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The Omaha Sunday
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Lucien Muratore, Whose "Inconsiderate" Conduct Toward Cavalier!
Sroke Her Heart and Sent Her to the Trenches.
L
IN A CAVALIEM. the most famous
of living beauties, has gone to the
Italian frontier to become a nurse
for her wounded countrymen and their
foes.
A patriotic act, you say? A tender,
womanly deed? It Is both; yea. Dut not
alone these. What sent the incomparable
Cavallerl to the front Is to her more than
love of country, more than pitying
womanliness. She has gone to the
trenches to try to heal, and meud, her
broken heart.
Life has disappointed La Belle Cava
lierl. Marriage has disappointed her.
Robert Wlnthrop Chanler, to whom sne
was briefly wedded, disappointed her.
Lucien Muratore, or marriage, or love,
or both of the last combined in the tenor
spouse, have proved her latest and great
est disappointment.
That which France denied her own
country has granted. For half a year the
beautiful one lias been on her knees to
the allies to permit her to serve the
cause as a nurse. That was all she sal J:
"I would serve your cause as a nurse."
But France for two reasons declined her
offer. France, as other countries In
volved in the great carnival of human
slaughter, Is discovering that pretty,
pampered women who attached thera
selvea to the hospitals in field or camp,
are more earnest than they are helpful.
Trained nurses, of grimmer quality, com
plain that the soft-handed women of un
disciplined lives are a hindrance to ef
ficiency. They faint when a man Is car
ried in minus an eye or a feature. They
sicken at sight of blood. They are flung
into hysterics by the sound of groans.
That Is what the nurses assert. A lit
tle discount may be made for nerves at
the tension which those of the traim d
nurses reach. But it plainly represents
the attitude of the hospital graduates and
experience-seasoned nurses. They are a
hit Impatient with the lily-handed women
who offer their aid.
But there was another reason why
France declined tie si rvices at the skk
bed of the lovely Oaulierl. France love.s
its Muratore. Lu. l.-n Muratore. tho hu -band
of La Cavaleil, in one of the fore
most tenors of Frun.-e. Repeatedly 1ih
it ben sa'd that I'avalieri had fhown
petulance toward him in public, l'aris
knows that it is the lovely oiie'a caprice
to behave Imperiously toward her lord.
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In Paris they revel, in the few relaxed
moods that permit revelling, in a word
borrowed from their English allies to
describe the relations of meek men and
imperious wives. The word is 'henpecked.'
Paris applies it to Muratore and his
celebrated wife. France does not want
its tenor made unhappy. Tenors are rare
plants tn the garden of music. They
must be cherished. Marital unhapplness
affects the voice. Should Cavallerl de
sert her Muratore, who knows? Ilia
voice might desert him, too, or it might
be his miserable fancy to sing no more.
Ills vocal chords might go into mourn
ing. Politely, therefore, but firmly, France
declined ber services.
La Belle Cavallerl bethought her then
of her own country. Italy, at, which she'
bad been for some mysterious reason
piqued; Italy, which she said she would
never again revisit; Italy might accept
the remainder of the life of her sorrow
ing daughter.
To an officer at Rome she wrote. Once
he had melted as wax in her bands. lie
would remember? He would understand?
Perhaps. Silence for a time, then a let
ter from the officer, brief, but hopeful.
"I shall do my best! Walt." More
silence. Long, eager waiting by the prima
donna, who sang no longer because her
heart was heavy. And then the summons.
Llna Cavallerl Muratore packed away
all her priceless gowns, like cobwebs of
silver and gold; all her frost-like laces;
ell her jewels that were like tiny moons
and stars. She closer her chateau, to
which she had been wont to fly when
she thought she required solitude. With
one trunk, instead of the thirty with which
she crossed the Atlantic, and dressed
severely in black, she took train from
Paris for Rome. She had had her im
perious way. She had gone to the
trenches.
It mattered little to her, she told the
two or three frfends who accompanied
her to the station, whether or not she re
turned. "I want to forget." she said; "and I am
willing to be forgotten."
It cannot be said of Lucien Muratore
that he has been unfaithful. It pleased
Cavallerl to be enraged when Fate, the
huniMer. placed Muratore and his for
mer wito on the same stage at a concert
in America, after he had taken Llna Cav
alier! for lila second spouse! Of a cer
tainty this was Fate's fault, not Mura-
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Mme. Cavalieri, the
World's Greatest
Living Beauty, as
She Wat When She
Became Mme.
Muratore.
Copyright. 1015. by the Star Company.
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Bee Magazine Page
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Great Britain Rights Reserved-
Tbe Beautiful, Classic, but Saddened Face of Cavalieri, from
a Recent Photograph.
The True Story of How
the World's Greatest Living
Beauty Is Seeking Forget-
fulness from the Cruel
Memories of Her Latest
Uncongenial Husband
lore's. Rut it put his second and more
beautiful wife In a rage. Rage, tears,
then sullenness, the cycle of Irritable
wifehood. Muratore thought of the mar
tyrs and sighed. Then again began the
cycle. It was when rage had subsided
and tears had dried, In the sullenness
that Is like the ebb of the tido, that Sig
ner and Slgnora Muratore sailed from
America for France, and in her adieus
the bride railed at marriage yes, and
at love.
"Happiness! In marriage! You who
expect that are chasing the mirage."
Her face was turned absolutely toward
the sea. Her husband gazed pensively
upon her beautiful profile with an ag
grieved, husbandly, how-can-I-pleasn-her
expression. "I have never known peace,"
exclaimed Cavallerl. And they sailed
away. But not, It appears, to peace.
From their home, the house which Cava
lieri owned before be wed her, ennui ru
mors of Mckerings with Lucien Murutore.
"Hut when was marriage like a mill
pond! That would be abominable, be
cause uninteresting," sold Paris.
Paris remembered what Cuvalieri had
long held about marriage, for she did not
early begin her marrying.
"I shall never marry," she had said,
"for the very best of reaaons. What sort
of man would marry a slur of the stage?
Either he would be a commanding per
sonage who would bid her leave her tri
umphs forever or he would he a poor
creature suitable only to carry her shuwi
and travelling bag. I should hate the
one and despise the other. N'o, for Cava
llerl there would lie no happiness in mar
riage." Yet Cavallerl did marry. First, she
took for a husband the eccentric painter
Robert Winihrop Chanler, Sheriff of
Dutchess County and reputed possessor
of many millions. It was not long before
the American prima donna discovered
that her husband was unconpenlal.
"He has so loud a voice. He looks and
behaves like a big, shaggy bear. And he
finds fault with me, Cavalieri. He com
plains when old friends call upon me,"
she said in furious amazement.
The American had, Indeed said liarnh
things when he called at a hospital and
found a Russian prince at his bride's bed
side. The prince had retreated, albeit,
with smiles and bows. Her husband had
remained to "make a scene" that caused
her head to ache. And she had bade him
begone.
And there was Alexandre, her son, six
teen and tall and handsome, a larger re
plica of herself. The American disliked
him, resented him, would have none of
him, which was. thn diva thought, un
reasonable treatment of one accUKtnuu d
in all things to having her own way.
And there was the money. Ah, the
money! The amerhan had promNen
her everything, and bad not her dear
American friend, Mrs. Benjamin Cuin
ness, told her he was of tho American
aristocracy and bad dollars that could
not be counted, so many there were?
And Mrs. Guinness, who lived in the
beautiful house on Washington Square
where artists and society met, assuredly
Mrs. Guinness knew.
A brief honeymoon In Paris and Chan
ler sailed for New York. Cavalieri in
vestigated. She learned that most of the
property he had made over to her was in
trust. Her husband was thoughtless in
matters of money. Which to Llna Cava
lieri was a strong point in uncongen
iality. She found him so uncongenial that he
never returned to Paris and the inter
vention of her brother, Oreste, and of
numberous lawyers was needed to "ad
Just differences." At last it was an
nounced that "differences had been ad
justed," but only in a monetary way.
Cupid, alarmed by the intensity of the
uncongeniality, spread his wings for
flight.
Ha Id Cavallerl: "A woman must marry
one of her own class and tastes."
"Ab!" said Paris, brightening. "She
means Muratore."
And so, it seems, sho did, but Mura
tore, whose voice had been compared
with Mario's, "that could soothe a soul
In purgatory," was still married.
In time that due, or overdue, disability
was removed. Muratore, through the aid
of the courts, was unmarried. And
speedily Llna Cavallerl became Slgnora
Muratore.
A year or two and now the trenches.
Why? The answer may be found in
some oft repeated reflections by Slgnora
Muratore.
"I have had everything life has to give.
By every rule and standard of the world
1 should have been happy. But listen to
the truth as I shall speak it to you. The
only happiness I have known has been
In anticipation anticipation of the
things that 1 expected would bring hap
piness and did not.
"My beauty? Sometimes I have hated
It, hut I have always taken care of it.
"Love, of course, there has been. It
has been chiefly an interruption in my
artlKtio career. It is a terrible word a
terrible thing.
"Love ia a consuming fire. It aieiet
on everything in one and gives back Utr
tie so little.
"Love is a torment, an exaction, a
beautiful (lower which secretes a poison.
How, for Instance, we learn to hate with
piercing, nerve-tearing hatred, the faults
of those we love!"
What are Muratore's faults? Paris,
that loves him, says he has none. They
say he is the devoted lover of his wife.
But in that may be his fault. For La
Cavalieri has said that she wished a con
siderate comrade rather than an ardent
lover.
At all events, Muratore la uncongenial
her latest uncongenial companion and
she has fled him for the trenches per
haps to death in the trenches. For the
bullets ot the enemy are inconsiderate,
striking down the nurse instead of tha
soldier. Fate may again show herself
the bungler,
