The united opinion. [volume] (Bradford, Vt.) 1881-1970, 1886-10-15
WHAT A WOMAN SHE IS.
A TALK WITH ONE WHO KNOWS
THE STRANGE LOUISE MICHEL,

Fancies Which Never Reached Frui
tion-Uncouth Appearance-Her Lover,
Blood ut tho Dnrricades.
Tho name of Charles Francois Thibaudeau
young French artist given to painting sad
eyed peasants, Is not altogether unknow n in
this country. lie Is a wild-haircd young fell
low OF the Cauticr type-a genius given up IL
medieval neckerchicfs and pre- Raphaclite col.
lars. But he knows every one-artists, play.
ers, loafers, students, demagogues cocottes-
IN fact, he knows Louise Michel Loaing one
evening In one Of the coay rooms of the Eden
thcatre-where poor little Van Zandt was
his'ed into tears-he grew reminiscent.
Dear boy, what woman, what woman "
he said musingly, watching the winkng bub-
blcs in his glass ~ would give every hair in
my head to paint her-every hair. Yes. dear
hoy, and forswear wigs to boot. What a
woman!
"Thc first time l saw her, you sayl OUT,
what DEVILS day it wasl It was two three
years ago-a lifetime ago. was painting
my great"
"Certaialy, but Louise!"
"She lived with her mother then" he went
on, "in one OF the suburbs-La Chapelle.
They had bit of a room on the fourth floor
of a house in the Rue du Polonceau, near the
dainty quarter, Goutte dor. There was
only one room, l think. A stove OH one side
sideboard on the other, a rickety table in
the middle, few stolid chairs scattered
about, made up the furniture Poverty
stricken but clean-very. Imagine Louise
sweeping, busting, or nonsense Imagine the
Maid of Arc trotting baby on her knee!
1t was doubtless the good mothers doing
She sat by the window-a sturdy old peasant,
wrinkled and gray, knitting stockings or
something of the sort.
HER PERSONAL APPEARANCE.
"Louise sat by the table, writing furously,
spattering ink and talking to herself. OF
course" M. Thibaudeau added, 'she stood up
when l came in. What a woman Wouldn't
she make great model for that old vixen,
Macbeth, or that she-devil, Corday Perhaps
not. She was made for woman, so let her
pass for such, but she looks little enough like
one. Her head is large; the face long and
copper colored, the eyes nervous-what a
woman Her cheek bones are high and
prominent, like Scotchman's, and her chin
small and sharp. Her hair cut short and
parted in the middle tumbles around her ears
and neck in grayish curls. A bit of mus
pardon Of the sex-shadows her
upper lip. Can you see herr Standing up,
grasping roll of papers, clad all in black
and tapping large, wel-booted foot on the
1oor. Put mole on her forehead and you
have the picture complete. Mon Dieu, what
! woman! Vulgar, obtrusive, hard, but |
woman with the DEVILS own will in her gray |
Eyes, and woman of brains, or something |
hat answers as WELL"
Thibaudeau fell to twirling his wine glass
md musing over the picture he had drawn.
There was nothing startling in the descrip-
ion. What else could Louise Michel look
ike! One doesn't gather figs from thistles
She was born in 1880 in a chateau in the De-
,artment Haute- Marne Dame Scandal had
merry time at her birth. Her father was
Iomtc de Broncourt and her mother was
lothing in particular. She grew up in the
hateau; an odd sort of child, laughed at
" the servants, kissed by the count and
uffed by the countess. She played the piano,
ang, made verses She must have been
evout little thing in those days. Her ideal
7as that magnificent turncoat, Victor Hugo,
7ho just then was posing as a Royaist and
She wrote mystic verses echoing
is ar.stocratic piety.
When she was 20 the countess died, and
ear later the count followed her to the
rave, leaving Louise legacy of 10000
rancs or so.
Her mother suggested matrimony, but she,
II the other hand, was anxious to get her to a
unncry. OF course a discussion arose, and
lasted for weeks In the meantime this
wkwar;l, homcy young woman was doing Il
cal of thinking. One morning she woke UP
II atheist, and the nunnery question was set
led forever. But she was poet, or thought
erself one, which is every whit as good, and,
course, must needs be a martyr. But how
nd where? In Paris, of course and in any
yay that turned up. First Of all she opened
school, It is one way of being mar
VI. The school was doubtless a COOL one,
ut as there came no pupils it was discontin-
cd. Anyway it revclted her. A scion Of
he house of De Broncourt teach school! The
lea is ridiculous And yet she was only a
lam Dc Broncourt She felt this keenly,
nd hated the family, the class to which it
clonged, the whole world, for the wrong
lat had been done her.
A RED-CAPPED REvOLUTIONAIRE.
She was an outcast, a pariah-well, SO be
/: she would join hands with her fellows,
we and hate with them, fight their battles
n short, she plunged into the social dcmoc-
lcy. The devout aristocrat of a year before
as Il rcd-cappcd revolutionaire. She chose
lucky time. The opposition to the empire
as intensely bitter. She organized clubs for
len, for women, for gamins. She wrote
I'd articles, made red speeches, and was ,
,mous. She was the one man amid crowd J
masculine women. She outran her social I
tic colleagues, Clemenceau and Louis Blanc, ,
nd even Rochefort and Franquet grew too ,
acific for her. Before long she was an An {
rchist, bitter, daring and inscriptions j
he sees quite change between this Louise 1
lichel and the pious girl who sat rhyming =,
the big chateau near Audeloncourt, but s
le growth was entirely natural. The Comte $
e Boncourt's peccadillo was not such laugh ,
BILE little thing after all.
But it is shame to leave NJ. Oh. Francois I
hibaudeau musing all this time over a wine I
lass, and an empty one at that. I
"Ah, well, what did she say" 7
"What do the falls of Niagara say? Of
purse, dear boy, she said she was glad to |
" me, and then-the revolution The old l
ory-death to the rule of the individual, /
'eedom as common as air-and the red flag {
Ill 10. |