Windham County Democrat. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1836-1853, 1853-09-28

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CIsens Three graves in four months Death
hastels, and God delivers one by one We do not
accus' thee, we thank thee all-powerfu God who re-
openes to exes the gates Of our eternal country
This THE the dear feess victim we bear TO the tomb
Is womn. On the 2lst of January last woman
was arrestd in her own house at Paris BY NJ Bou-
drot, cohmissary of police. This woman, still
young (shewas but thirtyfve,) but cripple and in
firm, vas sem to the Prefecture, and confined in the
cell M l, called "the trial cell' This cell, sort
OF cage about seven eight feet square, without
air or ght, has been painted by the unfortunate prs-
oner h'rself, in single phrase she called it "tomb-
ike dungeon" She says, and quote her own words,
In this tomb-like dungeon, mutilated and ill., pass
ed one and twenty days, pressing my lips, from time
to time against the grating, to obtain a little fresh
air, so hat might not die" At the end of these
81 days on the l4th of February, the government of
December released this woman, and expelled her.
They Trust her at of prison and out of the
country
The exile left her dungeon with the germs of con-
sumption in her frame. She quilted France, and
went TO Belgium. Poverty compelled her to travel,
coughing splitting blood, her lungs diseased in the
depth OF winter, in the north, amid rain and snow,
and in those horrible uncovered carriages which dis
grace tie wealth of railway companies.
She arrived at Ostend she had been driven from
France; she driven from Belgium. She
went 10 England Hardly had she landed at London
when she took TO her bed The disease contracted in
the dungeon, and aggravated by the hurried Journey
of Punishment, had assumed dangerous aspect The
exe-l ought rather 10 say the poor convict under
sentence of death-lay sick and helpless for two
months and half. Then, in the hope of finding
here more genial spring, and little sunshine, she
came to Jersey. We can remember her arriving one
cold, rainy morning, through the humid mists of the
sea, coughing and shvering in wretched stuff Dress
all soaked with wet. A few days after her arrival
she again compelled to take to her bed she never
rose from it again. Three days ago she died. You
will ask me who this woman was, and what she had
done to be so treated | will tell you.
This woman, by patriotic songs, by sympathetic
and heartfelt words, by good and civic actions, had
rendered the name of Louise Julien under which the
people knew and honored her, celebrated in the fau-
bourgs of Paris. An humble workwoman, she sup
ported her sick mother, and had tended and maintain
ed her for years. In the days of civil strife she
occupied herself in making lint and though lame and
scarcely able to drag herself along, she went about to
the abulances and helped the wounded of both par
ties. This woman of the people was poetess she
was gifted with an elevated mind She sang the re-
EGSR 94s l qSad liberty she invoked with ardor the
believed in God, in the people, in progress, in France
she poured around like vase, her large heart, filled
with love and iaith into the minds of the poor. That
is what this woman did. M. Bonaparte has slain her.
Oh such grave this is not SILENT it is filled with
sighs with eroans, and with excavations.
Citizens, the people, in the legitimate pride of their
might build with granite and marble enduring edif-
ces, majestic halls, and lofty trbunes, from which
their genius speak aloud, and from which the lively
eoquence of patriotism, of progress, and of liberty
spread abroad in through the souls of the
nation; the people, believing that it only needs to be
sovereigns TO be unconquerable, imagine these cta
dels of speech, these sacred forresses of human in
tegence and civilization, TO be inaccessible and i'm
and they say, "the tribune is indestruct
be." They deceive themselves; those tribunes may
be overhrown. A traitor comes, soldiers arrive, a
band of robbers concert, unmask themselves, fire. and
the sanctuary is invaded-the stone and the marble
are scattered-the palace, the temple where great
nation spoke to the world crumbles into dust, and the
foul conquering tyrant applauds his deed, caps his
hands, and cries, at is ended. None will speak a.
gain: not voice will henceforth be raised. All is
silent" Citizens, the tyrant in his turn deceives
himself God will not permit that silence shall en-
exist; He will not have it that liberty, which is His
word shall not be heard
Citizens, at this moment, when the triumphant des-
pots fancy they have taken away forever, God gives
back utterance to ideas. This shattered tribune he
has built up again. Not in the midst of public throng
not of granite and marble, he needs them not. He
has raised il ia solitude He has constructed it of the
grass of the churchyard, with the shade of the cy-
press. with sad mounds formed by collins, hidden be-
meath the earth and from this solitude, the cypress,
these buried cofins know ye, citizens, what arises
There rises up the piercing wall of humanity, denun
citation. and testimony; the memorable accusations
which make the crowned criminal turn pale; there
arise the terrible protestatons of the dead There
arises the avenging voicethat nextingushable voice
that voice which cannot he stiAedthat voice which
cannot be gagged M. Bonaparte has silenced the
tribune. Well Now let him silence the grave !!
He and his like will have done nothing so long as a
sigh can be heard from the tomb and so long as tear
is seen to bedew the eye of pity.
PITY this word which has just fallen from my
Inns has riser from the Utmost depths Of my heart at
the sight of this coffin-the coffin of woman-the
coffin of ou sister-the coffin of martyr. Pauline
Roland in Africa, Louise Julien at jersey Francesca
Maderspatch at Temesvar, Blanca Teliki at Pesth, &
so many others Rosalie Colbert, Eugene Guillemot,
Augustine Peau, Blanche Clouart, Josephine Peabeil,
Elizabeth Parles, Marie Reviel, Claudine Hibruit,
Anne Sangler, the widow Combecure, Armantine
Huet and again, others, sisters, Mothers daughters,
wives, banished, exed, transported, tortured, crush
ed, crucifed. o, wreched woman What objects
of bitter tears, and of unspeakable emotions-weak
suffering, ill., torn from their families their husbands,
their parents, their supporters, sometimes old and
bent with age-all have been heroines, many have
been heroes My thoughts at this moment descend
into the grave and kiss the cold feet of this leess
martyr in her shroud. 1t is not a woman venerate
in Louise Juen-it is woman-the woman of ouI
day-the woman worthy to become ctizen-woman
such as her among us-in all her devotion, in
all her tenderness in all her sacrifice in all her maj