New national era. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1870-1874, 1872-06-13
THE MAN WHO NEVER LAUGHED


PHILADELPHIA, May %, 1872.
THE MAN WHO NEVER LAUGHED.
/ had an old friend. If fate should ever
lead YOU to the graveyard at Rheims, you
might read his name on a slab that is neigh
borly with the tomb of Able Castel, an
amiable poet, who has received credit for
some things which were produced by some
body else. 1t is as much as ten years that
my old friend has lain under the cypress that
his grand children planted over him. The
wind has gradually filled with earth the in
scription which was intended to inform the
public "Here lies NJ. Jean Bernard Moss
has crept over the specimen OF lapidary cali
graphy until the letters of the epitaph have
become a velvet green of the most pictur-
esque appearance.
NY old friend, like goodly number of
those who sleep about him, was something
besides tender spouse and excellent father,
for whose soul prayers are offered up. He
was brave and adventurous he had Travelled
extensively, had been shipwrecked half
dozen times, and was the possessor OF a
worldly experience well worth consulting. 1t
was a most singular thing, however, that, in
spite of his amiable and often jolly humor,
he never laughed.
M. Bernard was fond of telling pleasant
stories, but, while all around HIM were con-
vulsed with laughter, he retained his impas-
sibility. His features would become anima-
ted, his forehead wrinkled, his eyes were
plainly visible; but, as to his lips, they did
not seem to be able to express even that
silent grimace that Fontenello tolerated.
the smile.
One evening-it was on board the English
Of, oil frIn
was sitting by my side.
TELL me-" said suddenly to the young
man, ''why it is that your uncle never
laughs?"
ssWhat have you also remarked that pc
culiarity that dates away back to the days of
his boyhood?'
s'Can't you tell me about it ?''
eyes on condition, however, that you be
careful never to make any allusion to it in
my uncle's presence"
I promised; but now that my old friend is
dead, can take my turn, and tell why it was
that he never laughed.
In 1914. during the great war with France,
NJ. Jean Bernard had reached his fifteenth
year. He was living in Nancy with his
mother. His father had been killed at Leip-
sic, and his eldest brother, captain in the
sand heroes who disputed, step by step, the
march of the allies on the soil of France,
whose success lay in their numbers alone.
1t was rainy day at the ell of February.
The Russians, beaten the night before by
Napoleon, fled toward Nancy, and traversed
hastily the almost deserted streets of the
town. Worn out and covered with-ifiud,
they formed ON the public place in front of
the Hotel de Vile. Suddenly, there was
heard the gallop of score of horses; SOL
diers hurrying on and turning their heads to
look back, loaded their guns. They felt that
they were pursued by the terrible cuirassiers
who had passed their lines on the night be-
fore.
"They are afraid !" cried young boy,
who was one of a small crowd of citizens
looking on.
A burly captain, with grizzly moustache
and an athletic form, heard the remark,
looked the boy in the face, and advanced to-
ward him. My old friend-the young boy,
mean-turned very pale, but doubled up his
fists and awaited his coming. The colossal
Pnssian stepped up, seized the boy by the
throat, slapped his face, and threw him to
the ground. This revenge accomplished, he
heightened out his step TO regain his already
retreating company.
The young Frenchman sprang quickly to
his feet-livid, breathless, mad with rage
and threw himself upon one of the rctreating
grenadiers with an effort to disarm him. He
was quickly thrown to the ground, trambled
under foot, and wounded in the breast with
sabre. The curious crowd that had gathered
fled in a state of CONSERVATION when the
trouble began, and the enemy was already
out of the town, when young Bernard, in his
paroxysm of rage, was still fighting in his own
blood with an imaginary foe.
He was picked up and carried home. A
brain fever placed his days and his reason in
danger, and it took all a mothers care to
bring him back to life He never spoke of
this adventure, which he seemed to have for
gotten, and everybody was careful not to
recall it. His character was visibly affected !;
from frankness and jOyousness he had become
taciturn, and when he was particularly happy
he contented himself with simply smiling.
After the year 1915, Jean Bernard was
placed in bank, while his brother renowned
the profession of arms and bought him a farm
in the neighborhood of Melun.
ILL.,.
There was a heavy storm in Mayence on
the 2lst of November, 1922, raining from six
O'Clock in the morning till mdnigh To-
ward eight O'Clock in the evening of that day.
Major Hasner, Of the Prussian army, was
dancing his little girl on his knee as usual,
giving her his moustache to pull, and listen
ing to the recital of her prayers. After re-
ceiying several of those big, child-like kisses
which resound charmingly, he laid her
down in her little cradle. As soon as Mile.
Charlotte had closed her eyes, her mother
rocking her and singing softly one of those
little lullabies that can be traced even to the
savages, the officer went into the parlor,
where the mother sat waiting for him. He
kissed her forehead in sincere filial affection.
then walked up and down the long room
several times, halting finally before window
stretched from the parlor candles upon the
wet sidewalk.
A graceful young woman, one finger on
her lips, and stepping lightly out of the room
where her little girl had just fallen asleep,
approached the dreamer, who, though he had
just been promoted to a majority, still wore
his captains uniform.
"What are you dreaming Of, Frederic ?''
she asked, as she leaned her head against her