Year: 1873

duehies into which Germany was divided
before the genius and ambition of Bis
marck had effected its consolidation into
the empire. My role was popular be-
cause everybody likes to laugh and likes
one who puts them in a laughing mood
My makeup was considered marvel OF
perfection. My songs always took, my
gestures and grimaces never failed tc
elicit the most rapturous applause. II
used to be said that my face must be
made of India-rubber, it could be twisted
and distorted into such strange express
sions. But hated the life, and my sue
sess made it more and more distastetul.


One night l went home completely
worn out in body and mind. My little
sister Ada, fifteen years old, and light
and graceful as a sylph, who was en-
gagged as a danseusc at the same theater,
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 that eXerted
a depressing influence on my spirits that
evening. For many weeks | had been
losing my heart to Fraulein Dora, the
principal danseuse of the thcater, who
was no less lovely in mind and heart
than in her person. She was the most
beautiful woman | had ever seen tall,
well-iormed, graceful ; with step like a
fairy queen large, thoughtful eyes anG
a sweet, winning smile. What first drew
me to her was her kindness to my sister,
whom she took every opportunity to be-
friend and assist in her profession. This
was the more surprising, because Ada,
promised to become dangerous rival ;
and in the theatrical profession, jeal-
ousy is the rule, and generosity the eX-
ception. SO | learned to like Dora, and
then to love her. But 50 did everybody
else. All the gentry of the place fell
in love with her, and raved about her
beauty and her dancing, in away that
nearly drove me wild with jealousy. |
was in love in the ld-iushioncd way we
read of in novcls-I am not ashamed
to confess it eager to kiss the ground on
that any one else could love and wor-
ship her with the same devotion. | must
not omit to say that Dora, in the midst
of all this adulation, displayed the most
discreet and modest behavior. She was
always attended, to and from the theatcr,
by her mother and always returned the
rich presents which were showered upon
her.


Among all who paid court to Dora, l
feared only one, the young, rich, band
some, 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 dag /
had learned the worst--that her kindness to
me sprang only from gentle and friend
ly feeling for the brother Of the girl she
had learned to love like sister, and that
she had promised TO become the wife OF
Count Won Walters. What wonder that
| went to my lodgings with despair in
my heart |!


My little sister exerted herself to make
things cheerful in our quiet sitting-room

She suspected nothing Of the real cause
of my downheartedness, for she, my con
fdant in everything else, had never been
intrustcd with the secret Of my love fol
Dora and, in the hope of drawing me
out Of my moody silence, prattled on
about number Of unimportant matters
She was interrupted by knock at the
door, followed by the entrance Of oul
andlady. The good soul apologized fol
coming in at so late an hour, but the
postman had brought letter for me just
after we had left for the theater, and as
it bore foreign postmark, she thought
it might be important | should get it that
evening. | thanked her mechanically,
II
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 mer-
camille career. The letter was postmark-
ed 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 his death bed, re-
membcring his only brother, he had left
all his wealth to him or his children.
For moment | 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. | took her on my
knee, and told her we were rich, and
would have no more need to act in the
theater. We would leave this miserable
little town and go to Berlin.


To my surprise, Ada again put heI
arms about my neck, and whispered soft
ly, "Need we leave the theater immedi'
ately, dear brother?"


"No, child" said l, wondering what
she could mean " but tell me why you
should want to stay another day, when
YOU can leave at once and be free from
this slavery2"


Because, dear brother" she answer


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