The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1872-06-22
DE QUESNOY'S LAST BANQUET.

Monsieur is sketching the old
chateau? 1t is well worth the trouble,
ma fdi =! but, for my part, like not to
look at it.
/ started and looked around. [ had
seated myself on a huge, moss grown
boulder, upon gentle slope overlook
ing the broad, smooth stream of the
Doubs. To my left extended a wide
stretch of cultivated land, parcelIed off
into those little patches which are one
of the first things that strike one on en-
tering France. To my right, against a
background of encircling woodland,
stood out the low, matched houses,
and broad, white, dusty street of the
little village of St. Pierre, halfway up
which the painted signbord of the
"Pomme dor" glittered like shield
III the sunshine. Just below me, the
river curved itself In one great sweep
round the base of steep hill, that rose
on the opposite side, on the brow of
which stood the ruins of an old seign-
orial chateau. Such relics are not un-
common in France; but this ruin diff
fered from those which / had yet seen,
us the corpse of a man cruelty murder
ed differs from that of one who has
died In his sleep. The ground rlven
us if by an earthquake, the black CHI ar
red stones scattered far and wide
around, the yawning riffs in the ma
Sonry, which still remained erect, all
spoke, not of gradual decay, but of
sudden and terrible destruction The
gloom of great crime and a fearful
tragedy seemed to brood over that
gaunt, ghastly ruin, looming grimly
against the glory of the clear summer
sky, like shadow of one great sin upon
stainless life.
[ turned round Gas [ have said) to
see who had spoken, and saw beside
me an old man in the dress of a we'll
TODD peasant Of the country. [ had
just been reading Erckmann- Chatrian's
glorous Historic dosa Paysa,a; and had
we been In the neignborhood of Phals-
bourg, instead OF in that CT Besancon,
L should have said that Michel Bastien
now stood before me. The long, white
hair and beard, enclosing the bronzed
face in a kind Of frame the large,
bright eve; the bold, erect bearing /;
above all, the deep earnest look as of
one who had done and suffered above
the measure of his kind-were all sug.
gestive of the Alsatian Old Mortality.
| saw at once that [ had fallen in with
ID character.
g You say you don't like to look at
that ruin yonder2 " said l. "Well, it
certainly Is not a pleasant sight, but
what do you know about it "
g Eerything," answered the old peas
ant, emphaticaliy. 81 saw it in all It's
splendor; and [ saw it in the hour of
It's destruction, 20 years ago. If YOU
care to hear the story, I'll tell it to
you"
The offer was not to be sighted fo1
such tale as this promised to be, re-
lated by an eyewitness on the very
scene of the catastrophe, was an unex-
pected prize. [ motioned my com
panion to a seat on the stone beside
me, and disposed myself to hasten to
him.
Il remember the days before the
revolution" he began, "although /
was then only child but I remember
them, Just as one might recollect a hor-
rid nightmare. [ seem to have dream.
ed of being hungry and cold and rag.
ged and helpless, for ever SO long,-and
| then suddenly to have walked up free
and well off. After all, it wasn't our
fault If the Juitiotinddes and morales
befell; they were the work of the tour
lists of the assemble, and the cunuiLle
OF the great towns. All that we peas
ants wanted was to have enough to live
upon, instead of being fayed alive by
the mobiles; and the revolution did that
for us, at least. Look at mel In nv
childhood, L ran barefoot along the
hlgh-road, begging of the passers-by,
with no hope Of ever being any better
on than my father, poor laborer, who
lived upon black bread and onions, and
! never knew what it was to be warm or
well clothed from one years end to an.
other. L remember that in those DAYS
/ used always think of heaven as a
place where one would be allowed to
sit close to a big fire, and eat ones fill
of the white bread and dainty roast
meat which my cousin Pierre, the sol
der (who was on guard at the Chateau
de Quesnoy when his colonel dine6
there, had told me about. Well, mon
sieur, have now sheep and cattle of
my own, and a good bit of corn land
into the bargain; my son Gaspard is
an dUocdt 1T Lyon; and my grandson,
BaptIste, Is q sOats-Iieadenoft in the
s me ie9ere. Show me the peasant be-
fore the revolution whose son or grand
sou could have become an officer !
Bah
Those were the days when the