Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1883-09-24

AASS~c
sary to correspond with the Wears
of several metropolitan churches. \ month
| was spent in these preliminaries and the
result was that the body OF the bird. without
the head and tail, should be the size of q
sheep; that it should be made of galvanized
zinc of appropriate thickness, weighing
| twenty pounds and that it could be manu-
featured in Paris by man whose address
was given.
A fortnight later the bird was brought to
the presbytery, where, after being carefully
unpacked, it was exhibited to the curiosity
and admiration of the faithful.
During the few days that the receptions
lasted the bird did not show much cour-
tesy to its visitors; its crest, cut out in
sharp points, lacerated severely the lips of
young child who had leaned over the
arms of hismother to kiss his head; its beak
opened the forehead of little girl who was
pushed too near by boys scrambling to get a
better view; the point of its tail caught the
surplice of the priest and tore it badly.
Strange to say, even the animals seemed to
experience, at the sight of it, a repulsion not
1nmixed with terror; the priests dog growled
at it, hanging his head with sacred look,
and, when, at some distance, turned to bark
the cat would sit in front of it, staring
strangely with its green eyes; then, arching
its back would go away, sketching fantastic
Recommendations in the air with its tail This
ill-onened influence, so evident and SO COR
slant, finally disturbed the mind of the priest
himself. so much so that one day, when the
placing of the bird was spoken of, the worthy
divine could not help saying to one of his col
leagues that 'fcandidly he longed to
be rid of this horrid beast" Saying which,
whether influenced by remorse for this fash
of superstition OF from some fatal PRESENT.
ment he stared for moment, bent his head,
and made the sign of the cross. Now that
you know the locality and the prologue of
the tragedy, will show you the victim.
The man who is now entering the hall of
the presby tery, it is he; he is the one who is
doomed.
What he is, what his name is, where he
comes from, what matters it? He is, if you
wish it, any one, the artisan who CHANGED to
be there when a workman of his profession
was needed; in short, he is man; is not
that. enough?
HeTe he is, as sanguine in his
own life as you may be yourself
self confident in yours while I am
speaking His cap in his hand, ne listens
with Difference to the words of the priest,
nodPng his head slowly while listening to the
explanations given to him, calculating with
a thoughtful and intelligent look the difficult
ties and the expense of his task. He passes
his hand across his forehead, rubs his chin.
names his reward; so much for the pole, so
much for the ropes, so much for the hooks
and rings, so much for the trouble
And for the life?
The risks are not paid for; that is his
business.
The bargain is concluded. He bows with a
smile and retires. As he crosses the TIRES
hold, the good priest, suddenly seized by ter
rible anguish, calls him back, inquiries in a
tender voice if he is very sure of his strength
and courage, if he does not fear giddiness, if
he has we'll foreseen and calculated all the
dangers Of the undertaking,
The man looks at him with an astonished
air, pulls up his sleeve to show his arms,
strikes with his hand his enormous limbs,
swells out his chest, and, lifting his
head, stands erect like a Titan ready
to scale the heavens. And he goes home,
poor man, to rest.
Now is the time. The sun has risen two
hours since. Refreshed by good sleep,
restored by a solid meal, the brave tiler
climbs the steps of the steeple, followed by
the two assistants who carry up to the plat
form the weather-cocl, the pole and the
ropes
All the population of Saint-Vrain, swelled
by a concourse of people from the surround
ing parishes, crowds at the foot of the steeple.
The gendarmes, keeping sentry, come and go,
with cadenced step, around the parvise, to
maintain an empty space in case something"
should fall from the top of the spire. The
large door of the nave, opening on the side
of the tower, is closed to the public. In the
church some old women, with anxious,
pitying hearts, burn tapers and say
prayers for the unknown man who
up there is going to risk his life.
The priest, turning with trembling
hand the pages of his breviary, bustles about
in the vestry-room, not daring to go out to
look, or to speak to anybody, or to. ask for
news.
Suddenly sort of yelling, dull and pro-
1onged, rises from the midst of the crowd
gathered in the streets; the man has appeared
on the platform. Partly seen within the
opening of the door, he seems to be pulling at
something, and, in fact, is unrolling the ropes
that he lays in bundles on the edge of the
parapet. He afterwards can be seen putting
up along the base of the spire pole higher
than himself, and finally wrapping in some
covering the vane which he deposits between
the parapet and the wall.
He is at the foot of the spire. A horizontal
ledge, three feet wide, allows him to stand
and to walk He goes aroud the spire and
encircles it tightly with thick rope fastened
by a running knot Within this rope he
passes two others which are hanging and
fastened, one to the bird, the other to the
pole.
And now he starts. Facing the roof, he
has girded his loins with the thick rope, the
running knot of which he tightens until it
draws him near enough to the roof, and then
using his hands and knees, he pushes himself
sideways, rising little at every movement
tracing thus the first turn of the spiral which
brings him to the first projecting stone.
There he fixes hook fastened to his breast
by strong leather strap, and, with his two
disengaged hands, he unloosens the sliding
knot, tightens the thick rope, begins his sec
ond revolution, and reaches the second pro-
jecting stone.
Forty times during an hour that seemed
longer than a century the terrified
spectators saw him appear and dis
appear successfully higher, higher and
higher, quicker and quicker, the ascension