New Ulm weekly review., 1886-01-13
THE BULLET-HOLE.
BY FRANCOIS COPPEE.

BY FRANCOIS CoPPEE.
At the time when was employed in
the War Office, I had a companion
who worked in the same room with
me, called Jean Vidal, an old non
commissioned officer, who had lost
his left arm in the italian campaign,
but who had still his right hand, the
Efecunning hand" OF a quartermaster,
with which he executed all sorts of
wonders in the calligraphic line, round
hand, hourishes, Gothic letters, and
he could draw little bird in the fnal
flourish OF his signature, with a single
stroke OF his pen.
He was an upright man, was Vidal,
q true type Of g. pure hearted and
honorable soldier. Though he was
scarcely forty then, and there was
but sprinkling OF gray hairs in his
fair Zouave beard, in the office we all
called him "Pere Vidal," less out Of
familiarity than out OF respect; for we
all knew his honorable, self-denying
life down there in his cheap lodgings
at che bottom of Grenelle, where
he had taken in his sister, a widow with
a tribe OF children, and where he sup
ported the old family on the slender
income he derived from his pension,
his cross, and his salary. Three
thousand francs for five people! And
Pere Vidal s coats-with the left sleeve,
the empty sleeve, fastened to the
third button-were always brushed
as if he were going to a review,
and the good man was so. careful of
his red ribbon, which he kept always
bright, that he used to take it out of
his button-hole when he carried a
parcel in the street, =
AS I lived in the suburbs toward
the south of Paris at that time, 1
often walked home with Pere Vidal,
and used to take pleasure in getting
Adn to give an account of his cam
paigns, as we walked past the Military
School, meeting at every step-it was
an the latter years of the empire-the
handsome uniforms of the Imperial
Guards, the pioneers in green, the Ian
GERS in white, the artillery officers in
their magnificent sombre uniforms,
black and gold. It was worth while
to get killed in such a. costume as
that
Sometimes in the warm summer
evenings used to treat my compan-
ion to an absinthe-a pleasure that
poor Vidal denied himself out OF econ
,omy-and we used to sit for half an
hour in front OF the officers cafe in
the Avenue de 10 Motto -Piquet. On
these days the old quarter master; who
had become O. sober family man, and
was cut OF the habit OF taking cap
petizers," used to rise from the table
with his brain stimulated to heroic
Thoughts, and was sure to have some
stirring tale OF the wars as we walked
home.
4 One evening" believe, God forgive
me, that Pere Vidal had drunk two
glasses Of absinthe- as we went along
that horrid 'Bouleva ard de Grenelle, he
stopped suddenly before the window
of q secondhand clothes shop-there
are good many in that quarter. It
was a dirty, sordid shop, with rusty
pistols, bowls full Of buttons, and
tarnished Epaulettes in the window,
and hanging before the door, among
dirty rags there was here and there
some old officers coat rotte>l by the
rain and fretted by the sun. with a.
sort of vague human resemblance in
It's tight waist and broad shoulders.
Vidal seized my arm with his one.
hand, and pointed with his stump to
one of these. cast Off garments-it was
Che tunic of an African officer, Withits
manipulated skirt, and its. triple gold
band twisted into figure OF eight on
the sleeve as the hussars wear it.
'Look here, said he; "this is the.
Nniform ofmy old corps captains
tunic.''
And he went nearer to examine it
more closely 7, and read the numberen-
graved on the ttons, he added, en-
Enthusiastically:
w own regiment! The First Zou-
Aves.na!
But all at once Pere Yidal's hand,