THE DREAM COME TRUE
Years have passed. I now live in the home of my ancestors, Milligan
Park. The miserable little wanderer who slept so often in a stable was
heir to an old historical castle. It is a beautiful old place about
twenty miles west of the spot where I jumped from the train to escape
from the police. I live here with my mother, my brother and my wife.
We are going to baptize our first child, little Mattia. To-night all
those who were my friends in my poorer days will meet under my roof to
celebrate the event and I am going to offer to each one as a little
token a copy of my "Memoirs," which for the last six months I have been
writing and which to-day I have received from the bookbinder.
This reunion of all our friends is a surprise for my wife; she will see
her father, her sister, her brothers, her aunt. Only my mother and
brother are in the secret. One will be missing from this feast. Alas!
poor master! poor Vitalis! I could not do much for you in life, but at
my request, my mother has had erected a marble tomb and placed your
bust, the bust of Carlo Balzini, upon the tomb. A copy of this bust is
before me now as I write, and often while penning my "Memoirs," I have
looked up and my eyes have caught yours. I have not forgotten you; I
shall never forget you, dear master, dear Vitalis.
Here comes my mother leaning on my brother's arm, for it is now the son
who supports the mother, for Arthur has grown big and strong. A few
steps behind my mother comes an old woman dressed like a French peasant
and carrying in her arms a little baby robed in a white pelisse. It is
dear Mother Barberin, the little baby is my son Mattia.
Arthur brings me a copy of the _Times_ and points to a correspondence
from Vienna which states that Mattia, the great musician, has completed
his series of concerts, and that, in spite of his tremendous success in
Vienna, he is returning to England to keep an engagement which cannot be
broken. I did not need to read the article for, although all the world
now calls Mattia the Chopin of the violin, I have watched him develop
and grow. When we were all three working together under the direction of
our tutors, Mattia made little progress in Latin and Greek, but quickly
outstripped his professors in music. Espinassous, the barber-musician of
Mendes, had been right.
A footman brings me a telegram:
"Sea very rough! Alas! Have been very ill, but managed to stop on
my way at Paris for Christina. Shall be with you at 4 o'clock. Send
carriage to meet us. MATTIA."
Mentioning Christina, I glanced at Arthur, but he turned away his eyes.
I knew that Arthur loved Mattia's little sister, and I knew that in
time, although not just yet, my mother would become reconciled to the
match. Birth was not everything. She had not opposed my marriage, and
later, when she saw that it was for Arthur's happiness, she would not
oppose his.
Lise comes down the gallery, my beautiful wife. She passes her arm round
my mother's neck.
"Mother dear," she said, "there is some secret afoot and I believe that
you are in the plot. I know if it is a surprise and you are in it, it is
something for our happiness, but I am none the less curious."
"Come, Lise, you shall have the surprise now," I said, as I heard the
sound of carriage wheels on the gravel outside.
One by one our guests arrive and Lise and I stand in the hall to welcome
them. There is Mr. Acquin, Aunt Catherine and Etiennette, and a bronze
young man who has just returned from a botanical expedition and is now
the famous botanist--Benjamin Acquin. Then comes a young man and an old
man. This journey is doubly interesting to them for when they leave us
they are going to Wales to visit the mines. The young one is to make
observations which he will carry back to his own country to strengthen
the high position which he now holds in the Truyère mine, and the other
to add to the fine collection of minerals which the town of Varses
has honored him by accepting. It is the old professor and Alexix.
Lise and I greet our guests, the landau dashes up from the opposite
direction with Arthur, Christina and Mattia. Following in its wake is a
dog cart driven by a smart looking man, beside whom is seated a rugged
sailor. The gentleman holding the reins is Bob, now very prosperous, and
the man by his side is his brother, who helped me to escape from
England.
[Illustration: "LET US NOW PLAY FOR THOSE WE LOVE."]
When the baptismal feast is over, Mattia draws me aside to the window.
"We have often playful to indifferent people," he said; "let us now, on
this memorable occasion, play for those we love?"
"To you there is no pleasure without music, eh, Mattia, old boy," I
said, laughing; "do you remember how you scared our cow?"
Mattia grinned.
From a beautiful box, lined with velvet, he drew out an old violin which
would not have brought two francs if he had wished to sell it. I took
from its coverings a harp, the wood of which had been washed so often by
the rain, that it was now restored to its original color.
"Will you sing your Neapolitan song?" asked Mattia.
"Yes, for it was that which gave Lise back her speech," I said, smiling
at my wife who stood beside me.
Our guests drew round us in a circle. A dog suddenly came forward. Good
old Capi, he is very old and deaf but he still has good eyesight. From
the cushion which he occupies he has recognized the harp and up he
comes, limping, for "the Performance." In his jaws he holds a saucer; he
wants to make the rounds of the "distinguished audience." He tries to
walk on his two hind paws, but strength fails him, so he sits down
gravely and with his paw on his heart he bows to the society.
Our song ended, Capi gets up as best he can and "makes the round." Each
one drops something into the saucer and Capi delightedly brings it to
me. It is the best collection he has ever made. There are only gold and
silver coins--170 francs.
I kiss him on his cold nose as in other days, and the thought of the
miseries of my childhood gives me an idea. I tell my guests that this
sum shall be the first subscription to found a Home for little street
musicians. My mother and I will donate the rest.
"Dear Madam," said Mattia, bending over my mother's hand, "let me have a
little share in this good work. The proceeds of my first concert in
London will be added to Capi's collection."
And Capi barked approval.
THE END