Los Angeles herald., 1905-05-28

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ventures that had begun we'll, caprices
that had no satisfactory endings. He
had fallen in love with the girl who
played Chopin on the piano, the girl
who played Mendelssohn on the violin,
the girl who played Goltermann on the
violoncelo. Then followed girls who
painted, modelled, poetized, botanized
and hammered metal. Once-an excep-
tion--he had succumbed to the charms
of an actress who essayed characters
in the dumps, Ibsen soubrettes, Strind-
berg servants and Maxim Gorky
tramps. Yet he had, somehow or other,
emerged heart whole from adventures
among those masterpieces of the
cosmos-women.
Certainly this might not be another
romance added to the long list of his
sentimental fractures. He ate his
dinner, the one satisfactory meal of the
day allowed him by cruel doctor, with
the utmost delberation. He had walked
three hours during the morning, and
now, under the spacious balconies of
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and spinach would be none the worse
for a small bottle of very dry, light
Voslauer. Besides his physician had
not actually forbidden him little liquid
at the midday meal.
Just before bedtime he was entitled
so his dietetic schedule told him--to one
glass of Plsner beer Not so bad, this
banting at Marienbad, after all, he re-
1ected. Anyhow it was better than the
existence of those fellows at seashore
and mountain who gorged and guzzled
their summer away. Then he tried to
remember among his London club
friends any who were as heavy as he,
but he could not. Idly smoking, he re-
garded the piazzas, with their tables
and groups of obese humanity, eating,
drinking and buzzing-little fat flies, he
thought, as he drew his waistcoat in,
feeling quite naughty and slender.
He read on a placard that the "Pra-
ger Bavarian seXtet' would give a
this very afternoon, "Ah hal" said
Krayne aloud, that's the girl 1 saw!"
Then he wasted several hours more
lettering about the beautiful park on
the Kaiserstrasse and looking in the
shop windows at views of Marienbad
on postal cards, at yellow covered
French, German and Russian novels, at
pictures of kings queens and actresses.
He also visited the houses wherein
Goethe, Chopin and Wagner had dwelt.
1t was o'clock when he entered the
garden of the Bellevue establishment
and secured table. The waiter at his
request removed the other chairs, so
he had a nook to himself. Not very
visitors at Marienbad do not care to
pay for their diversions. In a few
minutes, after a march had been
banged from a wretched piano-were
pianos ever tuned on the continent, he
wondered ?-the sextet appeared, look
ing as it did in the morning, and sang
an Austrian melody a capella. 1t was
not very interesting.
The women stood in front and yelled
with a hearty will; the men roared in
the background. ISrayne saw his
young lady, holding her apron by the
sides, her head thrown back, her
mouth well opened; but he could not
distinguish her individual voice. How
pretty she was! He slipped his coffee
Then came either solo-that abomin-
oil, IA irs NJ Of x1lr txira xutt
it's culver of a love~Sick clock about
to run down; this parody of an Aeoian
harp had always annoyed Krayne and
he was glad when the man finished. A
stout soprano in a velvet bodice, her
arms bare and brawny, the arms of a
lass accustomed to ploughing and dig
ging potatoes, sang something about
the turtle doves. She was odious.
Odious, too, was her companion, in
duo through which they screamed and
rumbled "Verlassen bin ich." At last
she came out and he saw by the pro-
gram that her name was Roselein
Gich. What an odd name, what an at
tractive girl! He finished his coffee and
frantically signaled his waitress. 1t
was against the Doctors orders to take
more than one cup, and then the SUI
gar Hang the doctor, he cried, and
drank a second cup.
She sang. Her voice was an unus-
ually heavy, rich contralto. That she
was not an accomplished artistic he
knew. He did not haunt opera houses
for naught, and, like all fat men who
wear red ties in the afternoon, he was
a trihe dogmatic in his criticism. The
young woman had the making of an
opera singer. What a Fricka, Brang-
acne, Ortrud, Sieglinde, Erda this clev-
er girl might become! She was musi-
cal, she was dramatic in temperament
he let his Imagination run away with
him. She only san an Oberbayerlsche
yodel, and, while her voice was not
very high, she contrived a falsetto
that made her English listener shiver.
This yodel seemed to him as thrilling
as the "Ho yo to ho!" of Brunnhilde
as she rushes over the rocky road to
Valhall La la liriti, La la lirita! Hal