The morning call., 1890-12-21

If she were not absolutely terrorized by the
heavy black eyebrows and white beard of
her old fraud of a husband.
But it is he, Monsieur Dubu, my father
in-law. who has poisoned my existence; He
is an odious domestic tyrant. Mediocre
and pretentious, he abuses his Rustere and
venerable physiognOmy to give to all his
words the bitter authority of lesson and
inflicts upon me his imbecile theories re-
garding progress, art and education. His
patriarchal head, which resembles bust in
soap, irritates me to such point, with its
expression of lnsupportable imbecility, that
whenever he opens fire l feel like going off
at once and enlisting in the army. He
spreads himself on the question OF benevo-
lence and refuses two sous to poor wretch
under the pretext that mendicants manufac.
ture artificial infirmities for themselves and
that he was one evening solicited for aims
by woman who had in her arms false
baby made up of bundle OF rags.
FATHER-IN-LAw's IDEA OF ART.
As was imprudent enough, when l went
to housekeeping, to abandon myself to this
terrible man, who claimed that he could
procure everything at a lower price and of
better quality than could possibly hope to
do, live in the infamy OF red velvet and
mahogany, aud the clock in my salon-oh!
my beautiful cuckoo OF the Black Forest,
which struck so gayly the hours Of liberty In
my chamber of the Rue d'Assas! = the
CLOCK in my salon is hide0us block of mar
BILE. the color of an Italian cheese. 1t has
been long time since my gallant and chic
engravings after Baudoin and Fragonard
were RELOCATED to the lum ber-room as indei-
cate; and funeral pictures after Delaroche,
the gift Of my MISUNDERSTANDING Grey be-
fore the fatal block. beside the weeping
headsman, and Lord SIra1f0rd passing his
hand through the bars of his prison-nOw
sudden, in loud frames, the walls of my
apartments.
Last year, on my wife's birthday, ! got
angry with NJ. Dubu because he threatened
to ornament my salon with dreadful scene
from the "Inquisition "-eXecutioners and
victim squirm ing ON hot Goals. My nights
were bad ennug h already. Whenever l ate
anything at dinner which disagreed with
me, Jane Grey and Lord Strafford pursued
me in my nightmare and l dreamed that |
was compelled to cut off my wife's head or
that was kneeling before prison window,
through the bars of which my father in law
was extending his hand for me to kiss.
But the wretch cruelty avenged himself
for my refusal by hanging up in our nuptial
chamber an enlargement OF his own photo
graph, representing him decorated with his
insignia as member of some order so secret
that no one knew anything about it.
Such is my life. AL this because the
blood mounted TO my head at the moment
when Adelade-my wife's name is Adelaide
swept away the crumbs of bread remain
ing upon the tablecloth; and. as IL to in
cessantly revive my regrets, every Sunday
evening, alter dinner, at the hou>e of her
parents, when the dessert is about to be
served. and l am thinking, vaguely fas-
cinated by my father in-l laws beard, about
the bother Of returning home in the rainy
night, with children too heavy TO carry ana
of the interminable waits in the omnibus
stations, my wife makes, as in the past, the
toilet OF the table, and believing that she is
recalling TO me a telder recollection, shows
ME, with q smile, the crumb- brush, the
curved shape of which CAUSED me TO think
sadly of the last crescent of our honeymoon,
now so long vanished FRANCIS CoPPEE.