Cord and Creese Part 75

"How much did he buy?"

"Mexican loan, fifty thousand; Guatemala, fifty thousand; and Venezuela bonds, fifty thousand."

"He is quite lavish."

"Oh, quite. That makes it so pleasant to do business with him."

"Did you advance the money for this?"

"He did not ask it. He raised the money somehow, perhaps from our old advances, and bought them from the broker. The broker was of course myself. The beauty of all this is, that I send applicants for money, who give their notes; he gets money from me and gives his notes to me, and then advances the money to these applicants, who bring it back to me.

It's odd, isn't it?"

Louis smiled.

"Has he no _bona fide_ debtors in his own county?"

"Oh yes, plenty of them; but more than half of his advances have been made to my men.

"Did you hint any thing about issuing notes?"

"Oh yes, and the bait took wonderfully. He made his bank a bank of issue at once, and sent out a hundred and fifty thousand pounds in notes. I think it was in this way that he got the money for all that American stock. At any rate, it helped him. As he has only a small supply of gold in his vaults, you may very readily conjecture his peculiar position."

Louis was silent for a time.

"You have managed admirably, Frank," said he at last.

"Oh," rejoined Frank, "Potts is very small game, financially. There is no skill needed in playing with him. He is such a clumsy bungler that he does whatever one wishes. There is not even excitement. Whatever I tell him to do he does. Now if I were anxious to crush the Rothschilds, it would be very different. There would then be a chance for skill."

"You have had the chance."

"I did not wish to ruin them," said Frank. "Too many innocent people would have suffered. I only wished to alarm them. I rather think, from what I hear, that they were a little disturbed on that day when they had to pay four millions. Yet I could have crushed them if I had chosen, and I managed things so as to let them see this."

"How?"

"I controlled other engagements of theirs, and on the same day I magnanimously wrote them a letter, saying that I would not press for payment, as their notes were as good to me as money. Had I pressed they would have gone down. Nothing could have saved them. But I did not wish that. The fact is they have locked up their means very much, and have been rather careless of late. They have learned a lesson now."

Louis relapsed into his reflections, and Frank began to answer his letters.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

THE "PROMETHEUS."

It took some time for Langhetti to make his preparations in London.

September came before he had completed them. To his surprise these arrangements were much easier than he had supposed. People came to him of their own accord before he thought it possible that they could have heard of his project. What most surprised him was a call from the manager of Covent Garden Theatre, who offered to put it into his hands for a price so low as to surprise Langhetti more than any thing else that had occurred. Of course he accepted the offer gratefully and eagerly. The manager said that the building was on his hands, and he did not wish to use it for the present, for which reason he would be glad to turn it over to him. He remarked also that there was very much stock in the theatre that could be made use of, for which he would charge nothing whatever. Langhetti went to see it, and found a large number of magnificently painted scenes, which could be used in his piece. On asking the manager how scenes of this sort came to be there, he learned that some one had been representing the "Midsummer Night's Dream," or something of that sort.

Langhetti's means were very limited, and as he had risked every thing on this experiment he was rejoiced to find events so very greatly in his favor.

Another circ.u.mstance which was equally in his favor, if not more so, was the kind consideration of the London papers. They announced his forthcoming work over and over again. Some of their writers came to see him so as to get the particulars, and what little he told them they described in the most attractive and effective manner.

A large number of people presented themselves to form his company, and he also received applications by letter from many whose eminence and fortunes placed them above the need of any such thing. It was simply incomprehensible to Langhetti, who thoroughly understood the ways of the musical world; yet since they offered he was only too happy to accept.

On having interviews with these persons he was amazed to find that they were one and all totally indifferent about terms; they all a.s.sured him that they were ready to take any part whatever, and merely wished to a.s.sist in the representation of a piece so new and so original as his was said to be. They all named a price which was excessively low, and a.s.sured him that they did so only for form's sake; positively refusing to accept any thing more, and leaving it to Langhetti either to take them on their own terms or to reject them. He, of course, could not reject aid so powerful and so unexpected.

At length, he had his rehearsal. After various trials he invited representatives of the London Press to be present at the last. They all came, and all without exception wrote the most glowing accounts for their respective journals.

"I don't know how it is," said he to Beatrice. "Every thing has come into my hands. I don't understand it. It seems to me exactly as if there was some powerful, unseen hand a.s.sisting me; some one who secretly put every thing in my way, who paid these artists first and then sent them to me, and influenced all the journals in my favor. I should be sure of this if it were not a more incredible thing than the actual result itself. As it is I am simply perplexed and bewildered. It is a thing that is without parallel. I have a company such as no one has ever before gathered together on one stage. I have eminent prima donnas who are quite willing to sing second and third parts without caring what I pay them, or whether I pay them or not. I know the musical world. All I can say is that the thing is unexampled, and I can not comprehend it.

I have tried to find out from some of them what it all means, but they give me no satisfaction. At any rate, my Bicina, you will make your _debut_ under the most favorable circ.u.mstances. You saw how they admired your voice at the rehearsal. The world shall admire it still more at your first performance."

Langhetti was puzzled, and, as he said, bewildered, but he did not slacken a single effort to make his opera successful. His exertions were as unremitting as though he were still struggling against difficulties.

After all that had been done for him he knew very well that he was sure of a good house, yet he worked as hard as though his audience was very uncertain.

At length the appointed evening came. Langhetti had certainly expected a good house from those happy accidents which had given him the co-operation of the entire musical world and of the press. Yet when he looked out and saw the house that waited for the rising of the curtain he was overwhelmed.

When he thus looked out it was long before the time. A great murmur had attracted his attention. He saw the house crammed in every part. All the boxes were filled. In the pit was a vast congregation of gentlemen and ladies, the very galleries were thronged.

The wonder that had all along filled him was now greater than ever.

He well knew under what circ.u.mstances even an ordinarily good house is collected together. There must either be undoubted fame in the prima donna, or else the most wide-spread and comprehensive efforts on the part of a skillful impresario. His efforts had been great, but not such as to insure any thing like this. To account for the prodigious crowd which filled every part of the large edifice was simply impossible.

He did not attempt to account for it. He accepted the situation, and prepared for the performance.

What sort of an idea that audience may have had of the "Prometheus" of Langhetti need hardly be conjectured. They had heard of it as a novelty.

They had heard that the company was the best ever collected at one time, and that the prima donna was a prodigy of genius. That was enough for them. They waited in a state of expectation which was so high-pitched that it would have proved disastrous in the extreme to any piece, or any singer who should have proved to be in the slightest degree inferior.

Consummate excellence alone in every part could now save the piece from ruin. This Langhetti felt; but he was calm, for he had confidence in his work and in his company. Most of all, he had confidence in Beatrice.

At last the curtain rose.

The scene was such a one as had never before been represented. A blaze of dazzling light filled the stage, and before it stood seven forms, representing the seven archangels. They began one of the sublimest strains ever heard. Each of these singers had in some way won eminence.

They had thrown themselves into this work. The music which had been given to them had produced an exalted effect upon their own hearts, and now they rendered forth that grand "Chorus of Angels" which those who heard the "Prometheus" have never forgotten. The words resembled, in some measure, the opening song in Goethe's "Faust," but the music was Langhetti's.

The effect of this magnificent opening was wonderful. The audience sat spell-bound--hushed into stillness by those transcendent harmonies which seemed like the very song of the angels themselves; like that "new song"

which is spoken of in Revelation. The grandeur of Handel's stupendous chords was renewed, and every one present felt its power.

Then came the second scene. Prometheus lay suffering. The ocean nymphs were around him, sympathizing with his woes. The sufferer lay chained to a bleak rock in the summit of frosty Caucasus. Far and wide extended an expanse of ice. In the distance arose a vast world of snow-coveted peaks. In front was a _mer de glace_, which extended all along the stage.

Prometheus addressed all nature--"the divine ether, the swift-winged winds, Earth the All-mother, and the infinite laughter of the ocean waves." The thoughts were those of Aeschylus, expressed by the music of Langhetti.

The ocean nymphs bewailed him in a song of mournful sweetness, whose indescribable pathos touched every heart. It was the intensity of sympathy--sympathy so profound that it became anguish, for the heart that felt it had identified itself with the heart of the sufferer.

Then followed an extraordinary strain. It was the Voice of Universal Nature, animate and inanimate, mourning over the agony of the G.o.d of Love. In that strain was heard the voice of man, the sighing of the winds, the moaning of the sea, the murmur of the trees, the wail of bird and beast, all blending in extraordinary unison, and all speaking of woe.

And now a third scene opened. It was Athene. Athene represented Wisdom or Human Understanding, by which the G.o.d of Vengeance is dethroned, and gives place to the eternal rule of the G.o.d of Love. To but few of those present could this idea of Langhetti's be intelligible. The most of them merely regarded the fable and its music, without looking for any meaning beneath the surface.

To these, and to all, the appearance of Beatrice was like a new revelation. She came forward and stood in the costume which the Greek has given to Athene, but in her hand she held the olive--her emblem--instead of the spear. From beneath her helmet her dark locks flowed down and were wreathed in thick waves that cl.u.s.tered heavily about her head.

Here, as Athene, the pure cla.s.sical contour of Beatrice's features appeared in marvelous beauty--faultless in their perfect Grecian mould.

Her large, dark eyes looked with a certain solemn meaning out upon the vast audience. Her whole face was refined and sublimed by the thought that was within her. In her artistic nature she had appropriated this character to herself so thoroughly, that, as she stood there, she felt herself to be in reality all that she represented. The spectators caught the same feeling from her. Yet so marvelous was her beauty, so astonishing was the perfection of her form and feature, so accurate was the living representation of the ideal G.o.ddess that the whole vast audience after one glance burst forth into pealing thunders of spontaneous and irresistible applause.