for new orders. It would be difficult for you to appreciate my feelings.
I saw by my field-glass that the Germans were much more numerous than
the French. Then came other hasty orders; we were tired to death, but
the enemy were fresh. Everybody was very anxious. I approached the
general; while I was speaking with him a shell burst at our feet, a bit
of it struck me in the face, and my horse reared and set off at a great
gallop in spite of my efforts to hold him back.
* * * * *
I passed over a great distance in a very few minutes. What could the
French army do against so many men and cannon? Most of our higher
officers had disappeared. Our clothes were covered with mud and dust,
our faces were blackened by the powder; nevertheless the order came
again: "You must charge once more!" "I have already lost half of my
men," was the answer. No matter! We must begin over again; the ground
shakes under us as we advance.
* * * * *
The shock is terrible. An officer fires straight at me, but I cut off
his arm. I see the swords gleam all about me; three troopers come to my
rescue. "Come, captain," they say, "the battle is lost. We are ordered
to sound the retreat." Several officers of the general's staff repeat
the command, and the day is lost.
LE MAUVAIS ZOUAVE.
The blacksmith usually put out his fire as soon as the sun set. He liked
to sit before his door and see his apprentices go by, and thus rest
himself after the burden of the day. But this day he came home directly
and sat down at table. He was evidently in a very bad humor; his wife
looked at him without daring to ask him anything. She had a nice supper
on the white tablecloth; a good salad and some cream radishes. The
blacksmith had no appetite, and at last he burst out: "Oh! what rascals
they are, those young French soldiers whom I have seen with the
Prussians this morning; they are not true Frenchmen, otherwise they
would not have left their regiment and chosen to be Prussians. It is
entirely their fault, and I don't believe that they are at all homesick;
I can't understand why they come back. They must be cowards; I hope that
our son will not be capable of such an infamy, for if it were true, I
should rather kill him with my sword. But what's the good of getting
excited? Our boy was in the war against the Germans." With that he began
to laugh, and this idea put him in good humor again. He dined merrily,
and then went to the tavern to pass a couple of hours. His wife remained
alone. She took up her work and began to mend the stockings, after
putting the little children to bed. She thought of her son, who, before
being a soldier, used to water the garden and care for the house.
Suddenly the gate of the garden opened; as the dogs had not barked, she
was sure that it was no robber who glided along the wall as though he
was afraid of being seen. Yes! It was her boy who stood before her with
a sunburned complexion. He had come back to his native village,
deserting his post in the French army. She had not the courage to scold
him, because he told her that the discipline was so hard, and he was
always hungry and thirsty. Suddenly they heard some one walking in the
garden, and the boy had only the time to hide behind the stove when his
father entered. The old man saw the military cap on the table; he
understood in a minute that his son was there. Furious, he ran for his
sword and rushed toward the stove where the boy was hidden. The mother
cried out: "Don't kill him! It is my fault, because I told him to come
back." The blacksmith stopped, and then said: "Well, to-morrow we shall
see what to do. Go to bed now." All night the mother remained near the
bed of her child, because she was afraid of the father. The old man did
not go to bed all night long; he walked up and down in the garden,
thinking of what he was to do. The next morning he appeared before his
wife and child, clad as if for travelling, with a large hat and a stout,
iron-bound stick. "Come, get up," said he to his son. "Give me your
uniform and take my clothes; since you have sacrificed your honor for
love of your home, take this house and this garden. The blacksmith shop
and everything else here belong to you. I am going to Algiers to pay the
debt which you owe to France." It was in vain that the wife and child
besought him to remain; he left the house without turning around, and
remained five years in the army in place of his son.
UN MARIAGE.
All the workingmen of the great city had put on their Sunday clothes;
they were walking on the sidewalks and were talking together, when
suddenly some one cried out: "Here is the wedding procession." My
surprise was great when I saw at the other end of the street only the
bridal pair and behind them four witnesses. I had supposed that this
must be the wedding day of the owner of the factory, since the crowd was
so great and was formed like two hedges on each side of the street. The
couple smiled at their friends, and waved to them a friendly salute. The
young man was leaning on the arm of the girl, and allowed himself to be
guided by her. He carried his head high, and his eyes were fixed and
glassy, and I saw that he was blind. After the couple had passed the
door of the town hall I remained on the sidewalk, when a workingman whom
I knew, an overseer in the factory, passed by. Together we entered a
coffee house, and he told me the story of the couple: "The young fellow
used to work in the great iron works; he was a model workman, and his
comrades were very fond of him. One day there was an accident; a bit of
iron entered his eye, and the ambulance was called to carry him to the
hospital. He had to undergo a terrible operation, which did not succeed,
for he lost both his eyes. His employer promised him a small pension,
but in a short time the factory failed and all the workmen were without
work. Of course the pension of the blind fellow stopped; the lawyers
came and shut up the factory and took possession of all the account
books. This was a hard blow for Jean; he was blind, sick, alone, and he
was deprived of the small sum which assured to him his daily bread. We
had to think it over, and at last, with the permission of the overseer,
we built a little box at the entrance to the factory, where the blind
man could sit and beg. It was no disgrace for him to beg, but he blushed
with shame at the thought; in order not to be idle he made little
objects of wire, which he sold. One day, however, during the terrible
winter which followed, Jean fell sick and was forced to stay in bed. We
placed a little collection box at his seat, but no one stopped to give
pennies when it was so cold. There was a young girl near the attic where
Jean was lying sick; she was touched by his misfortune, so she took her
lace (she was a lace maker) and seated herself at the box. When any one
passed she said: 'Don't forget the poor blind man.' Many people came to
see her there, and she carried home her collection, in which there were
not only the pennies of the workingmen, but also silver and gold pieces
from richer people. She succeeded so well that she did the same thing
the next day and all the following days, until Jean was finally cured of
his sickness. You can easily guess the end of the story. Jean said to
his comrades one day that he wanted to marry the generous lace maker,
and he invited them all to his wedding. The marriage did not disarrange
the daily work in the factory, because to-day is a holiday. The chief
owner paid for the wedding dinner, and now you see why we are all here
this morning. We wanted to prove our friendship for the poor blind
fellow." As he finished speaking, the married couple left the town hall,
and everybody cried out: "Long live the bride!"
POUR LE RUBAN.
When one lives in the country without working, one is sure to win the
respect of all the village inhabitants. Although Olivier had only nine
hundred francs income, yet he found this very true.
On arriving at Nançay, he remained very much by himself in the small
room which he had rented in the village inn. From the very start
everybody in Nançay had talked about him; those who patronized the inn
asked: "Who on earth is that man?" "I don't know him very well," was the
answer, "but he is an honest man, and he pays for his little room
without trying to beat me down. He used to be a bookkeeper at the city
hall in Paris, and they say that the government gives him a pension.
Then, too, you see that he wears a ribbon in his buttonhole, and that
proves that he is an honorable man." Some one asked again: "What is that
decoration?" and an old man answered in an embarrassed voice, "Oh, I
know! They give that to a man who has rescued the flag in battle." From
that moment Olivier was famous in the village. When he entered the inn
everybody stopped drinking and saluted him. He commenced to be puffed up
by the respect by which he was greeted. The people, however, said that
it was only his modesty. Thus he became a curiosity, and bicyclists as
they passed the inn would ask to see M. Olivier, who had once rescued
the flag. Everybody admired the hero, and a nobleman in the neighborhood
sent for him and asked him for the story of his noble deed. M. Olivier,
however, answered: "It is not worth while to tell the story of the
affair. I only did my duty." A brave man does not like to talk about his
heroic deeds. Thus, even at Paris, the story was known; only there,
instead of repeating it as a legend, the nobleman told it as a true
story to all his friends, saying: "It was the 37th dragoons, who were
saved from death and destruction by the man whom you can see in flesh
and blood if you will only promise to come and visit me at Nançay." It
happened that the country was in the throes of a political election.
Each candidate, in order to get more votes, promised to have M. Olivier
decorated with the Cross of the Legion of Honor instead of the simple
medal which he wore. No one thought of investigating the title of the
old soldier to the decoration, until one day the Radical candidate made
a little inquiry, and then he had posted a notice saying that M. Olivier
was only a former policeman who had once pulled a drunken man away from
the river. The man was only trying to drink a little water, but on a
report of the circumstance the government granted Olivier the medal.
This was too much for the inhabitants of Nançay; they asked to see
Olivier, and one of them demanded, in a trembling voice, if it was true;
and Olivier answered modestly: "Did I ever say the contrary?"
PAROLE D'HONNEUR.
They had taken the poor boy with arms in his hands, and the company of
soldiers was going to shoot him. He was only eighteen years old, and the
execution was to take place at the foot of the neighboring barricade.
The poor little apprentice used to live with his parents without ever
thinking of politics; but after the death of his father, killed by the
Prussians during that terrible winter, when the streets were covered
with snow and ice, the boy used to go and gather potatoes in the fields.
One day he was severely wounded by a Prussian bullet, and then he
enlisted, with many of his comrades, in the army. He had no heart in the
struggle, and he was sure to die soon. If he could only give his life to
his country! But now he was captured, and in thinking of all he had
suffered he did not care whether he lived or died. It was certainly very
hard to leave the mother whom he loved so well, but the thought consoled
him that she was very sick, and that she would not have to suffer much
longer. He would say good-by and...
"Come now, my youngster, you know what you have to expect," said a voice
behind him. The young fellow looked up and saw an officer who was
followed by several soldiers. "Are you ready for us, and are you not
afraid?" "No, captain, I am not afraid of anything," was the proud
answer of the boy. "I'm sure, if I told you to get out of here just as
quickly as you can, that it would be soon done. I should never see you
again." "Well, just try me for an hour, not a moment more. I'll give you
my word of honor, and I'll keep it. At any rate, it wouldn't matter very
much whether you shoot one more or less, and if I promise, I shall keep
my word." "Come," said the captain, "you must think that I am very
stupid. It would indeed be strange if you returned to get killed. You
can't make me believe that." "Listen, captain; my mother is at the point
of death; I must kiss her once more, and then, on my word of honor, I
will deliver myself into your hands. Just grant me one hour of liberty
and I will bless you for this supreme consolation." The voice of the
youth trembled with emotion. The officer was evidently struck by the
force of the words, for, taking on a very stern expression, he demanded:
"What is your name? How old are you? Where does your mother live? Why
did you leave home? Where is your father?" The boy told his story, and
added that his mother lived near, at Belleville. The captain thought a
moment, and then said: "Go ahead; I'll give you until this evening."
Our hero rushed away, and after ten minutes he entered his mother's
home. He entered the room on tiptoe, for they told him that she was
asleep. They were mistaken; the sick woman opened her eyes. Without
saying a word the son rushed into her arms and sobbed as though his
heart would break. "You have nothing to fear," said the mother; "take
off that costume, return to your work, and I will hurry up and get well.
You see that I am already very much better. Time will make us forget
this horrible dream of war and death." These words tired the mother, and
she let her head fall back on the pillow, closed her eyes, and fell
asleep. The young man imprinted a kiss on his mother's forehead, looked
at her a few minutes in silence, and then ran from the room. Without
stopping, he returned to the captain, who was greatly astonished to see
him so soon. He looked at him in astonishment as the boy told the story
of his mother.
"You are really a very brave boy," said he, at last, "and I am going to
pardon you. Return to your mother; it would be a pity to shoot such a
brave fellow." The son flew back to his mother's house. She awoke as he
came in, and cried out: "Victor, where are you?" The boy became later a
famous officer in the French army.
COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY
H. A. POTTER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
314.11
The Athen[ae]um Press
GINN & COMPANY PROPRIETORS BOSTON U.S.A.