Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1916)

48 Photoplay Magazine cestor of Beatrix must have stealthily crossed the Mediterranean to mingle Tuscan fervor with south France aristocracy. So it was natural that the call of expression should lure her to Milan for study; it was natural that she should speak more perfect Italian than any Sighorijia from Firenze ; it was natural that.// Conte Maximilio Gas parr o — Italian Secretary of Foreign Affairs — should love her; and it seems natural, too, that she — not in love — should accept him. You see, the Bourbon blood in Republican France is like old wine of a vintage that can never come again. From babyhood Beatriz was told that her blood was noble, and that her life should mingle only with a nobleman's. The Count of Gasparro was young, handsome if you are not over-particular, and his people were the most exalted patricians in Rome. Then came her supreme triumph — and Noel Brent. I believe the role* was Tosca ; you see, her earlier style wras changing. The leggiero perfection of her girlish voice was giving place to the lyric-dramatic note of womanhood. The little Beatriz' blood was stirring. There were to be no more pale, perfect Gildas and cadenzaful Lucias — but oh, how many Toscas and Mimis and Louises ! I describe Brent when I say he was An American. They have a way, these Americans, which our people have not. Their assurance is colossal. Perhaps they are bold because they are ignorant. Anyway, I like sometimes their directness and simplicity. Brent was simple, unafraid, humorous ; generally honest, and always smiling. ET us see, quickly, what happened : She ' has made, not a success, but a furor; she has started in her dreams, even, recollecting the furious cries of "Bis! Bis! Bis!" which hailed from every quarter of the royal operahouse ; Her Majesty, the Queen of United Italy, has ordered a jeweled necklace as a gift, and Prince Pietro Buzzi will make the presentation : the prima-donna knows that the Count of Gasparro will ask her to share his title, and. in peace, happiness and splendor she waits the consummating day. Then suddenly her best friend, her pal. the American boy, asks her to be his wife ! Of course she refuses him. I remember, when Brent went away, how she wept ! She reminded me of a beautiful animal, hunted. There is a flash, a report, and the lovely creature, stricken. limps bleeding, hating his hurt, not knowing whence, or why, except that he is not as he was and never will be again. Beatriz de Rohan only thought she knew what love was. She thought it a comfortable, comforting sentiment ; she didn't know that it was all fire and pain. Just so. she thought herself in love with the gloriously renowned Count of Gasparro. and it was days before she realized that her agonv over Brent's mournful departure was love itself. But at any rate, the great reception took place. Buzzi. I must tell you. had a sort of Machiavellian passion for the pretty singer. He was not by nature a marrying man. so I believe you will think all the less of him when I tell you that his desire for the exquisite Rohan was so furious that he was willing to break his tradition of shameful celibacy, walking over an altar and profaning a holy sacrament just to possess her. Of course, you remember that at. this time Prince Raoul de Rohan, brother of Beatriz. was the French Envoy in Rome? Ah ! I was sure that you did. It happens that Prince Raoul decided the issue. brought a moment's happiness, only, into the heart of Count Gasparro, launched Buzzi upon his most diabolic villainies, cost at least two men their lives, and set his sister's stage for as robust a melodrama as ever woman played in. The Great War has destroyed every archive, opened every secret cabinet, turned every scandal in Europe up to the sun. Therefore it is small matter that I recount the adventure of that secret treaty between Russia and Italy. No one will care. Who stops to pick up pins when his house is burning down above him? The reception was in Colonna's historic house. Scorning electric lights. La Contessa de Colonna had her drawing-room lighted only with perfumed tapers, in the manner of a hundred years ago. In this soft illumination Boroffski. the Russian virtuoso, played weird Hungarian melodies upon an American Steinway. while jewelled bosoms and bare bosoms that were more wonderful than jewels flashed here and there among the flowers. The Count of Gasparro had been search