The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-03-17
"LA MONTELAISE."

Once upon a time, at Monteux, which is the natal place of the good St. Gems, and also of Saboly, the poet of Christmas time, there lived pretty little blonde maiden, with hair as bright as gold. They called her Rose. She was the daughter of the keeper of the cafe. And as she was well man. nered, and sang like an angel, the good cure of the parish put her at the head of the choir in the little country church. For the feast of St. Gems, the great holiday of the year at Monteux, the father of little Rose hired a singer to add to the attractions of his cafe.
 The singer, who was young, straightway falls in love with the pretty face of the cafe keepers daugh- ter, and in good faith the blonde maiden lost her heart as soon to the stranger from the city. And there upon the two precious children, with out more ado, are married. The little Rosette becomes Mime. Bordas.
 Adieu, Monteux! Quickly they are off. An! but it is charming! Free as the air, fresh as the mountain springs, they had nothing to do but to love each other and to sing for daily bread.
 The first festival upon which Ro- setta sang was the first day of Sainte- Agathe, the patrons of the Mailanaise. I remember it all as well as though it were yesterday. It was at the Cafe del la Place. The great room was as full as an egg. Rosette, with no more fear than a bobolink has when it perches on willow, stood straight up at the end of the room in a little alcove. Her bright golden hair tell about her shoulders and over her pretty bare arms; and at her feet her husband sat playing the accompani- ment upon his guitar.
 An, but there was an uproar when she ceased. They were all fellow countrymen of hers. The good people of Cravesen, St. Remy, Eyrague and of Mailanaise were all there. You did not hear one crusty critic among them all. There was only one verdict, "Isn't she lovely, isn't she gentle, and how she sings! She is not from far; she is from Monteux, you know"
 And in truth Rosette did not sing of vulgar themes. She sang of her native land, of her country's fag-of battle, of liberty, of glory-with 8 passion, an ardor, fire which made the breasts of men expand with emo- tion, and when she had finished the last song she cried, carried away by the enthusiasm of her own nature, "Vive Saint Gensv'
 You would have thought the cafe must be wrecked by the applause that followed. Rosette descended from her place and made, triumphantly, the round of the tables, and the big cop pers rained down joyously into her little basket. Smiling and grateful as though she had received 100000 francs, she ran back and poured her sous into her husbands guitar, say- ing: "Take them; see! if this holds on we will soon be rich"
 When Mime. Bordas had made the circuit of the towns in the vicinity of her provincial home, the desire to try the larger cities took possession of her heart. And there, as in the village, La Montelaise carried everything be- fore her. She sang the Polish national anthem, flag in her hand and she threw 30 much of her soul into her patriotic cries that she made her hearers tremble with excitement. In Avignon, Cette, Toulouse, Bordeaux, it was all the same. Everywhere the common people adore the pretty singer. And then she said to herself, "Paris next"
 Straightway she is in the capital. It is Paris that makes or breaks the for tune of singers. But here, even more than elsewhere, she becomes the pop f6nl Nho 1a ko