text: ■ - I - I Hk ■k V A • bh h^h| Iff ”~ a I B v ßf ,-'VB a a a s a I II 1 3 -. • - - ••’ . : I B ' - - >•■• .- ,»V--*V ,'.•* s U C l -./-;. : VXXX - ,* ■ *■ ' r ' V ■ _._ t ~; . t *v <P vfgf ..*> ~- -.- A/-; *./?. -'- 1 ✓ '• ••'. IB . * / Y 4i "r t ,^ , * ,,J ' - ' .- 1 1 -.**■’’ '“'' l * v”^sPS "< / ' *,. •■ 1 * -r “t Y" ’ '■, -i v I IDO [3a > l \ \lwi' >£ Ik / im aria s \\ / k«M«k T- < 11 V x <f I h / * / I - y \ \ w* x \ \ \ / lISIS. Y\ \ / Ef'3^7 u Jr' r? YkJp ~ - p"4“ pxl Vr 111 w! Lr N? Z jras! F3SS3L- /m / WlkM / w 1 Tllif Sin L’MKz WbW*£K:' / fMLv JRI ll /Wt Msafsg/ W JjL 11 M i, i ill _j_ Y r j’ p^|p7^pßH| Mss JEp W lip wMmf wEBBem *£#' u r MEPHfI ■3590 V “Quite Alone / Spent This Night of Mg Homy- XIW y* moon. In the Morning / Waited Henide the Lovely llreakfant for Him To Appear. rnr +i, “ There Came a Knocking at the Door and My Heart Leaped. * nglifih Valet To Announce That a Telegram Had Arrived From the Czar, [ Regretfully, the Prince Begged To Be Excused for an Indefinite Time. Ugh His V alet, a Safe Journey. And, Peeping Out the Window a Little Later, )P at Had Never Begun." Jressed in my little frock of rosy china silk, with ;he forget-me-nots embroidered on the bodice... low he chose me in my utter simplicity and came to ove so young a creature as I was then—l have icver been able to imagine. He was so big and gallant and free and so much master of his world, lis great, shining world of Paris. And I was so dw and wordless and prone to blushes. Ah, who was I that the precious miracle came to me there, when, at sixteen, I walked beside the lily pool n Tourainc and heard his words of love?. father, then my heart beat up with exultation. I realized it would not be frowned upon, a marriage with handsome, wealthy Henri, Marquis de Chastellux. He was an orphan, heir to his wealthy, doting aunt. And how she loved and spoiled this dashing nephew, and how he possessed her house, when he went to sec her. And how she shooed the bright-eyed servant maids out of his path. Yet, sometimes, how she reproached herself for her provincial austerity. Because, ma foi, PrinceM Amelia Karapow at the Time of Her Marriage Hale to Prince Vladimir of Ruaaia. Oh, precious, magic evening! Today I re member hardly a word he said to me, hardly anything that happened beyond that wondrous declaration, that he had given me his heart. Wanted me, always and always, to go with him through a long, a happy life. To be his love, as he. he said, would be mine. Always and al ways. Then the roses flung their fragrance across our path and he gently slipped my evening cape about my shoulders, slipped it with that ca ressing gesture so in stinctive to our men of France. For. as our old saying is repeated in every generation : “Mon ame a Dieu, mon epee a ma patrie, mon coeur aux dames,” so it was and perhaps, so it always will be— “my soul to God, my sword to my country, my heart to the ladies.” Then my Henri talked to me, gay. gallant talk while I listened in rap ture. Yet I, the shy jeune fille. had no light repartee to give him back. The good sisters, alas, had not taught me at school any of the pretty bon mots of courtlship. But to this day I remember how the ground seemed light un der my feet, and how all the world seemed happy with miracles of tenderness and beauty. And when he asked me to marry him, when he whispered he would have his aunt make the proper proposals to my * 'it ' >■ - '■' , t '' _f, Jl *- _ T ''■■; ‘ ; < -.' .'■EL. tw .iijaia^^H i v- j| _ w tpsPß^ap^v. ( BWBMBlMfiaiiaiL k w ffißfM'.) ; ';V- young men will be young men. And better far, she reasoned, as did all practical French women of my day, better far for a young man to solace himself with a bouncing, healthy peasant gM on the family estates, than with one of those hussies in Paris. But finally he found me, Henri, my dear love, Henri, my first love. And seated beside him on the marble garden bench, beside the fountain showering its spray through the mouth of a sar donic old satyr, I whispered to my dear love: “I’m glad you came. I’m glad we found each other. Oh, Henri, what a glorious thing, all these long years we shall be living with each other.” Grandmother smiled, when, back in the house, she saw us. Perhaps she guessed, that wise old lady, what he had said to me; what I had whis pered back to him. When his aunt was told, it was to grandmother, Madame la Baronne Bode, to whom she made the marriage proposals. And not to my father. Grand’mere was the matriarch of the Bode family.. .And so, informally, since I had not yet been presented to society, we were en gaged. Afterwards,, not altogether to my wishes, grand’mere took me with her that Summer of my seventeenth year, to Villefranche, a smart resort upon the Riviera. There we were guests on the yacht of an old friend of our family, Monsieur Charles Thumcyesse. There at Villefranche, I went to my first ball. To that party came, also, many noble Russians. Grand’mere, in that Russian company, was in her element. For she liked the Russians so very much. She had invested a large part of her fortune in Russian properties. So it happened she was overjoyed when the Russian Prince Sacha Bariatinsky sought her out. He was an old friend from Petersburg. He came bringing with him one of the handsomest young men I have ever seen—Prince Vladimir Alexandre Karapow. A six-foot, golden-haired, blue-eyed, broad-shouldered young giant was Prince Karapow. He seemed exactly what he was, most nobly born, the son of distinguished ancestors who had held their titles and estates from the beginning of Russian history'. Timidly. I looked up at the tall, dashing prince from Russia. And blandly, almost factually, he looked down at me in that first, short moment before grand’mere gave him her hand, and he stooped to kiss it. Then, at last, we were seated at a little table on the deck of the Admiral’s flagship, eating our supper. There were Baron Udet, Count du Nord, grand’mere’s friend, and his protege or "ward,” Prince Vladimir. I cannot remember grand’mere, though she probably was present. But one sen tence from all that light supper talk, was branded on my mind. In a lull, old Prince Bariatinsky bent towards young Prince Vladimir, as the old prince patted my hand. “Look at her, Vladimir,” he said, “see what her first ball has done to her bright eyes. I could light my pipe at them. Isn’t she the picture of sweet innocence? She is lovely, our little Amelie.” The old prince spoke as though to tease me, to tempt Vladimir. But Vladimir, also teasing, an sewered back: “Oh stop,” he interrupted, smiling. “She is so young she smells of milk. And as for me I prefer vodka.” I wasn’t sure whether he meant xvhat he said or if he was teasing. Or whether he was speaking to warn me, “Don’t fall in love with me. For I have other ideas—and other girls. Girls experienced, where you are a baby.” Well, if that was what he meant, I didn’t care. I wasn’t in love with him. I was still in love with my first love who would very soon now come fly ing down from Paris to visit me again. But finally the party was over. And, going home in the carriage of Count du Nord, grand - mere looked at me with bright eyes and an intent expression upon her handsome, aristocratic face. Then I realized, she had an idea about me. My heart thumped with sudden fear. Suppose that look in grand’mere’s eye meant she had made new plans for my marriage? Oh, suppose—! But it was madness, so I thought, to worry over what could never happen. For grand’merc had given her approval of my engagement to Henri. Reassured, I went to sleep. All was right be tween me and Henri. But all was not right between me and Henri. Th« Russian Wedding Feast, a Typical Scene In an Old-Time Russian Nobleman’s Family. By R. Makowsky. Yet the danger did not come from grand’mere. I don’t know how to tell what happened next, it was so terrible. It brought an aching grief I have quite outlived. The very night grand’- mere and I returned to our chateau in Touraine, Henri came down to us from Paris. We walked again along the path by the formal garden, where now in mid-Summer the roses were still blooming. He led me along, my hand in his big, kind, warm hand, and I chattered to him of my first ball and told him how nobody there could hold a candle to him. Then he had smiled and squeezed my hand and kissed my forehead and been strangely silent. Later, when we returned to the salon, step ping in through the long windows opened to the terrace, Henri had spoken to my father. “Would papa lend him a pistol for a day or so. He was going home to his aunt. He must ride his horse up through the park at Raincey. And there had been a hold-up in the park last week. He thought it best to go armed, if papa had a pistol to lend.” “But certainly,” my father said. He gave Henri a pistol he carried when coming home through our park late at night. I stood there with them, as Henri, expertly, tucked the pistol in his pocket. “Be careful of that thing,” I whispered, as he kissed my forehead at the door. He smiled.. .“Oh, that? But I have handled pistols since I was a boy of twelve.” “Yes,” I said, “of course. You know all about these things.” “Not all,” he pinched my cheek, “but I know enough, perhaps.” Then he had kissed me again. And upstairs in my bed, 1 lay awake a little while, drinking in the sweetness that drifted up to me from the garden, thanking the Bon Dieu that I had found him, Henri, my first love, And that Henri had found me... And so I slipped off to sleep. But when I came down to breakfast in the morning, all the world had changed for me. I knew by my father’s face. Maman and grand’- mere were breakfasting in bed, according to their custom. But I had slipped down to share my father’s solitary breakfast, as he loved to have me. He looked towards me, as I crossed the threshold into the morning room. And there was that in his look which froze my heart. I went and sat down opposite him quickly, for I felt weak. I heard myself saying, in a voice which frightened my heart: “Something has happened to Henri...” He was merciful and he did not temporize. “He is dead,” said my father.” I clasped my hands tightly upon my heart. With a gray voice I said: “But how can Henri be dead? He was alive last night.” “He killed himself,” said my father. “With the revolver I gave him last night, he killed himself.” His head was bowed above his hands. I knew how he was accusing himself. “But why did Henri kill himself?” I finally found courage to ask my father. He shook his head. Oh, the why was not what a careful French father could tell his little daugh ter. Nor did he ever tell me. Yet I found out, piecemeal, through servants. Henri had got into more than his share of a young man’s scrapes in Paris. He had lost much money, signed rash papers, brought on himself and his devoted aunt a ruin he could not face. And so—poor Henri had not faced them. Then, as a very young girl, I got another glimpse into the system. I saw it with hard and judging eyes. And something, I realized, was wrong with the world we French offered our young men, that a young man like Henri could come to such tragedy and bring such tragedy to me. But what was wrong, or why, I was then too young to know. Then my grandmother went off on her yearly visit to Russia. She had a house in Petersburg, where she lived a part of each year and looked over her Russian investments. I saw her go with relief. Now I would be spared one pair of loving, watching eyes. But not for long, it seemed. Soon a letter came back. She wished me to spend the Winter with her in St. Petersburg. It was not good, she said, for a young girl to be so sad. I needed a change. I went It was nothing. Nothing mattered. I (Continued on Page 12). 