An Impromptu Performance.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLII, Issue 3, 20 January 1909, Page 2

An Impromptu Performance.

On Christmas Kve, 1837, an old man with a stout cane walked slowlyt through the most fashionable suarter of Paris. His light arm closely pressed to his side, as if it were some sacred thing, an oblong object wrapped in a checkered cotton handkerchief, lie was thinly clad, shivering ami emaciated. Be was buffeted about by the scurrying crowds, apparently at a loss which way to turn. He untied the checkered handkerchief, and disclosed a violin and bow. He raised the instrument, and started to play a sentimental strain; but the result was only harsh and inharmonious rounds. The street gamins chaffed him. With a sob, he fell down upon the steps, resting the instrument upon his knees. “Oh, Heaven!” lie cried, “1 ran no longer play!” Three young men came down the street, singing a tune then popular among the students of the Conservatoire de Musi'que. One of them accidentally knocked off his hat, and a second stumbled against his leg. The bareheaded old violinist rose proudly to his feet. "Pardon, monsieur,” said the third young man. "I hope we did not hurt you?’ The speakeV picked up the old man’s lia I. “No,” was the bitter answer. The young man saw the violin. “You are a'musician?” “I was once.” Two great tears trickled down the old man’s cheeks. “What is the matter? Are you ill'.'” The old man faltered for a moment; then lie held out his hat to them. "Give me a trifle, for the love of Heaven! I can no longer earn anything by my art. My fingers are stiff, and my daughter is dying of consumption and want.” Down in his pockets went each one of the trio. They were but poor students, and the result was only ■ sixteen sous This was the combined capital of the two; the third hail only a cake of resin. "This won’t do,” declared the one who bad apologised for I he accident. “We want more than that to -relieve our fellow. artist. A pull together will do it. You, Adolphe, take the violin and accompany Gustave, while 1 go round with lhe hat.” A ringing laugh .was the answer. They pulled their hat’s over their faces and turned up their coat-collars, in order to avoid recognition. Adolphe took the violin from the old man's trembling hands. Gustave straightened out his shoulders. In a moment the first notes of the. ‘‘Carnival de Venice” were floating out upon the night air. Such masterful music did not customarily come from the instruments of street players. Windows of the palatial houses flew up, and heads were thrust out of the openings. Strollers coming down the street stopped, and those who had gone on retraced their footsteps. Soon a good-sized crowd had gathered. Gustave sang the favourite cavatina from “La Dame Blanche” in a manner that held the audience spellbound. It “rained money” into the hat when the song was finished. “One more tune,” whispered the treasurer of the enterprise. “Bring out those bass notes of .yours, Adolphe. I’ll help you out with the baritone part, Gustave, my brave tenor. The heavens will open, and larks ready toasted fall into the old man’s mouth. We’ll finish up with the trio from 'Guillaume Tell.’ And, mind, now, we're singing Jfor the honour of ths Conservatoire as well as for the sake of a brother artist.” The three young men played and sang probably as they never played and sang fin their after-life. The most critical of audiences was enthralled. Life came back to the old man. He grasped his stick, and, adapting it as a baton, used it with the air of one having authority. He stood transfixed when they had done; his fact lighted up, his eyes glistened. The proceeds of the entertainment netted five hundred francs. Many of the wealthy listeners had thrown gold pieces into the old battered hat. Then they gave him back his bat and its contents, and wrapped up the instrument in the old checkered handkerchief. “Your names? Your names?” the old man gasped. “Give me your names that 1 may bless them on my death-bed.” "My name is Faith,” said the first. ‘‘Ami mine Hope,” said the second. “Ami mine Charity,’said the treasurer of the enterprise. “You do not even kno.w mine,” continued the old man, regaining his voice. “Ah! I might have been an impostor; but I am not. My name is Chapuee.. For ten years I directed the orchestra oi the

Opera at Strasburg. It was I who mounted ‘Guillaume Tell.” Since I left) my native Alsace misfortune lias followed me. Wjth this money my <laughlo£ and 1 can go to the country, and there she will recover her health, and I fulfil find a place to teach when she can no longer perform. You—all of you—shall be the gieatest of the great.” "Amen!” was the hearty response of the students, as they shook lhe good Dian’s hand. Despite their attempt at disguising, the young men had been recognised by one who afterward told the tale. They were known to fame in later years as Gustave Roger, the great tenor, Adolphe Herman, the great violinist, and < harles Gounod, the great composer. 'lhe old man's prophecy was fulfilled.