burst from the vast orditorium applause as thunder falls. On the stage in red and gold uniforms, stood Italy's famous band, bowing their appreciation. The applause was no novelty to them, for in their own home they had played before ancl received honours from their King. Guido, the cellist, had been sent for to play for the Queen, and as he played her beautiful eyes sparkled until they dimmed with tears.

Three years passed, and again I was to listen to the band from Sunny Italy. How different though, were the surroundings ! It was at a vaudeville house, where the audience almost resented their presence, mid were glad when their favourites of the- coon and ragtime songs wore with them again. The last strains died away, the leader put down his baton, and I went behind the scenes, for it was my turn to report. The spell of the music was still upon me. I looked first for Guido, for I remembered it was he, who three years before, had told me of their hopes and aspirations. Poor little Guido ! with the great soulful black eyes ! They had now lost their lustre ; the rounded, ruddy cheeks were hollow and yellow the red coat hung loosely on his bent shoulders. Dreamily and pathetically he told me of their failures and iieartaches. They had come here to get rich and win new honours, but the English were so cold ! Ah, so cold ! Their souls were so inharmonious that music could not reach them. He and his friends had gone on, hoping, always hoping ; but now they would never return to their blue sky and sunny land, where the very street children had souls that were moved by the singing of the birds and the rippling of water. Ah Italy ! beautiful, sunshiny Italy ! There it is all fervour and melody. A round, red spot had come to each yellow 'sunkeni cheek ; his dimmed eyes grew lustrous ; he forgot all the horror of those three dreary years ; he was back in Italy ami Luccia, his own Luccia, was twining a wreath from the grape vine, and, as she crowned him with it, the scent of the grapes filled his nostrils and sent a new fire through his veins. He pleaded again and again that she would become his wife before he crossed Che ocean. If she would go with him the warmth and feeling of his dear Italy would be with him always, no matter how cold and unsympathetic the new world might be ; and when once in it he would grow so rich that she should have dresses such as only .she and their beautiful queen could have. Ah ! he knew the way to win her, The cello should plead for him. Luccia could never resist it. He lovingly fondled the instrument, then slowly, rapturously, melodiously, the strains poured forth. No words were needed to interpret the love, the longing, the passion and despair and finally agony of a torn and shattered heart. Guido’s head bent lower, his eyes closed, the cello moaned and wailed ; then a change ; a smile played around his mouth, the music thrilled with its stress of sweetness, every movement of the bow brought fresh sunshine, the blue sky, the fragrance of the vines, the songs of the children ; and from the midst came Luccia with her crisp black hair, sparkling black eyes, rosy cheeks and dimpled mouth. She was dressed in the bright colours so loved by the children of the South, her sleeves thrown back, showing the rounded arms as tiny beat and waved the tambourine above her head to the accompaniment of her voice and steps. What is that ? The cellist is dead Yes, died of starvation, they said. Ah ! I know so differently. In those last few moments I had lollowed him to his land of sunshine. Guido died of a broken heart.