The Durham recorder. [volume] (Durham, N.C.) 1879-19??, 1890-01-08
OLD MOTHER SAVAGE
SHE WAS A CURIOUS SIGHT.
Ney yer More Would She Embrace
Her Child.
III n,.an,.V Az &&sz at

Irah9ht ntle. F8# |
had not been at Virelogne for
fifteen years. | went back there to
hunt in the autumn with my friend
Serval, who had built another cot
tage there, his first one having been
destroyed by the Prussians.
lloved that part of the country in-
finitely. There are delightful cor
ners of the world that exercise a
sensual charm over the eyes. We
love th m with a physical love. We
whom the earth seduces preserve
fender memories Of certain springs,
certain fields, certain ponds, certain
hills, which we have often seen and
which have moved US as we are
moved by happy events. Sometimes
even the mind turns back to a cor
ner of forest, or a riyer-bank, or a
garden full of flowers, which we
have only seen once at some merry
hour, and which has remained in our
heart like those images of women
we meet in the street, on spring
morning, in a clear, transparent
costume, leaving soul and body filled
with an unsatisfed and enduring de-
sire, a sense of momentary contact
with happiness.
At Virelogne | loved the whole
country, dotted with bits of forest,
and travsrsed by streams which ran
through the soil like veins, carryiny
blood to the earth. They fished in
them for crabs, trout, and eels. d.
yile happiness. There were places
where one could bathe, and snipe
we're often to be found in the high
grass growing on the banks Of these
narrow water-courses.
| went on, light as a goat, watch.
ing my two dogs foraging ahead of
me. Serval a hundred yards away
on my right, was beating a field of
lucern. turned aside the bushes
that formed the limit Of the forest
of Saudres, aud ! saw a cottage IN
trnns. Suddenly | remembered it
as | had last seen it in 1859, clean,
uneclad, with chickens before the
door. What sadder sight than a
dead house with ITS standing skele-
ton. dilapidated and forbidding?
| remembered also that a good
woman had made me drink a glass
Of wine within, one day when | was
very tired, and that Serval had then
told me the story of the inhabitants.
The father, an old poacher, had been
killed by the gendarmes. The son,
whom | saw at the time, was a tall,
bony fellsw, who passed likewise for
feroeious destroyer of game. They
were called the Sayages. Was that
a real name or u nickname?
nailed Serval. He came up with hi:
long stride.
"What has become of the people
who lived here?" Iasked him. And
he told ME this story: When wal
was declared, the son, then thirty.
three years old, enlisted, leaving tn,
mother alone in the house. Tn,
old woman dId not receive too much
sympathy, because she was known
TO have money.
| So she stayed alone IN thisisolatet
hou ,e, far from the village, on tn,
outskirts of.the wood. But she va
not afraid, for she belonged to th'
same race as her husband and son
a rough old woman, tall and thin
who did not often laugh, and witt
whom no one ever joked. WomeI
vino work in the iields seldom laugh
for that matter. Laughing is TO
the men. The women have drear,
and restricted souls, living dull au,
gloomy lives. The man learns h
indulge in a little noisy gayety a
the wise shop, but his cOmpaniei
remains seiiVus, with a counteuanc
constantly severe. The. muscles O
her face have not learned how b
laugh.
Mother Savage continued he
everyday life in her cottage, whicl
was soon covered with snow. Sh
visited the village once q week to ge
some bread and a little meat; the
: she returned to her hut. As ther
were rumors Of wolves, she carrie
q gun en- her back, her sons gun;
was rusty, and the stock worn fror
constant haadliHg. She was a cuii
Gus sight, this tall Mother Savag,
a little bent, going with slow stride
through the snow, the gun-barr,
projecting aboyethe black cap whic
so eifectually imprisoned her whit
hairs that no one had ever seen then
One day the Prussians cam
They were distributed among I'll
inhabitants, according 10 the fo