plentifully, and he was
able to live generously. In a short time his voice was transformed into
a marvelous alto, and he soon found himself in great demand and was
surfeited with attention from the rich and powerful. It was about this
time that King Edward, then Prince of Wales, heard him sing in a
Neapolitan church and was so delighted that he invited the boy to go to
England, an invitation which young Caruso did not accept. Now that he
had "arrived" Naples was good enough for him.

One day something happened which plunged him into the deepest despair.
Without a warning of any sort his beautiful alto voice disappeared,
leaving in its place only the feeblest and most unmusical of croaks. He
was so overcome at his loss that he shut himself up in his room and
would see no one. It was the first great affliction he had ever known,
and he admits that he meditated suicide. He had made many friends, and
some of them would have been glad to comfort him, but his grief would
admit of no partnership.

One evening when he was skulking along an obscure highway, at the very
bottom of the well of his despair, a firm hand was laid on his shoulder
and a cheery voice called out: "Whither so fast? Come home with me, poor
little shaver!"

It was Messiani, the famous baritone, who had always felt an interest in
the boy and who would not release him in spite of his vigorous efforts
to escape. The big baritone took him to his lodging and when he had
succeeded in cheering the unhappy lad into a momentary forgetfulness of
his misery asked him to sing.

"But I can't," sobbed Caruso. "It has gone!"

Messiani went to the piano and struck a chord. The weeping boy piped up
in a tone so thin and feeble that it was almost indistinguishable.

"Louder!" yelled the big singer, with another full chord. Caruso obeyed
and kept on through the scale. Then Messiani jumped up from the piano
stool, seized the astonished boy about the waist and raised him high off
his feet, at the same time yelling at the top of his voice: "What a
little jackass! What a little idiot!"

Almost bursting with rage, for the miserable boy thought his friend was
making sport of him, Caruso searched the apartment for some weapon with
which he might avenge himself. Seizing a heavy brass candlestick, he
hurled it at Messiani with all his force, but it missed the baritone and
landed in a mirror.

"Hold, madman!" interposed the startled singer. "Your voice is not gone.
It is magn