St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1894-05-13

eWoou tuo tauleS, everybody seemed 10 %
talking at once, and through the thick cloud
OF tobacco smoke you could. vaguely see a
form perched on piano stool and hear
strong-lunged voice roaring out rollicking
student song,
In fact, this custom OF every one singing
something was such an established rule of
the place and was so generally followed that
when young man came down the stairs, q
peculiar looking fellow Of perhaps twenty
two years Of age, the conventional students
cap surmounting a mass OF black hair that
served to set off more strikingy face Of
singular paleness-a face in which determi-
nation mingled with despair-his large dark
eyes staring before him in en- distracted
sort of way, his linen, what there was Of 1t
dirty, with clothes that had seen their best
day; when say this somewhat odd figure
appeared upon the scene, it was not his per-
sonalfty that caused remark in that room,
where there were many as strange as he, but
when he passed slowly by the piano and
skunk half-apo logetically into an obscure cor
ner, it was the fact that he had trampled
upon the honored traditions of the place and
failed to pay his initiation with song, good,
bad or Indifferent, that caused howl OF pro-
test to rise from the crowd.
"Herel here!" they cried in unison, ga
song-you, there chantez, on a la porter"
Sing, or out you gol
And the Gathering Of glasses on the tables
and the stamping Of feet that greeted this
speech were followed by a silence the more
intense by comparison, and every one looked
up to see what the stranger would do. But
he shook his head slowly and his lips parted
in melancholy smile. At that moment
another group came tumbling down the mar
row stairs, and the attention Of the crowd,
thus diverted, left the stranger to his
thoughts, which did not appear to be very
cheerful A lively air rose from the centre
OF the room; the debates we're taken up
where they had been interrupted, the clink-
ing Of glasses started afresh, and life in the
Singing Cafe" resumed its usual course.
week has passed and you are again seat
ed in a corner of this dirty, smoke-stained,
but still fascinating room. An old artist
with long, coarse hair and Tam o. Shanter
cap on the side Of his shaggy head, is on the
other side of your table, drawinga caricature
OF you which you can purchase for the mod
est sum of one franc. If anything, the room
is more crowded, the voices are louder, and
the cries of ''garcon" are more frequent than
on the preceding week. The crowd is in
merry mood and evidently on the lookout
for excitement
The door above opens, and down the creak-
ing staircase comes dark figure. His face
is half hidden in the upturned collar of his
coat, but as he passes under the glare Of the
light below, you recognize him as the sombre
vic of no hof Ar
recognizes him, for when he again attempts
to pass the piano and resume his previous
seat, another yell goes up, in which there is
different tone from the first, and everybody
forms circle about the idol-breaker to see
the fun which they know is going to begin.
"Jamais"' was the cry, "You don't get off
this time r. and a few Of the more stalwart
made rush for him. The others knew what
this meant: the fellow will sing if he knows
what is best for him. These self appointed
guardians Of the customs of the place are
about to grab him, and not too gently, either,
preparatory to inficting the usual punish
nentafor a breach of student etiquette, by
rolling him under the tables and humping his
head against the ceiling, when he turns upon
them with an angry flash in his eye, in which
as he regards the piano there is softer light
1t is moment of doubt. The crowd holds
its breath. Then the silence is broken by
murnf6r ofsapprovsi, as with slow, almost
tottering, step, the object of all this commo-
ton turns and starts towards the instrument
He sits down quietly on the stool, eyes the
keys an instant, then runs his fingers lightly
over them, A flush appears OH his cheeks,
there is an unnatural brightness in his dark
eyes. No unrestrained laughter, no clinking
of glasses, no heated talk now all is silence
save the gentle touch of the player. A clear
tenor voice rises on the air, a voice of pecu-
liar sweetness and magnetism, and the soft
notes OF an Italian song fill the room. Few
of those present understood word, but why
is every listener bound as by spell? At the
beginning the air appears sad, all but despair
ing; it is the mood of the player, and the first
verse ends in dreary sigh.
There is a breathless pause and the same
sweet voice is raised again; it is brighter
now, as if a ray of hope were mingling with
his dark dependency. Another interval and
third time that strange voice breaks the
silence and thrills every listener. Gradually
the tone of despair fades away. His own
song seems to warm him like wine, and the
verse ends in note Of thrilling joy. Again
an expectant silence, more intense if possible
than before. This is to be the last verse. It
will be one Of unalloyed happiness, gay,
bright, laughing, and every one bent forward
in eager anticipation. A key is struck and
single clear note rises. It sounds like
knell. It is knell. The singer throws back
his head little, as if to begin, and he seems
to smile. His lips part as if for the song,
then suddenly there is an awful change. In
place of the previous sweet voice, gurgling
moan fills all with horror. His head drops
on his chest, his body bends forward, and
with q discordant bang his forehead strikes
the keyboard. No one stirs-an awful
silence strange weird picture. An oppres-
sive pause, then the door above is flung
rudely open, and harsh burst of laughter
breaks the deathly stiffness of the room. The
spell is broken. They gather about him,
placed him gently on bench, and rub his
limp and white hands, but all their efforts are
in vain. He must have been very weak be-
fore, and he had put his little remaining force
into the song. But there was pleasant
smile on the parted lips, as he lay there in
death.
RoCHEFoRT CALHOUN
Jules Verne, who is now living at Amiens,
France, is now sixty-six years of age, and has
written as many books..as he has lived years.
His health is poor and his eyes weak, hut
though he has to dictate all his work his
spirits are as buoyant as ever, and he has
great plans for the future.