Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, August 30, 1903, Page 30

‘Angust 30, 1903 ®oyal Iighness. ®ome.”’ You are heartily wel- VL On the Sea-Alp, Of course I begged her to precede me. And ghe did it with a natural dignity as if, in- gtead of peasant frock, she were wearing the longest of court trains. She ushered me into a bie room with many windows, red wood<:i walls, dark ceil- fng baulks and white floor—a bright, de- lightful reoom. In the alcove stood her whole library. It consists of only two authors—Goethe is one. 1 had never heard of the other. He is Golitfried Keller. 1 asked Miss Fritz who Gottfried Keller is. She looked at me with big eyes. Therefore, 1 must have saild something exceedingly stupid. Well, in God's name! There are, no doubt, thousands of matters that everybody knows that have never been told to me. I made up my mind to ask the count about Gottfried Keller. At all events, the Count must furnish me with books—books that my professors will not give me be- cause they are not suitable for the son of the king. I am determined (o learn, to understand, to comprehend humanity! Ani I wish to learn, not as a Prince, but as a man! - . . . . - . . Miss Fritz begged me to excuse her for a short time while she made preparations. 1 went out for a stroll. 1 nodidel to the workers as I passed and they nodded back at me with happy simplicity. It wuas a splendid day and I was happy to my soul. Suddenly it struck me that it fine if Miss Fritz would let me eat at the common table with them all instead of gerving separatcly for the Count and me. 1 decided to look for her and ask hor. woull be Surely the Count will permit it. At any rate, it is my wish—I do not request, 1 command. Filled with my desires, | haztenel toward the house. In a little summer house, cov- ered with wild grapes and blooming hops, I heard voices, and I was just going to call out the name of my hostess when my own name was mentioned behind the thick, leafy covert And then I did something for which I feel shame now to the depths of my soul. I crept nearer and listened. 1 became an eavesdropper. Shameful as it was, 1 did it, and—mow I am ashamed. How could I? Had I been an ordinary human being, I would not have listened. Honestly and truly not! An ordinary human being hears the truth now and then from others—the truth about himself. But such a poor son of a King; nobody ever has told me the truth about myself—not even the shadow of the truth. No creature under the sun has been humane enough to do it. T am a stranger to myself. Often, often 1 brood: *“What are you in truth? Are you a good man or are you a bad one?’ I do not know it, and nobody helps me to know. 8o, when I heard my name, the thought leaped through my mind: “Now they are speaking of you! Perhaps about what kind of a man you are! Now you can hear it. Miss Fritz is surely the truth itself. What she says about you will be correct.”” But would she, even she, speak ill of me to the Count, the courtier, iff she happens to think ill of me? And how should she think well of me that had never done anything well? I am suspicious. 1 trust no one. Really, that is terrible. And when I consider how young I am still— ¢ - Ll . - . Ed . Well, then, I became an cavesdropper. Here I write down what I heard. “Your Prince is a good creature.” “Oh, yes.” “You say that so coolly."” “What would you have?’ “How?" You should have said: creature still.” " “I have no fears for him; he will remain good.” “I hope so.” “You seem to doubt.” “I long to believe 1t.” “You are loyal to your Master, are you not?” “That T am.” “And vet you can speak this way?" “Just because I love him (and I do love him), I fear for him.” “What do you fear for our dear Prince?” ‘““His race."” “You mean because the poor lad is the son of Kings?" “Just consider—*"' I did not learn what Miss Fritz was to consider, for the Count suddenly lowered his voice to a whisper. Years of my life would have been given by me at this mo- ment, might T have learmed whet it was that the Count feared for me. But that 1 was good still, “S8till a good creature”—that Miss Fritz, strong, healthy, splendid Miss Fritz believed it of me, that the Count loved me! A storm of sensations overcame me, and they were sensations entirely new and so mighty that I felt it like a roaring in my soul; somebody believes in me, somebody loves me! But—the Count probably said it only be- cause, after all, he could not possibly con- fess to her that he did not love me, was not loyal to me—ah, surely that is It. ‘He is a good THE ILLUSTRATED BEEL. With how strange an Inflection he made the remark about my ‘“race.’”” 1 feel that 1 shall never be able to forget the tone of his voice. 1 imagine for myself with what a glance he accompanied the words. That must have been a remarkable look with which he spoke of my “race.” And this, too, 1 feel plainly. 1 am pitied by her, the good and strong woman. She pities me because the poor lad is the son of Kings. Itisa queer thing to know one- self to be pitied, and that, too, because of something for which we are envied by millions and millions. 1 believe as implicitly in the pity of the woman as I mistrust the love and loyalty of the Count. Ah, had I mot stood still, had 1 not listened! Now the two in the arbor began to speak aloud agnin. But 1 remained even then, listened even then, despite all the shame that I felt. Now they were speaking of my Miss Fritz asked: “Does the Prince know the condition of the King?”’ “No.” “But he is the son?!™ The Count d*d not answer. Probably, in- stead of any reply, he had merely shrugged his shoulders, Miss Fritz surely must have meant the same thing that everybody in the Capital and the whole Fingdom knows; she moant that which was rotten in the State of Denmark, but which 1 was mot to know, How if 1 should ask the ceunt z“out it? Or Miss Fritz? She was just saying: “Loisl told me a while agne that Prince wished to krow his mother. do that?” ‘““The case was not structions.” “What shall 1 do?" “I shall let the Prince ser her.” “She is half crazed.” “Then he shall see a plece of human misery for onece.” Again Miss Frite eaid: ““The poor cn=!" And rhe said it agoin in a t'ne of deeext commiseration, just as if I poassassed (nHugh human misery in myself. What can it be with me and all of ms? father, the May he foreseen in my in- - . . - - - - - Now, T did not listen furtter to what the two said to each other Hke 1ws good friends. But it was not shame that drove me away, but fear; the fear that I might learn what it is with uws 2]1. 1 felt myse'f 1 was too weak to hear it—to hear it now, a craven, And 1 did not walk toward the arbor, but sneaked away like a thief, as far as possible from the house luto the woods, But 1 could not think over what I had peard, for 1 had to prepare to look the two juto the face with my whole svul full of shame. Then 1 heard the noonday bell ring in the huuse, They would look for me So 1 pulled myself together thoroughly, in which art 1 am well experienced despite my youth, and made my way to the farm. As 1 went along 1 picked u bunch of wild lilles for the woman who held to a belief in me. That I would mever forget! The Count stepped toward face as if it were me with a inconceivable that a King's son could be a poor, pituble being He intormed me that Miss Fritz had ordered our meal to be served in the arbor. 1 asked: “l'or hetself, too, 1 hope?” ivo." “Would that “Here in the not be proper?” mountains I interrupted him: “Even if it were not proper, 1 wish to have her invited to eat with us.” “At your command.” 1 had mever before spoken so loud and so brusquely to the Count, and this without any cause That comes from cavesdrop ping. Trhe Count went to look for Miss 1°ri nd I calied after him: aturally not an order, but a wisb, a request.” He bowed lower than to me. Why just at this time? 1 was impatient with him without Is this man a servile creature, too? Miss Fritz came to me, followed by Count. 8he said, in her cheerful, way: “Please, Your Royal be angered, but 1 must men to eat without me.” “Why wili not accede to quest 7 ‘1 alwaye with would not wish to not even for you rou?’ 1 wee not angry. On the contrary, I was happy because no devoted and humble answer had been given to me. [ cried: “Remrin true to your custom. But since I am veur goest today yvou must permit moe te remnin with my hostess. 1 shall, then, eat with you.” M'ss Fritz said: ““That will 1 turned to the count. too?" He answerad solemnly: *“1 think the guest belang: with the hast.” Then e smiled. For that smile T could have embraced him. For. by heaven, it usual, it seemed Because cause? the strong Highness, do allow the not gentle you my re ent my people, and 1 change this practice, You are no! angry, are not do.” “Do you think so, that A Lesson from France iE American is ready enough to make any chsnge im his habits or conduct, nrovided hre origin:tes it himself, says the Saturday Evening Past. But he wsillingly borrows no custom from famigmers. Now there are many customs which he might borrow with profit, Take the matter of a dot for his daugh- ter, for example. The Frenehman, be he peer or laborer, as soon as a girl child is born to him begins to stint and save and scrape to lay aside a certain sum for her dower. When she is of a marriageable age it is there, ready to buy her a home or to enable some honest young fellow to marry her who otherwise could not do it. She goes into the marriage partnership with a certain happy sense of independence. She can help her husband to carry the load of the family. She can have something to lay by for the dot of her daughter, if she have one. If she does not marry, she is not a dead weight for life on her family. She has capital, she has the little income which commands comfort and respect from France to Patagonia. That is the debt which the French father thinks he owes to his dauglter. He pays it. The American father, as a rule, whatever his position, works hard to give his woman child the best of everything which his money will buy. If he lives in a house and in a style which double his income will not pay for, it is usually for her sake. She has dresses, jeweclry, accomplishments, pleasures which keep him on the verge of Proper Care ITH proper care cut glass should keep its purity for a hundred years This cannot be domne, however, if it is careles:ly washed in greasy dish water, or if exposed 1o ex- tremes of heat and cold. Cut glasgs articles require much raore care during the process of washing than those made of plain gluss, because of tihe uncqual thickness of the glass, which makes it expand and shrink irregulariy. Warm water, the best castile or olher pure soap and a stiff brush are the first essenlials. Wash ecarefully in a good sude and brush thoroughly through ali the cut- tings. Rinse the glass off in clear water of the same temperature and set to drain. After five minutes put in a box of bex- wood sawdust, filling all the cuts. This will absgorb the maisture in the cuttings. Let it stand ten or fifteen minutes, then give it another brush through the cuttings with & dry brush or a soft cloth. Wipe inside bunkruptey He lays mnothing by marry bhefore the crash comes, knows ¢l the deception but But if the father dies. the ruined. Look in the mint, in government offices in the department stores, and you will {ind tens of thousands of delicate, refined wom- en brought up in luxury, ignorant of any art or trade, and peunile except for the pittance which they can earn by hard labor, If she nohody her husbaod. girl's life is The English and French woman, too, whatever her rank, is usually taught the ordinary forms of business, There are no shrewder traders than the bourgeoise wom- en of Pais and Marseilles. They are heip- meets to their husbands behind the coun- ter as in the home, One of them orig- inated the methods and organized the forces of the greatest retail shop in the world, and all the successful shops in this country and the continent have borrowed lier methods and her organization. Amerdcan girls are taught sciences and accomplishments galore. But how many of them know where to gign a check or how to settle an estate? = This almost universul oversight in the education of girls is the more amusing as our women boast that they now have taken all kinds of profes- sions und trades out of the hands of men. Very few American men in their secret souls believe that the market-place is the proper field for womeu But if they choose to go into it, or if necessily drives them into it, why not qualify them for it? of Cut Glass and out with a lintless linen cloth, By following these directions the original spurkle and cleanliness of the glass will be maintained. Shot should not be used in carafes, cru- cts, decanters, oil bottles, toilet und sim- flar articles. It is apt to scratch. Plain evervday potato parings are the best cleansing Let them night, and agencies that can be employed. remaiu in the glassware over then rinse out in tepid water. Wkhen there are no stains a spoasge fast- cned to the cnd of a stick will be found useful to wipe the inside of the ware, In washing cut glass put a folded towel in the bottom of the dishpan unless you have one of the cedar tubs, To distinguish between the genuine hand- cut glasg and that where the pattern is bitten out by Immersion in a corrosive lHquid, look at the cutting. A greasy shad- ing botraying duliness is mever scen in reputable handwork. p b (R was no lackey's smila I nodded to him gratefully Then 1 ran to the arbor te help with the (ransfer of dishes. The table was decked with the best linen of the house, with beautiful ware and with fresh Alpine roses. It did not, however, cause me the least regret to destroy all the splendor The Count, too, carried plites and glasees 10 the house. We wore merry as children, and the dear, celestial sun shone again for me . . . . . . . . Well, then, Miss Fritz, the Count and I entered the big arbor rcom with our dishes, The househiold stood around the table awaiting the mistress. Loisl and my other two young mountain glants were there, too. Miss Frite laid covers for the Count and me bes'de her plice and a maid bro ght chairs. 1 observed that all stosd behind their chairs folded their hands. I did as they and waited for Grace. A low, lovely girl's volce bagan to sound. Then 1 saw her for the first time. She stood immediately under a picture of the Christ, wreathed around with blood-red pinks. Bhe was clothed In a deep black, city-made dress, out of which the slender neck the sweet face like an antique marble bust, with just a faint flush of color. But the lips shone like pinks and her hair was of a reddigh trown, such as [ had never seen before, Her eyes were ecast down and the hands were folded reverently; long, slender, pale Madonna hands, 1 raw all that as In a dream, as in a visien, while ste sald Graoce slowly and low, Until then 1 had not knewn that the tone of and and rose a human voice can sound so much like music Now the prayer was at an end. Now she would have to look up and 1| would see hee eyer But she kept them lowo:ed We ¢ down. She was opposite me be- tween two girls in their pay native costulme, They were young, pretty creatures and be- side them she loskod like a queen of fays, Miss Fritz s=oid: “Thiz is my dear niece Judica. She is just out of the Convent Scheol and has no=- body now in the world except her old Aunt Fritz. We love cach other very much.” 1 arose and bowed. Very deeply 1T bowed. She could not see it, for she kept her eves down obstinately, but she must felt my respectful obe At any rate she blushed charmingly 1t is difficult for me to address anyone, When 1 know that 1 am to speak to strangers on a certain day 1 often have a sleepless night from excitement and appre- hengion. And when the terrible moment of the introducticn and address comes my throat feels as if grasped by the strangler's hand. This time, too, I could force out with difficulty: “Then mademoiselle will remain with you always?’ “A gocd Yong time, 1 hope.” Now this was an intensely fooligh ques- tion for me to ask. How long would it be and the beautiful ereature would become a muon's treasure! No one could sce her with- out loving her at once, I know no more what I replied to the gcod Miss Fritz; doubtless it was some- thing clumsy again. But I never shall for- get how deep a sgorrow suddenly overcame me. It seemed to me as if 1 saw happiness glide by me. The celestial form had the pale, sweet face of little Judica. 1 stretc hed out both arms toward the splendid shape, but it foated past me, and 1 thought to hear it whisper: “For you, poor King's son, there is no earthly happiness.” Such things passed with me while I sat have ance. only at the table in the bright day with Miss Fritz and her household, and while she was saying: “I have had my fattest hen killed and roasted for I1is Royal Highness, DBut since he will eat with us, why he must cat what comes Lo our table. However, he has Lit on a good day, for we have stewed black cherries, and milk and fresh baked peasant's bread. May God bless it for our dear Prince in my house.” She said these words with so much gincerity, and yet with so much joy and even a little merriment, that 1 began to fecl wonderfully happy again and even found courage to answer: “In your house everything will be blessed for me."” Then the pale child raised her eyes. She looked at me-me, the happy one! Eyes such as only beings from another fairer world can own; most unearthly, large and ghining! With it all so full of childizh innocence. Only from a cloister could she have stepped with such eyes into the world, where-in lies so much that is dirty and worge. They were holy eyes. Woe to him who makes those eyes to weep. A curse would smite him. A tremor ran through me before her glance. And then I felt my youth and my life flow through my soul like a stream of sun- fire. It happened to me for (he first time to feel myself young: young and happy, joyous in her vicinity, under her eyes. Lord, oh Thou Lord, how glorinus is the lfe that Thou givest Thy human children, Thom good Father in Heaven! In this beautiful moment it was that I made a vow In my deepost heart: Miss Fritz shall have been right. If T am in- deed a good man 1 wil! rematu such a one, 1 will! Lord, Tord det me be and rema/ s an unhappy King's son but a good man, (To be continued.) i