The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1885-06-11
monitomof pilot.
THURSDAY, JUNE IL, 1885.
A DRAMATIC STOEY.

Every morning about II O'clock for
the past three years woman, closely
yelled and clad in severest black, Gid
ed like half-invisible figure through
little private door hidden in the walls
of the Church of the Madeleine, and
which introduced the living who visi-
ted the dead into the somber crypts of
the holy basilica.
Punctual as if it was meeting of
honor or love, this shadow, so familiar
to the old sexton who guards the keys
of the sanctuary where the collins are
waiting Gas if at travelling station for
the mysterious train to eternity,
passed through with a noiseless and
rapid step. This door is unknown to
the majority of the faithful, and is ac-
cessible only to the initiated. 1t is
closed to the Indifference Of strangers.
1t is sacred to those who mourn their
dead. How many pious mourners,
with fearful eyes and prayerful lips,
and hearts filled with hope of meeting
the dear departed in a brighter and
better world, have passed through that
portal of sorrow! As you enter, leav-
ing behind you the busy, crowded
street. with its surging throngs and
jostling vehicles, the little passage
leading to the crypts of the dead tusss
to the left, near the main altar. The
number of these subterranean guests
varies; sometimes more, sometimes
branches detached from the parish
tree, and whose last resting-place is
not as yet prepared. All the dead do
not pass on at the same pace, though
the old ballad says they do. The vaults
prepared for some of those dear de-
parted oftentimes require as much time
In building as palace hotel. Some
are waiting to be translated to the old
spot of their childhood or to friends
now far away. And, again, the love Of
a father or mother, husband or wife,
brother or sister, often seeks to retain
the coffin as long as possible, as if in
committing it to the bosom of the earth
the dead are a second time torn from
their tenderness and love.
This elegant woman, yelled and clad
in black, that glides through the door
of the Madeleine every morning, is a
mother.
A mother who lost her ouly daughter
ere she had attained her Goth year, and
who was hardly ever out of that
mothers sight till death tore her rude
ly away.
How old was that mother who seem
ed now only to live for the dead? Those
who saw her could not guess. Her
mien was simple, but involuntarily re-
firing. Her step was light, and her
carriage easy and graceful, even amid
the gravity of her daily pilgrimage.
She descended with familiar step the
dark and narrow stairway that led to
the corridor opening into the chamber
of the dead, half lit-up with few
struggling rays of light. There she
stopped at least an hour-sometime
two-and often three.
A priedieu was awaiting her. She
knelt on it, and prayed and wept and
wept and prayed before little chapel,
the only luminous point amid the dark
surroundings. From time to time she
would interrupt her devotions to ar
range or rearrange the flowers on the
little altar or renew the bouquets and
faded crowns and the vases adorned
with their white symbols.
On a white bed, resting on four
square columns, in the style of the beds
of the sixteenth century, covered with
white draperies, embroidered with sill
ver reposed a coffin, which was also
draped in white. At the four corners
of the bed were four large silver can
delabra and white flowers in bouquets,
crowns, pots everywhere on the bed
at its foot and around it. There re-
posed the remains of that lovely virgin,
torn from a mothers tenderness, and
there that mother came to visit her
child, and in this asylum of the dead to
battle her soul in the joys of living over
again with her child the happiness of
former days.
One day this week, this lady clad in
black failed to pay her morning visit to
the dead, and the old sexton muttered
as he stumbled by: What must have
happened to her? This is the first time
in three years that she has not spent
the morning with her daughter. She
must be sick. and very sick, indeed
And he muttered his uneasiness and
forebodings to the servants of the
church.
Soon the rumor spreads that ghast-
ly murder has been committed All
the vicinity is stirred and soon all Paris
is moved. A woman has been found
with her throat cut, dead in her bed in
the Rue de Seize!
The name of the victim is on every
lip. 1t is that of the mourning mother,
who that day for the first time failed to
come to pray beside her daughters cof-
fin. 1t is Nine. Carnot.
The next morning the spoilt child
spoilt even in death - awaited the
mothers visit. The mother was at the
morgue.
Two coffins-one white, the other
black-now lie side by side in the dark
cavern of Madeleine, and soon both
viii be On their journey to the ceme-
terry of Passy, and mother and daugh-
ter will be separated no more.-Paris
GQHlOiS