Daily tobacco leaf-chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1890-1895, 1890-06-26


lace, red riding boots for his little chief
paying for all without haggling and spread
ing his joy about In beautiful donros. He
was seen in the bazaars, seated on the
Smyrna carpets, drinking coffee at the dool
with the Moorish merchants, who congratI
lated him.
The crowd pressed about curious to SET
him. One said: There is Si-Sliman, the
emberour has sent him the cross" and the
little Moorish maidens, entering from the
baths and eating their pastry cakes as they
went, stole long glances Of admiration
from beneath their white masks towards
that beautiful new silver cross SO proudly
worn. Ali we do, indeed, have occasional
beautiful moments in this life.
AS evening drew on Si-Sliman prepared
to rejoin his retinue and already had his
foot In the stirrup, when a messenger from
the prefecture came painting up to him:
Here thou art, Si-Sliman, have search
ed for thee everywhere. CONS quickly, the
governor wishes to speak with thee"
Si-Sliman followed him confidently, but
in crossing the great Moorish court yard
of the palace he met his chief of bureau,
who gave him an evil smile. This smile
from an enemy frightened him, and he
trembled as he entered the salon of the
governor. The marshal received him seat
ed astride a chair. "Si-Sliman," he said,
with his ordinary and that fa,
nous nasal voice which always caused
those who surrounded him to tremble, Isl
Sliman, my man, am distressed 1t is
not thou who shouldst have been deco
rated It is the kaid of the Zoug-Zougs.
Thou must give back thy cross"
The beautiful bronzed head OF the chief
blushed as before the fire of a forge. A
convulsive movement shook his tall form
His eyes blazed. But it was only flash
He lowered them almost Immediately and
bowed before the governor.
"Thou art the master, my lord, /" he said,
and pulling the cross from his breast he
laid it on the table. His hand trembled;
tears stood on his long lashes. Old Pelis
sier was touched.
"Come, come, my brave man, it will be
ready for next year"
And he held out his hand with friend
ly air.
The chief feigned not to see it, bowed
without replying, and left the room.
He knew how much faith to place in the
promise of the marshal, and saw himself
forever dishonored by an intrigue. The
story of his disgrace had already spread
through the town. The Jews of the Rue
Bah Azoun sneered as he passed The
Moorish merchants, on the contrary, turned
away from him with glance of pity, and
the pity hurt him more than the laughter.
He went his way, keeping close to the walls
and through the darkest lanes. The spot
where his cross had lain burned him like
an open wound, and all the time he
thought: what will my cavaliers say,
what will my women sayY"
Then he was seized with fit of rage.
He saw himself preaching the "holy war"
on the frontier of Morocco, always red
with fire and battle, or roaming the streets
of Algiers at the head of his horsemen,
pillaging the Jews, Staying the Christians,
and falling himself in the great devasta-
ton where his shame would be forever
hidden. Anything seemed possible to him
rather than return to the tribe. All at
once, in the midst Of his vengeance, the
thought of the emberour flashed upon
him like light.
The emberouri For Si-Sliman, as for
all the Arabs, all ideas of justice and of
power were summed up in this one word.
He was the true chief of the faithful. He
was q faith for these Mussulmans in their
decline. That other one, he of STEAMBOAT, APP
peared to them from at like an incarna-
ton of good, sort of invisible pope, who
kept for himself only the spiritual power,
and in the Hegira in which we live it is
well known how much that is worth.
But the emberour, with his great can
non, his zouaves and his iron fleetl From
the moment he thought of him, Si-Sliman
believed himself saved. Surely the en-
peror would give him back his cross. 1t
was only an affair of an eight days jour
ney, and he believed SO firmly in his sue
cess that he instructed his followers to
await his return at the gate of Algiers.
The next days packet started him towards
Paris, meditative and serene, as if for
pilgrimage to Mecca.
Poor Si-Slimanl it was four months since
he left, and his letters to his wives spoke
not yet of return. For four months the I'M
happy chief had been lost in the whirlpool
of Paris, passing his life in running from
one ministry to another, everywhere ridi-
culed, caught in the formidable gear of the
French administration, sent from bureau
to bureau, soiling his burnouse on the
wooden seats of the ante-chambers, ON the
watch for an audience which he never OBJ
tanned; then, in the evening he might be
seen, with his long, sad face, ridiculous by
its majesty, waiting for his key in a lodg
ing house office and mounting to his room,
weary with wandering but always proud,
clinglng to hope and desperate as gambler
defending his honor,
In the meantime his cavaliers, squatting
at the Bah Azoun gate, waited with orien-
tai fatalism; the horses, picketed out,
Weighed from the sea shore. In the tribe
all was in suspense. The harvest withered
in the fields for lack of laborers The
women and children counted the days, with
eyes turned towards Paris. IL was pitiful
to see how many hopes and how much
despair and ruin followed already in the
wake of this bit of red ribbon. When
would it all endY
"God alone knows" said the old coffee
man, with sigh, and by the half open
door, above the sad purple plain, his bare
arm pointed to a young crescent moon
rising in the misty heavens.-Alphonse
Daudet.