Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1881-07-08
Gales arro Sketfbes.
fHEREsE sUREAU-A TRAGEDY.
By HEGEsIPPE MoREAu, PRINTER.


day under the chestnut trees in the Jardin
DIES Plantes; it was Sunday, and was
then free from the drudgery of nv trade
of typograpber-a terrible trade in the
present state of literature.
Amongst the louDgers. always curious
and always the same that were grouped
in front Of the elephant house, l had Just
perceived Young woman whose presence
in such place | could scarcely explain.
for, although she was dressed with ex-
treme simplicity. her strikingly pale face
contrasting with her black hair were not
wanting in distinction. and her lips had
more than once received with a movement
OF irony the silly observations that rained
around us. ! was watching tor an oppOr-
tunity To speak to her; it soon presented
itself. Her open bag disclosed to my
view roll Of paper. an octave volume
and three little apples. A movement OF
the young woman led me to believe that
she. too, wished to pay her tribute to the
vOracious animal. Take care said to
her; .'last Sunday lady advanced her
arm and her bag as YOU are doing to offer
the elephant a cake when the beast quiet
ly swallowed cakes and bag and all take
carer'
Embrldened by smile. continued
Look, this is the way to do it," and TAX
ing one of the apples between my thumb
and first finger offered it 10 the animal.
He swallowed it so nicely that imme-
diately took second apple, which disap-
peared like the first. I should have de-
spatched the last apple by the same wav
had not discovered as turned to take
it. that my fair neighbor had disappeared.
/ continued my promenade, walking
aimlessly and ihoughiiully. when at the
bend Of solitary path espied the object
of my preoccupation. Seated on n stone
bench the lady with the apples was eat
ing the last one, and at the same time
reading volume spread out on her knees.
stopped, petrified with surprise and con-
fusion. Alas saw at last, but too late.
that the apples were not destined for the
elephant. and that in my awkward cour-
tesy had robbed the lady fmy thoughts
OF two-thirds of her breakfast. What
could do? could not add insult to my
foolishness by brutally offering her other
apples, and yet ! was longing to pay the
debt that mad contracted.
When the young women had finished
her Pythagorean meal, she continued
reading her book, which seemed to inter
est her deeply. Then a strange idea en-
tered my head. | remembered that one
of my friends. a student, had formerly
won the good graces of shop-girl by
usurpng the name of Casimir Delavigne
My plan was formed. At the moment
when the young woman, with q move
ment of idolatrous admiration. touched
one of the leaves of her book with her
rosy lips Thank you," said bravely.
rs advanced. The unknown one raised
her eyes: What said she. red rs n
cherry, ''you are - interrupted her
with IL modest bow. Then you should
nave seen the girl culver with holy re-
spect. and YOU yourself, reader, would
culver with Indignation if ] told you the
poetical aureole that | had impudently
assumed | offered my arm. 1t is need
less to say that it was accepted As we
walked along my companion confessed
herself to me she was woman OF let
tiers. who had just arrived from the prov
inces. where she was not understood. ut
Paris. which cared little about understand |
ing her. She had composed. in solitude |
and silence, rs she said, Il volume of po-
ems. which ran considerable risk.
thought of diving as il had been born.
Furthermore. she had offered to one of
the theatres of the boulevards drama
entitled, if remember rightly. Zenobia.
The prompter. the gasman. the scene
shtter. AMI other theatrical authorities
had advised her. in the interests of the
piece. to make n role in it for an elephant,
which explained her careful examination
Of the manners of that gigantic beast when
| had first observed her. Alas the fair
poetess imagined she was cOnfessing to
the high priest of the romantic religion
rs for me listened to her. blushing and
stammering like a schoolboy who has hid
den himself in the confessional on Easter
eve to surprise the pretty penitents in
peccadilloes. We are now outside the |
garden. and | went on and on. and my |
companion followed me confidently; it |
was not a man but n poet she was follow
ing. For her the big bell of Notre Dame |
ringing for vespers. was sounding my |
glory in her eyes bore on my brow a |
blue flame like the genii in tales. and, on
the faith of this star, she would have tol |
lowed me without hesitating into the Cour |
DIES Miracles. We are now far from our
starting point, and at the door of lit
tie wine-shop that knew. Suppose we
90 in there" | said, 1--WE shall be able to
talk more at our ease and without wait
ing tor her reply. l crossed the threshold. |
followed by the innocent provincial. who
was somewhat. astonished at these I'M
ceremonious manners. and. doubtless at
tributed them in petto TO originality. the
ordinary companion of genius. The two
sto en- apples had hitherto weighed heavy
on my conscience but at last. my remorse
vanished between the roast and the desert
Meanwhile the conversation continued.
How do you advise me to sign my new
volumes ?" asked the muse. You know
\ sonorous name sometimes imposes upon
the reader. and people would scarcely be-
lieve in the talent OF poet called plain
Therese Sureau."
81 started at that well-known name. and
open-mouthed and moiionless | fixed nv
astonished eyes upon the speaker. MY
cousin ~ | stammered out. as tell back
into my chair.
A gesture betrayed her disappointment.
"No, am not poet and have deceived
you." | continued. anticipating her ques-
tons. Il am simply, fair muse. Pierre
Jacques. your cousin. typographer."
And indeed it was Theresc. Therese
the most loved Of the companions of my
childhood. Paleness had masked her
former rosy face and had not recognized
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