The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1873-08-29
ON THE TRAP.

|
ming clown, attached, on small sala
ry, to theatre in the capital of one o.
the little duchies into which Germany
was divided before the genius and am
bltion of Bismarck had effected its
consolidation into the empire. My
role was popular because everybody
likes to laugh, and likes one who puts
them in laughing mood. Ny make
up was considered a marvel of perfec-
ton. My songs always took, and my
gestures and grimaces never failed to
elicit the most rapturous applause. 1t
used to be said that my face must be
made of Ihdia-rubber, it could be twist
ed and distorted into such strange ex-
pressions. But | hated the life, and
my success made it more and more
distasteful.
One night l went home completely
worn out in body and mind NV lit
tie sister Ada, fifteen years old, and
light and graceful as stlph, who was
engaged as a dansedse at the same the
atre, also seemed dispil tied and worn
The play had been running forty nights
and the whole company was heartily
sick of it. But it was not this alone
which eXerted a depressing influence
on my spirits that evening. For many
weeks L had been losing my heart to
Fraulein Dora, the principal danseuse
of the theatre, who was no less lovely
in mind and heart than in her person.
She was the most beautiful woman l
had ever seen; tall, well-formed, grace
full with a step like a fairy queen !;
large, thoughtful eyes and sweet,
winning smile. What first drew me to
her was her kindness to my sister,
whom she took every opportunity to
befriend and assist in her profession.
This was the more surprising, because
Ada promised to become a dangerous
rival and, in the theatrical profession,
jealousy is the rule and generosity the
exception. So | learned to like Dora,
and then to love her. But so did eve
rybody else. All the gentry of the
place fell in love with her, and raved
about her beauty and her dancing, in
a way that nearly drove me wild with
jealousy. l was in love in the old
fashioned way We read of in novels
l am not ashamed to confess it-eager
to kiss the ground on which she trod,
and would not believe that any one
else could love and worship her with
the same devotion. | must not omit
to say that Dora, in the midst of all
this adulation, displayed the most dis
Greet and modest behavior. She was
always attended, to and from the the
atre, by her mother; and always re-
turned the rich presents which were
showered upon her.
Among all who paid court to Dora,
L feared only one, the young, rich,
handsome and accomplished Count
Ernest Won Walters, who pressed his
suit with unremitting ardor. What
chance had the poor clown against this
man? Yet l fancied if he were only
out of the way | need not despair of
winning her Did she not love my
sister, and had she not often spoken
kindly to me, and praised my acting and
singing? But this day l had learned
the worst-that her kindness to me
sprang only from a gentle and friend
ly feeling for the brother of the girl
she had learned to love like a sister.
the wife of Count Won Walters. What
wonder that l went to my lodgings
with despair in my heart
My little sister exerted herself to
make things cheerful in our quiet sit
ting-room. She suspected nothing of
the real cause of my downheartedness,
for she, my confidant in everything
else. had never been intrusted with the
secret of my love for Dora and, in
the hope of drawing me out of my
moody silence, prattled on about a
number of unimportant matters. She
was interrupted by a knock at the door,
followed by the entrance of our land
lady. The good soul apologized for
coming in at so late an hour, but the
postman had brought letter for me
just after we had left for the theatre,
and as it bore foreign postmark, she
thought it might be important should
get it that evening. / thanked her
mechanically, but glance at the post
mark caused me to tear the letter open
with eager and trembling fingers; for
/ had often heard my father speak of
an only brother who had settled in
England in early youth, and from whom
vague reports came, from time to time,
of successful mercantile career. The
letter was postmarked London, and
the heavy black border lines told the
story before the seal was broken. My
uncle was dead. He had never mar
ried. and on his death-bed, remember
ing his only brother, he had left all
his wealth to him or his children. For
a moment 1 felt stunned and faint;
and Ada, throwing her arms about my
neck, begged me to tell her what bad
news was in my letter to make me
look so strange and pale. l took her
on my knee, and told her we were rich,
and would have no more need to act
in the theatre. We. would leave this
miserable little town and go to Berlin.
To my surprise, Ada again put her
arms about my neck, and whispered
L H -