X
8.
.
THE COURIER.
THE MOTHER.
A Recollection of the Siege
(Translated from the "Contes du Lundl," of
Alphonsc Daudet, by Katharine Mellck. I
That morning I went to 'Mount Val
erien, to see our friend the painter
Bsrre. lieutenant of the militia of the
Seine. Juat now the brare soldier
found himeelf in the trenches. No
chance of a movement. He must con
tent himself with promenading up and
down like a shipman of the watch be
fore the fort postern, talking of Paris;
of the war, of our dear absent ones.
All at once my lieutenant, who, be
neath his militia uniform keeps always
the ardor of the artist apprentice, in
terrupted himeelf baiting abruptly and
clutching my arm.
"Oh, what a perfect Daumier!" he
said softly, and the corner of his little
grey eye lit suddenly, like that of a
hound catching a scent, ss be showed
me two veatrable profiles appearing
upon the ridge of Mount Valerien.
A perfect Daumier it was. The man
in long maroon redingote, with a collar
of greenish velvet that seemed made of
old forest moss, slender, tiny, red
cheeked, with low forehead, round eyes
and a nose like the beak of the snowy
owl. A wrinkled crows face, solemn
and stupid. To complete the setting, a
rush basket garlanded with flowers,
from which stood out the neck of a
bottle, and under the other arm a can
ister 01 preserves, the indispensable
canister which Parisians never eee with
out recalling the five months' blockade.
As to the woman, one saw at
first on'y a huge riding hood, and an
old shawl which wrapped her tightly
from head to feet, as if the better to
outline her wretchedness; then, an oc
casional glimpse, between the faded
ruches of the capote, of the tip of a
sharp cose, and some thin grey. locks.
Arrived on the plateau, the man
stopped to take breath end to wipe his
forehead. Yet it waa not warm up
there in the mists of the end of No
vember; but they had oome so quickly.
The woman did not stop. Marching
straight to the postern, she looked at
us a minute, hesitating as if she wished
to speak; bat, abashed perhaps by the
face of the officer, she turns instead to
the sentinel, and I heard her ask timid
ly to see her eon, a soldier of the six
teenth, the thirtieth of Paris.
"Stop there;" said the guard; "I will
call him."
Overjoyed, with a sigh of relief, she
turned to her husband, and the two
went away to sit down at the edge of a
slope.
They waited there very long. Thia '
Mount Valerien is so large, so intricate
in course, and slope, with its bastions,
barracks, casemates! Undertake, then,
to search for a soldier of the Sixteenth,
in that inextricable city, suspended
between earth and sky a spiral floating
among mkt like the iale of Laputa. -And
not this aloce; for at that hour the
fort swarms with- drummers, trumpet
.en, soldiers running, horses neighing.
Guards are relieved, drill executed,
ratkBs"SSed; a bloody spy is brought
in by the sharp-shooters; some peas
ants of Naaterre come, to complain is,
general; a courier arrives at a gallop,
the man terrified, the horse reeking:
ambulance panniers return from the
advance posts with the woupded, bal
anced, one on each flank of the mules,
and groaning softly, like sick lambs;'
sailors mount a new field piece, to the
music of the fife, and the "heave ho;"
the flocks of the fort are driven forth
by a shepherd in red pantaloons, goad
in handiand muskst in shoulder-belt:
all .this throng, coming, going, crossing
in Use court, is swallowed up beneath
the'twetern as within the gateway of
as Oriental caravaBsory. '
"They cauot have forgettea mr
i," said the eyes of the mother, all
this time, aBd every five minutes she
rose, cautiously approached the en
trance and, sheltering herself agatast
the wall, peered furtively into the outer
court; but she dared askT no more, for
fear of making her son ridiculous. The
man, even more abashed, did not stir
from his corner; and every time she
returned, trembling, disheartened, it
was evident that he chafed at ber im
patience, and gave her emphatic ex
planations of the necessities of the
service, accompanied by gestures like
those of an imbecile trying to make
himself comprehended.
I have alwajB been keenly interested
in those little scenes, silent, suggestive,
wherein one divines far more than one
soes; those pantomines of the street
that elbow you, as you walk, and with a
gesture reveal a complete existence; but
what captivated me here above all was
the simplicity, the naiveneta of my
actors, and I felt an exquisite emotion
in reading through their expression,
transparent and clear as the 6onl of two
actors of Seraphin, all the phases of an
adorable domestic drama.
1 aaw the mother aaytag, on a fair
morning, "He wearies me, this Monsieur
Trochu, with bis orders. For three
months I have cot seen my son. I am
going to embrace him."
The father, alarmed, disturbed in his
customary way of life, terrified at the
thoaght of the pilgrimages to be made
in order to procure a permit, at tint
attempts to reason. "
"But you do cot think, my dear.
This Mount Valerien is tremendous.
How cm you go there without a cart?
Besides it k a citadel! No women can
go there."
"1 shall go there," say the mother,
and as he executes her behests, the man
seta forth. He goes to the secretary,
to the mayor, to the staff major, the
commissary, sweating with fear, trsm-
tary cape, musket, and all disappear in
the huge riding hood. Tbea the father
has his tarn, but this is not so long.
The riding hood covets all fcr itself. It
k'ieaatiable.
"How are you getting on? Are you
wellbeJded? What of your' washing?"
And beneath the frills of the poke I
felt the long look of love with which
she enveloped him from head to feet;
in a shower of embraces, tears, little
smiles; an arrearage of three months of
maternal tenderness, which she paid
him all in a breath. The father also
was much excited but did not wish to
seem so. He felt that we were notic
ing, and glanced at us as if to say:
"Pray excuse her'; she is a woman."
Excuse her!
A trumpet call blew suddenly upon
the estacy.
'The summons," said the son; "I
must go."
"What! not eat with ub?".
"Oh no. I cannot 1 am on duty for
twenty four hours up there in the fort."
"Ob!" said the poor woman; and was
KCOCulOBB
They remained a moment, all three,
looking at one Another dismayed. Then
the father spoke:
"At least take the canister," he said
in a broken voice, at once touching and
comical in 'its 'gourmand abnegation.
But alas! la the distress and confu
sion of farewell, they cannot' find that
luckless canister; and it is pitiful to see
those feeble, trembling hands searching,
fluttering; to hear those voices, choked
by tears demanding, 'the canister!
Where is the canister?" without re
proach at mingling that small culinary
loss with the mighty sorrow. The can
ister recovered, there was a- last long
emr ce, and the son reentered the
for . a run.
Thinking how far they had come for
that lunch together, what a grand -feast
they had made it, how the mother bad
Wing with cold, driving himself along, not slept that night,-tuld anything be
losing his way. waiting two hours at the
rear of a department, to find' that it is
cot the one. At last he comes home,
in the evening, with a permit from the
commander in his pocket. The next
day they rise betimes, in the cold, by
lamp light; the' father breaks a crust to
sustain himself, but the mother is not
hungry. She wants to eat up there
with her boy. And to regale a little
the poor soldier, they heap quickly,
very quickly, into the rush basket, the
store and the reserve store of provisions
for the eeige, chocolate, comfits, bot
tled wine, all, even to the canister, an
eight-franc canister which they have
guarded sacredly against the days of
dire want. See them set forth. Now
they come to the ramparte; they reach
the gates. The pass "must be shown.
It k the mother who trembles. JBut no.
It appears that they are in order.
"Pass," says the adjutant.
Then alone she breathes.
"He k very polite, that officer," and,
light as a partridge, she tripe, she hast
ens The mac can scarcely keep step.
"How utst you go, my dear.''
But she hears not. 'High up there in
the mists of the horixon. Mount Val
erien signals her.
"Make haste he k here."
And now that theyare come, a new
anguish.. If they should cot find him!
It he should not come?
Suddenly 1 see her start, touch the
arm of the old man and rise at a spring.
From afar, beneath" the arch of the
postern, she has recognized hk step.
It k he!
When be appears, the whole facade
of the fortress k illuminated.
A noble lad, by my faith! Firm
built, with knapsack on shoulder, gun
in hand. He greets them with frank
face, in. tones glad and troubled.
"Bonjour, Raman"
And on the iiwtant, kaspsack, soiU-
more heart breaking than that broken
party, that corner of paradise dkplayed
and instantly shut up?
For some time they remained motion
less on the spot, their eyes riveted upon
the postern" where the boy had dis
appeared. At last the man shook him
self, made a halt turn, coughed once or
twice very courageously, and, once well
assured of bk voice,
"Come, motheK We must be off;" he
said loudly and cheerfully. From a
dktance he "made us a low bow, and
took the arm of his wife. I followed
them with my eyes to the turn of the
road. The'fatber had a wild air. He
brandished the rush basket with furi
ous gestures. The mother appeared
more calm. She walked at his side,
with bowed bead, dropped arms. But
over her narrow shoulders I saw the
Bhawl shake convulsively.
Colorado Excursion.
The Chicago Bock Island Pacific
By. will sell tickets to Colorado and
Utah points August 2lst and September
4th and 18th at the following low rates.
Denver and return, 118.25, Colorado
Springs and return, $1885, Glenwood
and return, $30 25, Salt Lake City and
Ogden and return, 131.00, All tickets
good for return until October 31st. For
further information and a book on Colo
rado scenery address
E. W. Thompsoic, A. G, P. A.,
Topeka, Kansas.
F. H. Babices, C. P. A.,
3t Lincoln, Neb.
COLONEL STOTSENBURG.
For I remember stopping by the way
To watch a Potter thumping his wet clay:
Aad with its all-obliterated Tongue
It murmured," Gently, Brother,
gently pray.'
Rubaiyat.
I do not ask the impossible when I
ask for greater consideration on the
part of each of us toward the other. I
want merely a change of position. As
it stands now, we condemn men until
they work themselves out of our con
demnation why should we not approve
their work at first and hold them as
good until shown to be faulty. Neither
heroes among men nor perfection in
mankind is necessary: let the one lire
in epic and the other in theory. The
conditions of our time will give us all
that can be desired. Contemporaries '
te.l us that this age is eminently a prac
tical one, that romance glows for the
average man only between book covers
or in the imagination. For what we
do, we beg that judgment be deferred
until results may speak for themselves;
and if they are good, give us the appre
ciation that by right it ours.
Such a gentleman was the Colonel,
asking but this. However; we did not
wait, when first he came among us, but
stamped him with the seal of our con
demnation, and so held him while he
crossed the seas and stretched his firing
line. Thoee'illuetriouB Fellows, who sit
in high places, using poetage stamps
free of charge, possessing superior acu
men, demanded that bis removal be im
mediate and'instantaneous.
But this is as it may be. Hie revenue
upon this UDJust censure of ours was
sweet, though at best the means were
scanty; be was too brave to cry out
against it, too noble to return it. He
chose the last and best way to die
for it.
The sharp crack of rifles and the ping
of flying bullets sound across the '
swampa and beneath the tangled creep
ers tossed in lattice work along sluggish
streams. Armed men lie panting in the
tall grass, hot sweat running down their
faces. Toe slender blade-stalks quiver
and rustle in the Ecorching air.
A man springs to hs feet "Charge!"
The grass is alive with rushing men:
it rippleB between their lege, and lies
broken behind. The moment is a long
one an eternity to cross that strip of
fire. Spurts of smoke and tips of red
dart into the air. Short snappy reports
are heard..
But he i3 there at their head sword
in band face tense and mouth set
tight. A ringing shout comes from the
line.
Suddenly he stops with a quick, con
vulsive jerk. The sword slips from his
fingers. He falters and sinks to his
knees with hand on breast. And so to
the ground. The bullets sing on, the
slender grass and white flowers cod and
whisper. The Kiote.
The Bock Island playing cards are
the slickest you ever handled. One
pack will be sent by mail on receipt of
15 cents in stamps. A money order or
draft for 50 cents or same in stamps will
secure 4 packs. They will be sent by
express, charges prepaid. Address,
Johw Sebastian, G. P. A.,
Chicago, Bock Island & Pacific R'y,
Chicago.
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office. Do this this week.
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oflU. Dethkthkwsek.
"Why did all of those actors leave
that boarding house so suddenly?"
The landlady bought au egg plant."
(
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