The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, May 15, 1904, Page 15

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL righted, 1904, by Central News and Press ExchanZe ) \HERE is 8o much I could do to Improve things generally in and sbout Europe if band. I should not propose great fundamental changes. These poor y I had a free any have got used to their own it would be unwige to reform But there are many hat I could do their mistakes They do not that , hand and ar- how glad they But the story is always the reads it in the advertise- ¥ r A to be good-looking”— ng, sa If is not sure on the point, t possibly she may be Ehe puts before you mere- gossip of the neighbor- she is beautiful: they be wrong, it ‘well educat- lisposition; possess- es to meet a gentle- trim one ny. of ask!” If the matter, are people you uld get n arguing an angry do exclude ain idea is ma ct that a young ooking—let us be done with it. Let us say a ¥ , well educated te disposition. It is sad to reflect —1 repeat it—that such a one, matri- inclined, should be compelled urse to the columns of a journal. What are the n the neighborhood think- vhat more do they want? Is me to life again th ten ar that they are waiting akes mie angry with my own g these advertisements. And thinks of the girls that do nial get ed b ST But life is & mystery. The fact re- mains: here is the ideal wife seeking in vain ¢ a husband. And here im- nderneath—I will not say band, he may have faults, are perfect, but as men go decided acquisition to any domestic hearth, an agrecable gentleman, fond ife—none of your gadabouts— oud 1o the four winds for a wife t of a wife, provided she be disposition. In his despair indifferent to other con- ediately wn = ons. Is there in this world, he , one unmarried wo- ng to marry me, an agree- receipt of a good income? b gh this twain have pass- ed each other in the street, have sat side by side in the same tram car, g each one that the other article of which they ant to make life beautifyl. in search of a servant—not uch with the idea of getting work f her, rather with the object of r happy, advertise on one On the opposite page, domestic of Carlyle, appar- passionate lcve of work for ke, are seexing situations, #0 much with the desire of gain with the hope of finding openings they may enjoy the luxury of they e leading useful lives. philantbropic mistresses, these toll-loving hand-maidens, have lived side by side in the same town for years, pever knowing ome another. So it is with these poor European pecples. They pass me In the street. They do not guess that I am ready and willing to take them under my care, to teach them common sense, with a smatter- ing of intelligence, to be, as one might a father to them. They look at stresses sciples say me. There is nothing about me to tell them that I know what is good for them better than they do themselves. In the fairy tales the wise man wears & comical hat and a long robe with twiddly things all around the edge. You I\l ME.N know he is a clever man. It avoided the necessity of explanation. Unfor- tunately the fashion has gone out. We wise men have to wear just ordinary clothes. Nobody knows we are wise men. Even when we tell them so they don’t believe it. It is this that makes our task more difficult. b N TR One of the first things I should take In hand were European affairs handed over to my contrel would be the re- arrangement of this carnival business. As matters are at present the carnival takes place all over Europe in Febru- ary. At Nice, in Spain, or in Italy it may be oceaslonally possible to feel you; want to dance about the streets in thin costume during February. But in more northern - countries during carnival time T have seen only one sensible masker; he was & man who had got himself up as a diver. It was in Ant- werp, the rain was pouring down in torrents;.a cheery boisterous John Bull sort of an east wind was blustering through the streets at the rate of fif- teen miles an hour. Plerrots, with frozen hands, were blowing blue noses. An elderly Cupid had borrowed an um- brella from a cafe and was walting for a tram. A very little devil was crying with the cold and wiping his eyes with the end of his own tail. Every door- way was crowded with shivering mask- ers. The diver alone walked erect, the water streaming from him. February is not the month for open air mas- querading, The. “confettl,” which has come to be nothing but colored paper cut into small discs, is a sodden mass. When a lump of it strikes you in the eye your Instinct is not to laugh gayly, but to find oyt the man who threw it and to hit him back. This is not the true spirit of carnival. “The marvel is that in spite 'of the almost invariably adverse weather these carnivals still continue. . In Belgium, where Catholi- cism still remains = the dominant re- ligion, carnival maintalns itself stronger than elsewhere in Northern Europe. At one small town, near the French bgrder, it holds unin- terrupted sway for three days and two rights, during which time the whole population, swelled by visitors from twenty miles around, shouts, romps, eats and drinks and dances. After which the "visitors are packed, like sardines Into rallway trains. They pin their tickets to, their .coats and promptly go to sleen. At every sta- ticn the rallway officials stumble up and down the trains with lanterns. The last feeble effort of the more wakeful reveler, before he adds himself to the heap of snoring humanity on the floor of the railway carriages, is to change the tickets of a couple of his uncon- sclous companions. In this way gentle- men for the east are dragged out by the legs at junctions and packed into trains going st; while southern fathers are shot out in the chill dawn at Jonely northern stations to find themselves greeted with enthusiasm by other people’s families. At Binche they say—I have not counted them my- self—that thirty thousand maskers can be seen dancing at-the same time. When they are not dancing they are throwing oranges at one another. The houses board up their window The restaurants take down their mirrors and hide away the glasses. If I went masquerading at Binche I should go as a man in armor, period Henry the Seventh. “Doesn’t it hurt?” I asked a lady who had been there, “having oranges thrown at you? Which sort do they use, speaking generally; those fine, juicy ones—Javas, I think you call them—or the little hard brand with — Binche, * do you personally prefer?” “The smart people,” she answered, “they are the same everywhere—they must be ex- travagant—they use the Java orange. If it hits you on the back, i prefer the Java orange. Of course it's more messy than the other, but it does not leave behind it that curious sensation of having been temporarily stunned. Most people, of course, make use of the small, hard orange. If you duck in time and so catch it on the top of your head it does mot hurt so much as you would think. If, of course, it hits you VYWVomeEN AND old cognac—half and half, you under- stand—is about the best thing. But it only happens once a year,” she added. TR R Nearly every town gives prizes for the best group of maskers. In some cases the first vrize amounts to as much as £200. The butchers, bakers, the candlestick-makers together and compete. They arrive in wagons—each group with its band. Free trade is encouraged. boring town and village load of picturesque mer join SHE PASSED \7HEr WITI fi STHARE OF siun. Almost every tmhl inhabitant takes part in the fun. In Brussels and the larger tqwns the thing appears ri- diculous. A few hundred maskers force their way with difficulty through thou- time —a feeble stream, dribbling through acres of muddy bank. At Charleroi, the center of the Belgian Black Country, the chief feature of the carnival is the dancing of the chil- skin like a nutmeg-grater? And, if both on a tender place—well, myself, T al- {3 in these smaller towns that the spifit sands of ‘dull-clad spectators, looking dren. A space s speclally roped oft sorts are used indiscriminately, which ways find that a little sal volatile with of King Carnival finds happiest expres- like a Spanish river in the summer for them. If by chance the sun is kind - = -+ 9 - - ‘ —By M. Louise Cummin { b4 . 1s€ ins (Copyright, 1904, by T. C. McClure.) LD Jerry lifted his head and looked after “the mistress” with vague distress while she made her third restless round of the grounds. Then he dug savagely in the bed of scarlet geraniums irrespective of the plants’ good. “Why doesn’t the master come home?” he demanded querulously, with the anxiety of one who had lov-" ingly followed “the master's” life up from the days of white cotton socks and sallor collars. The trowel dropped from his hand as his eyes turned back to the tall figure in its trailing white draperies. Her dark eyes had been too filled with woe to notice the old gardener. Her arms were crossed upon her bosom as though she would thus hold down the tumult that beat there. Here was the very center and core of the mas- ter's life, old Jerry knew it, and yet- His face changed suddenly as though an evil cloud had passed be- fore the sun’s brightness. His very body seemed to become gnarled and twisted, while his hands closed and unclosed suggestively at his sides, driving the nails into the hard palms. Every breath he drew was an un- spoken malediction upon the man who came through the gates to meet his mistress. “You're there, are ye, ve black- hearted sarpent!” he panted. His heart seemed to die within him as he measured his strength against his opponent’s. With a sense of help- less inadequacy his old figure col- lapsed tremblingly. But the habit of year, in extremity, was strong upon him. His head fell forward reverently on his breast. “God Almighty,” he breathed, “this makes the third time this week, an’ I dunno—T dunno where's Mr, Aleck!” The man he hated was walking bareheaded beside the mistress. Their steps turned to a tall shrubbery at the other end of the grounds. Jerry made a hobbling detour by the back of the house and reached it first. He was on his knees again, trowel in hand, but hidden by the dense growth when they passed. “Why do you submit to this ne- glect?” the even, insidious tone was urging. “Believe me, I have not told you one-half of what has come un- bidden to my knowledge. * * * Constance * * * the way of es- cape is always open!” 0ld Jerry's breath came in hard, dry puffs as he listened. His fingers dug themselves into the ground, tar- ing up handfuls of sod. It had come to this then! “Blast him! Blast his lying tongue!” The forcé of the words rent him from head to foot as he shook his trembling fist after the man he would gladly have strangled. Then he got slowly on his feet, seeming to grow younger and stronger as he did so. The blood of the fighting race still beat in his veins in spite of his 70 years. It blazed in the blue eyes upder their shaggy brows, promising war to the death before those he loved and served were injured. All that day he watched the house and grounds untiringly. His mistress had bidden her visitor good-by at the gate and walked slowly back to the house as though all life and hope were gone from her, and he saw her no more. At midnight he installed Johnny, Mr. Aleck's tavorlte groom, in his place. “Don’t ye make no sound nor word,” he admonished, “an’ ye don’'t need to know what yer here for, but if ye see anny wan goin’ or comin’ call me. An’ Johnny, b'y, if ye could anny way get word to the master ih the mornin’ to come home, ’tis makin' yer sowl you'd be.” ‘When morning. came he relieved Johnny at 6 o'clock, the latter having seen no one “comin’ or goin’ again took up his surveillance of the house. It was dusk when at last the figure he had been looking for came slowly down the steps. She had al- most reached the gate when Jerry, his old heart beating in his throat, step- ped out on the gravel walk beside her. “I dunno if you noticed, ma’am,” he said casually, touching his hat, “but I'm afraid 'tis dying the rose bush be the south wall is.” She had halted, looking at him In uncertainty; bewilderment. for a mo- ment displacing the listless despair of her face. “’Twill be ten year ago, come to- morrow week, since I planted it” Jerry went on reminiscently, “I mind well ‘twas the very day the master brought ye home, ma’am., £ it is not quite dead, save i I can see yez now, s!andin hand in hand lookin’ at me— Her fingers had gone swiftly to her throat as if the laces there strangled her. Jerry watched her for a moment. “An' sure there never was such a tree for blossomin’,” he went on slow- ly. “I used to think that the love in the eyes of yez both' that day blessed it. ‘Sure 'tis a love bush,/’ I sez to meself. An’ 'tisn’t in yer two arms ye could carry the roses on it when it be- gun to bloom, an' they the sweetest that ever grew. But lately—somehow —I dunno——" His voicé had trailed off into the inexpressibly sad monotone of his race. The slender figure before him quivered, her hands twisting them- selves convulsively in the folds of her cloak. 3 “Last year,” he quavered on, “there was but three small buds on it, this year there’s but wan. I misdoubt if it's alive at nll—the love bush’ll be— another year.” She moved ntumblluly away from him across the grass to the south wall. Jerry-scarcely breathed as he followed and stood behind her. Oh, the wealth of blossom the love bush had once borne! She remembered bring the fragrant armfuls to her on the anniversary of ifs planting—the day the Aleck had brought her home. Now—— She.looked at the blighted, twisted leaves, clinging as if for shel- ter to the wall, and a sob, which was the upheaval of all.the torture and despair in her heart, tore her delicate throat. Her face as she turned it to Jerry was an agony. ‘‘Save it!" she pleaded, "Oh, Jerry, “Yes ma'am.” ~But Jerry's voice was pusky and he drew his coat-sleeve across his eyes. ‘‘'Tis safs enough she is now, glory be to God!” he add- ed in a whisper. He stood in the shadow of the wall until she had stolen back to the house, carrying the one poor blossom of the love bush with her. Then he made his way to where bevond the grounds lay a strip of moonlit road. At sight of the figure which paced impatiently batk ‘and forth there Jerry’s body was contorted again, but this time with savage triumph. “Aye,” he hissed slowly, “ye may walk, an’ ye may walk agin’, an’ ye may keep on walkin’ 'till the feet drop off ye an’ the divil gits his own—but ye'll never get what yer waitin’ for— an’ the Lord be praised for it!"” It was the one regret of Jerry's life that he was in bed and asleep that night when the master got home. Evidently Johnny, with the ald of a sudden and suspicious ailment of the bay mare, had “made his soul” to some purpose that morning. The master had arrived at 10 o’clock, ac- cording to Mrs. Riley, the cook, and, to the best of her belief, he and the mistress had talked all night. Jerry was assiduously doing his best for the love bush the next morning when they came out of the house, Mr. Aleck’s strong shoulder behind the mistress, she leaning back against him, her face white and shining with love. The old gardener rose quickly and came to meet them. “If you'll believe me, ma'am,” he began eagerly, ““"tis a new shoot I just this minit found on the rose bush be the south wail, an’, as true as I live, if "tisn’t covered with strong, healthy buds!” EROME K- ER°MELE.. enough to shine the sight is a pretty one. How they love the dressing up and the acting, these small mites! One young hussy—she could hardly have #been more than 10—was got up as a baughty young fady. Maybe some eider sisteff had served her as a model She wore a tremendous wiz of flaxen hair, a ha t I guarantee would have made fts mark even at Ascot on the cup day, a skirt that trailed two yafls behind Ber, a pair of what had once been white kid gloves and a blue silk parasol, * Dignity! 1 have seen the offended barmaid, T have met the chorus girl—not by appointment, please don’t misunderstand me, merely as a spectator—up the river on Sunday, but never have I witnessed in any hu- man being so much hauteur to the pound, avoirdupols, as was carried through the streets of Charlerol by that small brat. Comy ons of other days, mere vulgar b and girls, claimed acquaintance with her. She passed them with a stare of such ut- ter disdain that it sent them tumbling over one another backward. By the time they had recovered themselves sufficiently to think of an old tin kettle lying handy In the gutter she had turned the corner. Two miserably clad urchings, unable to scrape together the few sous necessary for the hire of a rag or two, had nevertheless deter- mined not to be altogether out of it. They had managed to borrow a couple of white blouses—not what you would understand by a white blouse, dear madame, a dainty thing of frills and laces, but the coarse white sack the street sweeper wears over his other clothes. They had also borrowed a couple of brooms. Ridiculous little ob- jects, they looked, only the tiny head of each showing above the-great white shroud as gravely they walked, the one behind the other sweeping the -mud futo the gutter. They also were of the carnival, playing at being scavengers. Another quaint sight I witnessed, com- ing sharply round the corner of a by- street. The “serpentine” 1s a feature of the Belgian carnival. It is a strip of colored paper, some dozen yards long, perhaps. You fling it as you would a lasso, entangling the head of some passerby. Naturally the object most aimed at by the Belgian youths is the Belgian maiden. And, naturally also, the maiden who finds herself most entangled is the maiden who—to use again the languzge of the matrimonial advertiser—is ‘considered good-look- ing.” The serpentine about her head is the “feathgr in her cap” of the Bel- glan maiden on carnival day. Coming suddenly round the cormer I almost ran into a girl. Her back was toward me. It was a very quiet street, leading into another quiet street. She had half a dozen of these serpentines In her pocket. Hurriedly, with trembling hands, she was twisting them round and round her own head. I looked at her as I passed. She flushed scarlet. Poor little snub-nosed, pasty-faced woman! I wish she had not seen me. I could have bought -penny worth of serpentines, followed her and tor- mented her with them; while she would have pretended Indignation, sought discreetly to escape from me. Down South, where the blood flows quicker, King Carnival is indeed a jolly old soul. In Munich he reigns for six weeks, the end coming with a mad two days’ revel in the streets. During the whole of the period folks in ordi- nary every-day costume are regarded as curiosities; people wonder what they are up to. From the G en to the Dienstmadschen, from the Herr pro- fessor to Riccolo, as they serve to make antics that answers to our page boy, the business of Munich is dane- ing—somewhere, somehow, in a fancy costume. The costume ball is every- where—at the palace, at the Beer hall. Every theater clears away the stage, every cafe crowds its chairs and tables into cornmers, the very streets are cleared for dancing. Munich goes mad. But, then, that does not mean it goes far. Munich is always a little mad. The maddest ball 1 ever danced at was in Munich. I went there with a Har- vard University professor. He had been told what these balls were lke. Ever seeking knowledge of all things, he determined to take the matter up for himself and examine it. The writer also must ever be learning. I agreed to accompany him. We had not intend- ed to dance. Our idea was that we would be indulgent spectators, regard- ing from some coign of vantage the antics of the foolish crowd. The pro- fessor was clad as became a professor. Myself, I wore a simply cut frock coat, with trousers in French gray. The doorkeeper explained to wus that this was a costume bdall; he was sorry, but gentlemen could be admitted only In evening dress or In mas- querade. It was half-past 1 in the morning. We had sat up late on pur- pose; we had gone without our dinner; we had walked two miles. The professor suggested pinning up the talls of his clerically cut coat and turning in his walstcoat. The doorkeeper feared it would not be quite the same thing. Besides, my French gray trousers refused to adapt themselves. The doorkeeper proposed our hiring & costume—a little speculation of his own; gentlemen found it simpler some- times, especlally married gentlemen, to hire a costume In this manner, chang- ing back into sober garments befors returning home. It reduced the volume of necessary explanation. “Have you anything, my good man,” sald the pro- fessor, “anything that would effect a complete disguise?” The doorkeeper had the very thing—a Chinaman with combined mask and wig. It fitted neat- ly over the head and was provided with a simple but ingenious piece of mechan- ism by means of which much could be done with the pigtail. Myself the door- keeper hid from view under the cowl of a Carmelite monk. “I do hope no- body recognizes us,” whispered my friend, the professor, as we entered. I can only hope sincerely that they did not. I do not wish to talk about my- self; that would be egotism. But the mystery of the Harvard professor troubles me to this day. A ggave, earnest gentleman, the father of a fam- ily, I saw him with my own eyes put that ridiculous pasteboard mask over bis head. Later on—a good deal later on—I found myself walking again with him through silent starlit streets. Where he had been in the interval and who then was the strange creature un- der the Chinaman’s mask will always remain to me an unsolved problem.