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The director and professor of this excellent establishment is the missionary, Mr. Luitpold; his wife has the superintendence of the girls. The whole is sensibly and intelligently arranged and conducted; Mr. and Mrs. Luitpold attend to their proteges with true Christian love. But what are a few drops in an immeasurable sea? From Benares, Mr. Law and myself travelled in a post-dock to Allahabad.
Luitpold Wolkenstein did not wait for the quorum of domino players to arrive. They would all have read the article in the Freie Presse. And there are moments when an oracle finds its greatest salvation in withdrawing itself from the area of human questioning. "War is a cruelly destructive thing," said the Wanderer, dropping his newspaper to the floor and staring reflectively into space.
Thirdly, and to make it short, lastly, the late Henrik Ibsen, nourished upon Munich beer, wrote "Hedda Gabler," not to mention "Rosmersholm" and "The Lady from the Sea" wrote them in his flat in the Maximilianstrasse overlooking the palace and the afternoon promenaders, in the late eighties of the present, or Christian era wrote them there and then took them to the Café Luitpold, in the Briennerstrasse, to ponder them, polish them and make them perfect.
I give you the Pschorrbräu as the one best eating bet in Munich and not forgetting, by any means, the Luitpold, the Rathaus, the Odéon and all the other gilded hells of victualry to northward. Imagine it: every skein of sauerkraut is cooked three times before it reaches your plate! Once in plain water, once in Rhine wine and once in melted snow!
'I have been trying to kill him for four years, said Gilles. 'And are you man enough, my fellow? Gilles cast down his eyes. 'I have not been man enough yet, since he still lives. I think I am now. Then there was a pause. 'What is your price? asked Luitpold after this. Gilles said, 'I have no price'; and the Archduke, 'You suit my humour exactly.
Do you remember our notes at the lectures on the poets? And our ambition to write at least one deathless poem apiece before we died?" Von Glahn’s dark eyes narrowed with merriment and his gentle laugh and attractive voice sounded pleasantly in Brown’s ears. "You wrote at least one famous poem to Rosa," he said, still laughing. "To Rosa? Oh! Rosa of the Café Luitpold!
Her dark eyes shone with joy in the cold electric air of that high plateau, her cheeks were red, her warm full-lipped mouth was parted over her even white teeth. They walked from the University down the great Leopoldstrasse, one of the finest streets in Europe, toward the Café Luitpold, where he had invited her to drink coffee. There was little conversation during that brisk walk.
To-day Luitpold Wolkenstein read no more than the first article in his paper, but read it again and again.
"There are no words to express the tortures of jealousy and disgust that I endured that afternoon. But at five came a note stating that he had been out of town on a lonely voyage of discovery, and begging me to come for a cup of chocolate at the Café Luitpold where we had gone so often to watch the motley crowd. I went, wrath and horror struggling in my heart with the sanguineness of woman.
And imagine now the Archduke, bursting with the urgent secrets of so many princes, making speeches about them through all of which King Richard slumbered! 'Damn it, he flouts me, does he? said Austria at last; and left him alone. From that moment Richard began to sing. Let us do no wrong to Luitpold: it was not merely a question of money, but money turned the scale.
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