THE FALLING OF A STAR.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 2786, 8 March 1877, Page 3

THE FALLING OF A STAR.

♦ AN OID PHYSICIAN'S TALK. BY M. W. The season had just commenced ; Londou was full to overflowing ; the Park was daily orowded with carriages, and troupes of equestrians galloped up and down Botten Bow, whilst the loungers eyed them critically or admiringly as they leantover the railings, or reposed idly on their chairs beneath the treea. The opera has opened, and all tho musical world is exoited by the news of the return of Bocco Mondini, a favourite tenor, whose absence had been deplored through several past seasons, "Not going!" cried the Duchess of C to me, aa I bade her good day — (her Grace suffered from nerves) — " not going to-night to hear the divine Mondini ! An amateur of your excellence ! Oh, nonsense, nonsense ! you know really you must, if only to be able to tell me all about it to-morrow. Of course, in my dreadfully invalided condition, tho fatigue, the excitement, would be far too muoh for me. Do go ! I know I should hear such an admirable criticism of the performance from you, dear doctor. Again, I remember Mondini was a friend of youra." "I attended Madame Mondini,your Graoe," I replied, "when Bhe was Beriously ill in London, four or five seasons ago. Indeed, it waa on account of that illness that Mondini threw up his engagement in England, and returned to Italy, tbe climate suiting his wife better tban this." "Indeed! how interesting!" replied her Grace, in a languid tone. " And is thia Madamo Mondini clever, or a beauty, or merely a domestic drudge, as I am informed the wives of artists so often are, poor things ! They are, I believe, in the same rank of life bs their husbands, but. they are their inferiors in intelligence ; and, no doubt, often without sufficient taste or education to sympathise with the occupations and interests of their husbands." "Madame Mondini," I replied, not caring to enter on a caste discussion with the Duohese, with whose aristooratic vie we I was well acquainted, " was, when I knew her, a lovely woman, full of grace and refinement ; an Italian by birth, and of good family. She was a. perfect lady in every respect, as far as I could jndge/ . "Indeed, how charming! But doctor, I

must not keep you any longer," continued the Duohess. I made my bow, glad to have ended the visit, and to leave the ariatocratio atmosphere of the Ducheßs' boudoir for a more bracing atmosphere. But, somehow, I oould not get the Mondinis, and their return to England, out of my head. The next moming, when the newspaper waa laid on my breakfaat-table, the firat paragraph I read waa relating to the opera, and to the re-appearance of my old friend Mondini. He had returned, it seemed, with an improved voice, better execution, higher sympathetic expression, etc, eto. The enthuaiaam he had cauaed on hia re-appearanoo had seldom, if ever, been equalled ainoe the days of Mario end Tamberlik. He had appeared as Gennaro in " Lucrezia;" and his next role was to be that of Almaviva in the " Barbiere." I was engaged that night, but when his third appearance was announced aa Fernando in the Favor ita, I anticipated that I might contrive to be present. It wbb four or five nights after my friend's return that I found myself seated in a comfortable stall of the Opera pit, and in oompany with an old musical friend. I was thoroughly prepared to banish all professional cares from my mind and to luxuriate in perfect enjoyment of the lovely musio whioh is to be found in the numbers of the Favorita. I anticipated much pleasure in listening to the exquisite voice owned by Mondini. The hearty applause that burst forth from all parte of the house when the favourite tenor appeared on the stage delighted me. Burst after buret of cheering followed h_6 rendering of his firßt solo, and when the curtain fell at the close of the act he had to come forward several times to acknowledge the applause which waß bestowed upon him. The evening wore on, the house waß orammed, and every one was waiting with breathlesß interest for the solo "Spirito gentil," and the favourite tenor was advancing towards the footlights to commence it — every one was holding hia breath in order to catch rflore clearly the melting toneß of the griefstrioken Fernando — when a cry waa heard— a man rußhed wildly on the stage, seized the arm of the tenor, and uttered a few broken words aa he did ao. The effect on the artiste waa electrical. Witb a passionate gesture of despair he rushed from the stage, Btaying to make neither apology, nor sign of excuse. The house was in confusion ; the hum of astonished and alarmed voiceß apeedily roae in volume. Silence, however, at onoe prevailed when the manager came forward to explain tho cause of the audden and abrupt disappearance of the popular favourite. " Ladies and gentlemen," he said, " I feel certain that the sad and sudden Affliction which hao fallen on Signor Bocco Mondini will prevail on you to excuse his unusual oonduot. He has just received intelligence that Madame Mondini haa broken a blood-vessel, and now lies at the point of death." A deep stillnesß fell on the house. You could have heard a pin drop. At that moment a hand was laid on my shoulder, and an old Italian, whom I recognised as a servant of Mondini'a entreated me at onoe to follow him to hia master's bouse. " You saved her lifo before, Bignor, and, oh, you must do so again," he exclaimed, in an agitated voice, " Ah, my poor signora ! — my poor signora !" We dashed along through the orowded streets as fast as my coaohman could drive üb, an* 1 in a few minutes he drove up at the door of Signora Mondini's rosidenoe in Brook atreet. I followed the old domestio hastily up the staircase to his mistress' bed-room, where another doctor, called in on the spur of the moment by the frightened servants, was already in attendance. Madame Mondini lay on the sofa, colourleea and breathing faintly. I thought I had never before seen any living being so startlingly pallid and fragilelooking. One glance told me tho sad truth. Death had set h_B seal on the lovely, ethereal, creature before me Madame Mondini'a life might, indeed, be reckoned by days, if not by hoars. I cast a glance of deep pity on Boeco, who, still in his stage dresa, which contrasted terribly with the surroundings of the siok room, knelt beside his wifo, holding one of her thin, tran.parent hands in his, and whispering wild words of grief and love to her. Ah, how far sadder, how far more terrible and touching are the daily occurrences in real life than the scenes, however well rendered, of grief, horror, or despair, we ace enacted on the stage. Bocco had touched all hearts, thrilled all listeners, that night, by his niimio despair at the locs of Leonora. A ! could his audience have seen him. now, b. he knelt in an agony of terror and grief bt. . Je his dying wife, what would hove been their feelings ? And yet all around us these terrible scenes are hourly occurring ! Suoh thoughts passed rapidly through my mind as I etood beside the couch, and busied myself with the care of tho invalid. Soon she began to revive, and after doing all in my power for ber, I left the room with Bocco, promising to return in a few hours. My ratient lingered on, sometimes seeming better, and then disappointing all our hopee — no, not our hopes, for I never had any — by falling aguin into a state of utter prostration and weakness. I dared not — old practitioner as I was— tell Bocco of her real state. How that man loved her, and how ahe loved hini ! The thought of what was inevitably coming sickened me. One evening (how well I remember it !) Bocco and I rose to leave the room for the evening, after sitting for some time with Marietta (for such was hername), who seemed better and stronger, but strangely sad and grave. And as I said good night to her, Bhe whispered, " Tell him, dootor." "Teil him?" 1 replied, trying to apeak cheerfully. " Tell him what ?" "That I must soon die !" she replied, softly, fixing her .arc e, dark eyes upon me. " You know it is so !" Tears filled my eyes. I could only preßßher hand, and co left- her. " 8h" is better to night, doctor," said Bocco, aa T joined him, sp. aking in bis own sweet language. " She eeema so," I replied, doubtfully. " Seems so ! She i- ! Did you not remark how her colour has returned, how muoh brighter her eyes arr*, and how much stronger her voice is P She has not coughed once for hpors." ,-.,

i " Yes, but " I began. " Ah, wait till I pet ber back to Italy — our i country! She will soon grow well again there — at Vincerza, where I first saw her ! w i ' he said. " When do you think of starting ?" I roi plied, evasively. " Next month, amico mto. And did I neves ■ tell you, doctor, how I first met Marietta ? , Did I never give you our history ?" " Never," I replied. "No ? Ah, then you oannot appreciate our love for one another, amico, if you do not know aU she suffered for me. She is an angel, my Marietta— an angel ! What should Ibe without her ? She is everything to me, dootor !" "Yes," I replied, my heart bleedine at eaoh word. "Yes, life would, indeed, be valueles* without her! I will tell you how we met. lam a man of the people. Marietta is of a rank far abovo mine. My father was a Neapolitan fisherman, and in my boyhood I have paesed days and nightß in our fishing boat on the beautiful Bay of Naples. When I grew old enough, I waa aent to echool at a neighbouring monaatery, where I had an unci© who waa a frate. I had a fine, oiear treble voice, and aoon I was seleoted by the superior to fill a vacancy in the chapel choir. My unole.^— •■ the organißt, and from him I received my first musical instruction. Soon my voice got talked about, and brought .many visitors and many Bcudi to the monaatery. "Marietta and her father ÜBed to como amongst othera ; and thero I first aaw her, and as a boy, fell in love with her. "I ÜBed to hurry away as soon as the ohurch- office wbb over, and stand in the cloister, down whioh I knew she must pasa, I holding a bouquet of flowers, perhaps, that t had gathered in the monastery garden, and ready to present it to her. " How I lived on the remembrance of a sweet smile, a kind word, or the touch of her little white hand. "Ah! boys can love, with a depth and i purity, too, tbat older folks oannot well comprehend. "Years passed; and, behold me — a pupil at the Conservatoire at Milan. My voice had changed to a tenor, and, through the interest of the Superior of the monaatery, and i some other friends, a grand aignore of iouir neighbourhood had been prevailed upon to pay for my education — on the understanding, by the way, that, if I turned ont a auooesß, he i was to receive back what he had expended oii mo, with good interest. - ' ,J " I worked hard — too hard, I think — for in 1 a year or two's time I began to loose my voice. " I left fche Conservatoire and gave private , lessons and sang at small concerts, giving up all hope of ever becoming an opera singer, i whioh had been my great ambition. " One day as I was hurrying to the palazzo i of the Count B , I aaw a lady— aocom. ; panied by a gray-headed officer, whose figure seemed familiar to me— descend from a carriago at the entrance. . "When my eyes rested on this lady I thought I had never seen suoh loveliness before. Yet the features did not aeem totally atrange to me. "As I followed her and her companion up the staircase, something in the air and gait, in the turn of the head, made me certain that j aome where we had met before ; but where ? " When I began my first song— for there 1 was a matinee musicale at the palazzo that day at whioh I waa engaged to amg — I saw 1 my beautiful unknown turn suddenly and look anxiously at me. "Then she looked as if disappointed and moved from her place. " I Baw her no more during the music and I thought she had left the palace, when Count B came up to me and said "Do me the pleasure, Signor Mondini, of singing this with my neiee, the Signorina Castellara.' t " I turned with surpri.o at the name, which I well remembered as that of the little Marietta, the objeot of my boyish adoration. And there stood the beautiful creature I had seen enter the palaoe — the little Signorina Marietta — grown into a lovely woman. " Ah, that duet! I ehall never forget it. My real life began that day. I lived and loved—" ' He paused and oovered his face with his , handa for a moment and then oontinued : "My voice and Marietta's suited one another well. Our duet made a sensation. It ' was suggested to produce an operetta at the palazzo, in whioh I was to take the part of ' primo tenore, and Marietta that of prima donna. "Thia waa done and all went off splendidly. My name became known, and pupils Hooked to me. " Soon I became one of the leading profeasors in Milan, and Marietta studied under my auspices. "It is needless fco aay, dootor, that we loved each other. How oould I have been constantly in her sooiety without loving her t "But, as your poet says, 'The course of true love never did run amooth ; ' and wo soon found from experience the truth of the Baying. "Some suspicions had beeu aroused in tho mind of .Marietta's father by oertain evil tongues whioh had been busy with our names. "H • toon found that Marietta required no more leeeons from me j and I wbb politely given to understand that my presence at the palace waa no longer required, nor my acquaintance desired by the dwellers therein. (To be continued.)