The Washington times., 1894-07-08
ONLY A HAND ORGAN.

But Its Old Tune Awoke Many q Deli
ciously Sad Memory in Gay Paris.
PARIS, July al remember those haunting
verses OF mad Jean Richepin; they are part
OF this soft Paris-a Paris Of gray distances,
mauve vapors, and indehnite emurmurs.
Hark to that ragged sparrow slanging his
rival In the gutter. 1t is morning, beyond
doubt; the golden light dances ON the gray
pavements like a carnival OF golden, drunken
girls. The organ grinder piods on. He turns
out OF the dawning splendor OF he boulevard
into a quiet side street. lined with somber
buildings. In front OF one OF these he stops.
He drops the organ from his shoulder to his
knee-gently and swiftly US the knife Of the
guillotine falls.
An old organ grinder and an old man; old
airs Of forgotten Already; old tunes of dead
lovers. old, piping, broken, querulous music
And last Of all he plays a waltz TO which they
danced In the days when Louis Philippe was
King of France-God bless me, how many
years ago was that?
Et lorgue en- sen allant nous laisse
La deliceusc tristesse
Dun reve envole
The verses sing through the mauve streets
the organ grinder passes. He is old. you
know; a foul and fetid old man. He has
crawled out OF some dark den where he
slept In his dirty blouse. His box o music is
on his shoulder. Without Joy, without re-
gret. implacable as problem in mechanics,
he turns into the boulevard. The keen
morning air sweeps the asphalt and rides
down cxultingiy the foul, lingering odors Of
last nights gayety.
"Tiens! it is Papa Mathurin," says girl,
looking out OF the window. She is n big,
blonde girl with red cheeks; rollicking,
taking girl. 1t it laundry. you know, and
"a tta fi.at In par .-;t,
her high-colored cheeks and white shoulders.
Under the swaying linen she dances to the
waltz-the old. old tune.
"Ah. Papa Mathurin," she cries as the
music dies, .'you must play that at my we'd
ding"
Yes he answers patiently, II will play
II at your wedding"
But he knows better - the old organ
grinder. In Paris working girls as pretty as
Elise never marry. They
Now he has reached street Of gray ST.
lenccs-a dumb. gray street. The young sun
light cannot overtop the dull walls; It cannot
fatter the blank walls. There is only one
note of color in the sombre space-the Vir-
gin. all blue and gold. with seven swords
thrust into her heart. She leans from above
a heavy ironed gate. The organ squeaks and
gibbers Us he turns the handle; then the thin
cracked notes ring out sharp and high. like
the LAUGHTER of Faustine far down in hell; a
souvenir of old joys and dead kisses.
Behind the blank wall, over which the Vir-
gin. all blue and gold, watched, a woman
went slowly 10 and fro. Tush, look again
it is not a woman. The scant black frock.
the white band across the brow, the black
veil. the pallid face
The llt of the old waltz
Under the nuns dress is the white body of a
woman and it fiushes pink for the sake Of the
old, old tune.
The old organ grinder tramps on-here aud
there he plays. II is only the old frail song
ne plays; an old song. redolent of violets and
kisses and quarrels; u song Of dwarf roses and
dead lavender.
And this. too, is our Paris; this city of
strange dreams and barren delights. Over
in Montmartre the little thin girls dance
madly. for the sun is down. And we dance
TO the music OF their pattering feet. to the
sharp cries from their thin little chests. The
lights are high in the Rat Mort: the noise of
the orchestra is loud and iLsistent But
through 1t all and over it all drones the old
world waltz OF the old organ grinder. We
spice our pleasures with old regrets.
Ell rorgue en- Sen allant nous laisse,
La delicieuse tristesse
Dun reve envole
VANCE THOMPSON,