The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1895-11-23
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hands-seeking after something he
had never been able to find-a mel
ody which breathed and lived in his
soul; miserere full of tears and of
sorrow, but through the. signs there
should sound the cry of wrath! the
cry of revenge Oh, if he, with thun-
derous, raging and rushing pillows
of sound could have checked the ad-
vancing enemy
But days, weeks, months passed
The loathsome annexation was bit
ter fact. The time passed and no de-
liverer came. Gradually the necks
were bent. Slowly, almost impercept-
IDLY, they grew accustomed to the
burden of the yoke.
Now and then was heard an exalted
voice hurting an insanely impotent
protest against the conqueror and
seeking to incite the people, but the
people listened, terrified to the bold
words. Once in while rebellious
conscript created a scandal in the
barracks by shouting, "Vive la
! Francel" when the oath of allegiance
was to be administered. 1t also hap
pened thata daring patriot had nailed
the tri-color to the belfry of the
church tower on the morning of the
18th of July. And great consterna-
ton was caused by a young blond
girl who at fete crossed the market
square, where all the military au-
thorities were assembled, dressed in
neckerchief of red, white and blue.
Further than that the rebellious
spirit did not evince itself. But with
every such outburst the grief and
pain of Father Michael became in
tensifed. The memory's fever, which
was whipped out of the others as
soon as it showed itself, was locked
up and hidden in the soul of the old
man. But there it lay and grew to
sickly hate, to helpless envy against
all these others. He envied the un
known youth who had nailed the flag
of France to the old tower; he envied
the recruit who had shouted, "ViUe la
France" in the barrack yard, and he
envied the girl who had had courage
to bear the colors of France right
through the lines of the enemy
Everywhere about him they found
every day some new way of showing
their strong memory and faithful
ness that knew no death. He alone
could do nothing, could find nothing.
He was useless-always useless. Yes,
yes-his soul could weep, but his or
CAN'T sang beneath his fingers.
But one day Old Hunchback
stepped into the tobacco store, and
they scarcely knew him. His face
beamed. Moser filled his snuffbox,
and as usual began his sarcastic re-
marks.
"Well, now, you see, my good Fa'
they Michael, of what use really is
such an organist, eh9"
But Moser did not finish. This
time Father Michael did not bend
his head. This time it was Old
Hunchback who smiled with a pecu-
liar and proud expression. He looked
frankly and earnestly at those pres
ent, and there lay a calm dignity
over this hunchback old man with
the curious monkey face, and his
voice was resonant and firm.
"Yes," he said, "even organists
may be useful. Just wait; l will
prove it"
They crowded around him. They
insisted and coaxed him to tell them
what it was, but he was silent.
Smiling as they never before had
seer him, he stepped out of the store,
and his step was elastic as that of
youth. He looked almost straight,
this hunchbacked old man, as he
passed down the street.
Moser and the crowd in the store
soon came to the one conclusion that
the organist had gone mad, stark
mad.
In the evening the whole village
knew that old Father Michael had a
screw loose. This was in holy week,
on Wednesday. Maundy Thursday
the bells are rung for the Christians
of the whole world, even for the AL
satians, and everybody goes to church.
But in Alsace-Lorraine they thought
not only of the holy resurrection, but
also of another-the morning of the
resurrection of liberty, which no bells
as yet had proclaimed.
Good Friday the church was
thronged with people. High up on
the altar stood the black draped cross
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