New national era. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1870-1874, 1872-05-16
THE CHILD-STEALER.
BY MN. ERcKMANN-cHArRIAN.


Mayence, tall, emaciated woman, with hoi-
low cheeks, and haggard eyes; frightful
picture of madness. This unfortunate woman,
named Christine Eyig, a matress-maker, liy-
ing in the narrow street called Petit Violet,
at the back of the cathedral, had lost her rea-
son through the occurrence of q terrible event.
Passing, one evening, along the winding
street of the Trois Bateaux, leading her little
daughter by the hand, and suddenly observ-
ing that she had, for moment, let go OF the
child, and that she no longer heard the sound
of its steps. the poor woman turned and
called:
"Deubche! Deubche! Deubche! where
are you 2"
Nobody answered, and the street, as far as
she could see, was deserted.
Then running, crying, calling, she returned
to the port, and peered into the dark water
lying beneath the vessels.
Her cries and means drew the neighbors
about her the poor mother explained to them
her agonies. They joined her in making fresh
search, but nothing, not a trace, not an indi-
cation was discovered to throw light on this
frightful mystery.
From that time Christine Evig had never
again set foot in her home night aud day she
wandered through the town, crying in voice
growing feebier and more plaintive: "Deub-
che (! Deubcheu"
She was pitied; good people supported her,
gave her food, sometimes one, sometimes an
other, and dressed her in their cast-of clothes.
And the police, in presence of a sympathy so
general, did not think it their duty to interfere
and shut Christine up in a madhouse, as was
usual at that period.
She was left, therefore, to go about as she
liked, without any one troubling himself con-
corning her ways.
But what gave to the misfortune of Christine
a truly sinister character was that the disap-
pearance Of her little daughter had been, as it
were, the signal for several events of the same
kind a dozen children disappeared in an as
tonishing and inexpIcable manner, and sew
eral of these children belonged to the upper
rank Of towns-people.
These events usually occurred at nightfall,
when the street passengers were few, and
every one of thsp was fastening home from
business. Awilful child went out to the door
step of its parents house, its mother calling
to it, "Karl!' 's1udwig!' Lotele!" alb
solutely like poor Christine. No answer
They rushed in every direction; the whole
neighborhood was ransacked; it was all over!
To describe to YOU the inquiries Of the
police, the arrests that were made, the per-
QUESTIONS, the terror of families, would be a
thing impossible.
Seeing ones child die is, doubtless, fright
full, but to lose it without knowing what has
become of it, to think that one will never
know it again, that the poor little being, so
feeble and tender, one has pressed to ones
heart with so much love, is i'll perhaps-it may
be, calling for US, and we unable to help it
this passes all agination-exceeds the pow
er Of human expression to convey it. sg
Now, one evening in the October Of that
year, 1875, Christine Evig, after having
strayed about the streets, had gone and seated
herself ON the trough of the Bishops Foun-
tain, her long gray hair hanging about her
face, and her eyes wandering as in the midst
of dream.
The servant girls of the neighborhood, in
stead of stopping to chat as usual about the
fountain, made haste to fill their pitchers and
regain their masters houses.
The poor mad woman alone stayed there,
moti0nless, under the icy shower in which the
Rhine mist was falling. The high houses
around, with their sharp gables, their lattieed
windows, their innumerable dor1ner-lights.
were slowly becoming enveloped in darkness.
The bishops chapel clock struck seven, but
Christine did not move, but still sat shivering
and murnuring :" Deubche! Deubcbe!''
But at that moment, while the pale hue OF
twilight yet fingered on the points of theroofs
before finally disappearing, she suddenly
shuddered from head to foot, stretched for
ward her neck, and her face, impossible for
nearly two years, was lit with such an ex-
preston OF intelligence, that Counsellor
Trtmf's servant, VINO Was, at the moment.
holding her pitcher to the spout, turned in as
tonislment at seeing this gesture of the mad
woman.
Al the same moment woman, with down.
bent head, passed along the pavement at the
other side of the square, holding in her arms
something that was struggling with her, en-
yeloped in piece of linen cloth.
Seen through the rain, this woman was of
sta4mg aspect; she was hurrying away like
thief who has succeeded in effecting rob.
Dery, dragging her rags behind her, and Sink
ing in the shadow.
let hand, and a few inarticulate words fell
from her lips; but suddenly piercing cry
escaped from her bosom:
ut is shev'
ANA bounding across the square in less
than minute she reached the corner of the
Hue des Vieiiles Ferrailles, where the woman
had passed out of her sight.
But there Christine stopped, breathless:
the stranger was lost in the darkness of that
hithy place, and nothing was to be heard but
the monotonous sound of the water falling
from the house-gutters.
what had passed through the mad woman's
sne mad some yisiOn--one of those flashes of
soul that for a moment unshroud to us the
dark depths OF the past? do not know.
BY whatever means, she had recovered her
reason. ssea Hra
Without losing moment in pursuing the
vanished apparition, the unfortunate woman
hurried up the Rue des Trois Bateaux as if
carried along by vertigo, turning at the corner
OF the Place Gutenberg, rushed into the hall
OF the provost, Kasper Schwartz, crying in a
kissing voice
Monsieur lie Provost, the chiM-stealers
are discovered! All, quick, Listen listen!"
ine provost was just finishing his evening
meal. de was brave, methodical man.
liking to take his ease after supper. Tins
the sight Of this phantom greatly iiistnrbad
him, aad, setting down the cup Of tea he was
in the act Of raising to his lips, he cried:
"Good God! am not to have sinole
moments quiet during the day? Can there
possibly be more unfortunate man than
am? What does this mad woman want with
me, now? Why was, she allowed to come
imp s -
Recovering her calmness at these words.
Christine replied, in suppliant manner:
All, Monsieur! you ask if there is q being
murs unfortunate than yourself-look at me
look Il metz =
~ I...1f~