The Jersey City news. (Jersey City [N.J.]) 1889-1906, 1890-09-11

hitting against tomns with my hands
with my feet, with my knees, with my
breast, with my head itself, l went on,
without finding her. l touched, l felt,
like blind man seeking his way, Ffelt
Of the stones, of the crosses, Of the iror
ratings, Of the glass crowns, of the
crowns of faded fowersI l read the
names with my fingers, moving them
over the letters. What q night! What
q night! 1 could not find her again.
No moon! What a night! I was afraid,
frightfully afraid in these narrow paths,
between two rows of graves! Graves,
graves, graves! Always graves! To right,
to left, in front, around, everywhere,
gravesi l sat down on one of them, for
/ could no longer walk, SO weak was ]
in the knees. I heard my heart beat
And 1 heard something else, also! What
A confused, indescribable soundl Was
this sound in my bewildered head, in the
impenetrable night, or under the mys-
terious earth, under the earth sown with
human corpses? I looked around me!
How long did | stay therep do not
know. was paralyzed with terror, ]
was drunk with fear, ready to scream,
ready to die.
And suddenly it seemed to me that
the slab of marble on which I was sit.
ting moved. Certainly it moved, as if
some one had lifted it. With a bound ]
threw myself upon the neighboring tomb
stone, and / saw, yes, | saw the slab
which Ihad just left rise on its end and
the dead appeared, a naked skeleton,
who with his curved back lifted the
stone. / saw. I saw very plainly, al
though the night was dark. On the
cross l could read:
Here rests Jacques Olivant, who died
at the age of 81. He loved his family,
was honest and good and died in the
peace of the Lord"
Now the dead man also read the words
written on his tombstone. Then he
picked up a stone in the path, a small,
sharp stone, and began to scratch out
these things carefully. He effaced them
thoroughly, slowly, looking with his
empty eyes at the place where just now
they were craven, and with the end of
the bone which had been his index finger
he wrote in luminous letters like those
lines which one traces on walls with the
end of a match:
Here rests Jacques Olivant, who died
at the age of 81. BY his harshness he
whom he wished to inherit; he tortured
his wife, tormented his children, de-
ceived his neighbors, stole when he could
and died miserable"
When he had finished writing the mo-
tionless dead man contemplated his
work. And / perceived on turning round
that all the graves were open, that all
the bodies had come out, that all had
effaced the lies written by their relatives
on the funeral stone to replace them with
the truth.
And | saw that all had been torment
ors of their kins1nen, hateful, dishonest,
hypocritical, lying, cheating, slandering,
e%nvious; that they had robbed, deceived,
committed every shameful act, every
abominable act - these good fathers,
these faithful wives, these devoted sons,
these ehaste young girls, these upright
merchants, these so called ir~reproachable
men and women
They all wrote at the same time on
the threshold of their eternal dwelling
the cruel, terrible and sacred truth of
which everybody on earth is ignorant,
or pretends to be ignorant.
I thought that she, too, must have
traced it on her tombstone. And run
ming now without fear amid the half
open collins, amid the bodies, amid the
skeletons, | went toward her, sure that
I should find her at once.
recognized her at a distance, without
seeing her face, wrapped in a shroud.
And on the marble cross where but a
short time before / had read:
''She loved, was loved and died."
/ saw these words:
Having gone out one day to deceive
her lover she took cold in the rain and
died"
1t seems that I was picked up uncon-
scious at sunrise, beside q grave.
S--