Year: 1873




l was only clown, painted, grin


ming clown, attached, on a small sala


ry, to theatre in the capital of on


of the little duchies into which Ger


many was divided before the geniu


and ambition OF Bismarck had effect


ed its consolidation into the empire


My role was popular because every


body likes one who puts them in


laughing mood. My makeup wa


considered marvel of perfection


My songs always took, and my ges


lures and grimaces never failed tt


elicit the most rapturous applause


1t used to be said that my face must


be made Of India rubber, it could be


twisted and distorted into suct
strange expressions. But l hated the


life, and my success made it more and
more distastetul.


One night / went home completely
worn out in body and mind. My lit.
tie sister Ada, fifteen years old, and
light and graceful as sylph, who was
engaged as a danseuse at the same
theatre, also seemed dispirited 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 de-
pressing influence on my spirits that
evening. For many weeks 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
had everseen; tall, well-formed, grace
full; with step like a fairy queen; large,
thoughtful eyes; and a sweet, win
ming 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 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 everybody else. All the gentry
of the place fell in love with her, and
raved about her beauty and her
dancing, in way that nearly drove
me wild with jealousy, I was in love
in the old-fashioned way we read of
in novels-I am not ashamed to con-
fess it-eager to kiss the ground on
which she trod, and would not be-
lieve that any one else could love and
worship her with the same devotion.
l must not omit to say that Dora, in
the midst of all this adulation, dis
played the the most discreet and mod
est behavior. She was always attend
ed, to and from the theatre, by her
mother; and always returned the rich
presents which were showered upon
her.


Among all who paid court to Dora,
I 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 | 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
friendly feeling for the brother of the
girl she had learned to love like q
sister, and that she had promised to
become the wife of Count Won Wal
tiers. What wonder that went TO
my lodgings with despair in my heartl


My little sister exerted herself to
make things cheerful in our sitting
room. She suspected nothing of the
real cause OF my downheartedness,
for she, my confdant 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
of unimportant matters. She
was interrupted by a knock at the
door, followed by the entrance of our
landlady. The good soul apologized
for coming in at SO late an hour, but
the postman bad brought letter for
me Just after we had left for the thea
tire, and as it bore foreign postmark,
she thought it might be important !
should get it that evening. l thanked
her mechanically, but glance at the
caused me to tear the letter
open with eager and trembling fin
gers; for l had often heard my father
speak of an only brotherwho had set
tied in England in early youth, and
from whom vague reports came, from
time to time, Of a successful mercan-
tile career. The letter was post
marked London, and the heavy black
border lines told the story before the
seal was broken. My uncle was dead.
He had never married, and on bis
death bed, remembering his only
brother, he had left all his wealth to
him or his children. For a moment l