Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1881-07-08

Il will not attempt to turn you away from
a career for which you are fatally pre-
destined: but are you quite sure of your
vocation What right have yeuto proclaim
yourself poet? It is because you have
written verses and made rhymes? At that
2 tie too am a poet Beware and do not mis-
take for your star will-o' -the-wisp which
would lead you-heaven knows where!
To misery. to shame, to death. Ny trade,
cousin, gives me the right to speak to you
in this way. Printing, You see is the ante
chamber of literature, and like the Wallets
in all great houses. | sometimes look
through the keyhole. The other day for
instance, j was sent to an authors to ask
for copy. The author was, like yor,
Theresc a young girl of twenty. -four d
her sick in bed. Her mother was at h, 2
side She was writing. From time to
time her weary head fell upon her breast.
the pen stopped under her skeleton fingers,
and then she would ask for cup of coffee.
1t was to inspire her. she said; but the
perfidious liqnid poured at the same time
fever and inspiration into her veins, and
each phrase. each verse. cost the invalid
a quarter of an hour other lite. BE quick,
madame said 10 her heedlessly, for
we are waiting and we must work You
must work she murmured. looking at
her mother. and then - This is not
romance. cousin; the young muse was
singing only yesterday: to-day she Is
silent and if YOU wish to know her name. ="
'.Silence. pray you said Therese,
warmly | know that name; know that
story. Poor elder sister, il the sleep OF
death has dreams, posthumous glory at
least consoles thee now in the tomb :"
Her glory, cousin ~ | said with .
smile.
will you dare attack it?'
MAY never nv black hands tear q
single Leaf OF laurel from the head of one
that is dead But il were father. and
were asked rs many have been, TO sub
scribe towards the erection of monument
to the Young Breton poetess. With all
my heart sh uld have replied; but on
condition that this epitaph be engraven
upon it Here lies an honest girl, killed
m the age ottUe5ty by the craze Of Wrttsn9;
and then below: IL is torbtd,ien to deposit
rerses on this tomb.'"
In short, made such desperate efforts
to save my cousin from the scribbling
mania that the same evening l persuaded
her to place her luggage in the diligence,
and the next morning we were both roll
ing along the road to Champagne.
/ could not be present at the meeting OF
the prodigal daugeter and her father. l
had stopped at little printing office two
leagues distant from the village. But the
following Sunday, as you may well
imagine, arrived at my nncle's almost
as early as the daylight. | found MY
cousin singing at her window lullaby
for a baby, who was in the torments of
teething. Therese received me cordially.
but with somewhat cold air. Her man.
ner betrayed secret preoccupation, and
made me suspect that the young metro
maniac was not completely cured, but
only convalascent.
| sat down to the table between her and
her father, before an excellent cabbage
soup, which the eX-muse protested to have
made herself, and without assistance. The
meal was gay; we laughed and talked.
Unfortunately as | took my handkerchief
out of my pocket letter fell out addressed
to Therese. While was experimenting
the removal of her luggage at Paris and
going up and down stairs, the porter had
given me the letter which had remained
until then forgotten and buried in the
pocket of my Sunday coat. All! if the
rats had only devoured the letter and the
coat as well 1t was Il letter from 4
theatrical manager announcing that
"Zenobia' had been accepted by acclaim
alton. and that he was only waiting for
visit from the author in order to begin the
rehearsal of the piece Therese read the
letter aloud. | felt that it was all over
with her happiness. We only offered a
feeble and hopeless resistance to the in
vincible fascination which dragged her
along She left-never to return.
One month later her father and | were
weeping over black-edged letter bearing
the postmark-of Paris. Therese. impa-
tient to arrive at Paris, had found nothing
but an outside place on the diligence at
the neighboring town. \ whole day passed
in this way amidst rain and wind. obliged
her to take to her bed as soon as she
reached Paris. Glory might perhaps have
cured her. but at the very moment when
she was making supreme effort to drag
herself to the theatre, the flames were de-
vouring the building with its scenery, its
costumes. and the drama of ''Zenobia" as
well. After that the fever increased and
soon got the better of its victim. A
moments of Therese. As her hostess was
trying to persuade her to take some food,
she said with the air of a delrious person
Il shall dine tonight in fine company"
And with trembling hand she began to
write out the invitations. The list of the
guests composed: Dryden. Savage. NAL
filatre, Chatterton. Gilbert. Escousse,
Elisa Mercpur
The DAYS. weeks and months, that fol-
lowed this fatal news were full of painful
distractions for me. In setting type took
up the wrong letters; in wiping away my
tears smudged my face with ink, and
once as was leaning over the linked form
of poster announcing that some house
was to let, | found printed on my apron
over my heart the words: racdnt par suite
dc decese, vacant owing to the death
of former occupant.