The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1896-05-12
THE THREE RAVENS.


ture is yet trembling from the clash Of the
armies. The hot breath from the cannons
hangs over the country in heavy red
clouds. The air is full Of eddies, like sea
after q storm. It quiVers from the terrible
connection Of the day. The snow covered
earth, disturbed in her wintry repOse, is
beaten into hollows by the tracks of gun
carriages, the stamping of desperate hOOfs
and the falling men and horses. Sinister
work In the burrows Of snow the conflict
has sown the dead. The gray coats are
disheveled and wrinkled from the agonized
writings of their wearers. Arms rise out
Of heaped up trenches and feet stick out
straight and rigid as if pushing the earth
before them.
With face uncovered, pale under the
leaden sky, a young soldier is lying. His
hands are black with powder and his
clothes are pierced with bullet holes. He
was in the very heart Of the battle under
full fire, and his comrades, seeing him fall,
believe him to be dead. But he still lives
He calls with all his remaining strength,
but the only response is means and the
gurgle of the death rattle. At last, numb
with cold and pain, exhausted by the
whistling of grape and canister, the fash
ing Of cannOns and all the scenes of a
bloody contest and ove~come by the deep
quiet Of nature, he is on the point Of Civ
ing up and abandoning himself TO sleep
OF to death.
Suddenly on the farof horizon he sees
through his half open eyes three black
speoks come out Of the north and gradually
grow larger as they approach. They have
wings-dark wings that bear them on.
Soon they stop above his head, and he secs
three ravens suspended in the white air,
mOtiOnless with tranquility Of beasts Of
prey on the lookout for victims, while the
atmosphere is yet vibrating from the shock
Of hot oil 10 Era
ing Of the great wings as the birds poise in
midair seems like the duttering Of three
flags of war, each one bearing as its en-
blem lowering raven.
'sHave they come for me?' he asked
himself faint with terror
He shudders as he watches the three
ravens descend slowly and perch on hill
ock but a short distance from him. They
are indeed great birds-fat, glossy and
well fed Not a feather is missing from
their sleek plumage. Moreover, these
birds live III the very midst of carnage
They not only live in it, but they even
thrive on it and look on from afar-from
great heights beyond the reach of bullets
descending only when the regiments are
gone and the dead and dying meet on the
same dreadful plane.
In truth, these birds have an air Of i'm
portance. They salute one another with
their beaks, they march to and fro, as if
on dress parade, leaving the prints Of their
pointed claws on the Redeemed snow.
Then, when they have acted the part of
tops to perfection, they begin to croak
softly, very softly, without taking their
eyes from the dying man.
Cousins, - says one OF them, 81 have
brought you hither for that little soldier
of France who is lying there before you.
He was proud little soldier, animated
by unusual courage, but possessing neither
prudence nor reflection. See his riddled
coat and consider how many balls were
necessary to bring him low. Cousins it
is fine prey, and, is you are willing, we
will partake- Bus we must wait yet
little before we 60 to him. Though his
arms are bruised and his hands seem pow
erless, he would be an object to be feared
if he should revive"
The speaker is the largest of the party.
The two others. as they listen, keep out of
the reach Of his ferocious, hooked beak-
He continues:
"Ah, we shall soon partakei will eat
his heart. 1t was a warm, valiant heart
and will rejuvenate mine
Does the little soldier hear what they
are sayingf Is it Srue, then, that his heart
no longer beats2
The second raven takes up tho sentence:
81 viii eat his eyes. French eyes are
large and clear and beaming with life. %
Quick, open your eyes, little soldier, and
ElF OlD 4Ou4AF- 4uDU8u you AI6 weak AADAl4
loss of blood, little still remains in your
veins.
Alasl Truly do they say that he is dead,
and when, their conference ended, the
three birds approach him, with evil eye and
ravenOus beak and dropping wings, not a
CULVER passes through his body. GOor little
soldier of Francel They are going to dis
member him They will begin with the
buttons on his coat, for these birds of
plumber gather up everything that glistens
even blood Softly the three birds draw
near, and the Oldest of them ventures
peck at his finger. Then the soldier rouses;
his whole frame starts
He is not dead He is not deadi' cry
the cowardly birds, retreating to their
hillock.
All, no. The little soldier Of France is
not dead. He raises his head Indignation
has brought back something Of the Old
spirit His eyes grow bright, his nOstrils
dilafe. The air seems less heavy and he
breathes more freely. A ray of the pale
red winter sun creeps across the torn and
furrowed earth. As he gazes in admiration
at the melancholy sunset, gradually fading
into the glimmer of twilight, suddenly
under the warmth of his extended hand
the slow melting snow exposes q green
point-a tiny blade Of wheat
Miracle of lifel The dying man feels as
if he were born again. Resting his hands
on the soil of his fatherland, he tries to sit
up. From afar the three birds watching
him prepare for flight, and when they sec
him standing upright at last, searching
with trembling step for his abandoned
arms, they slowly rise from their hillOck
and soar away toward the north, already
dark with night. From the sky echoes
back the beating of their terrible wings
and the swapping Of their strong beaks. 1t
is a hurried, tumultuous flight Of mingled
fear and rage. One reads Of bandits Who
having missed their victims, fight among
themselves as they Translated from
the Fronch Of AlphOnse Daudet for New
York Press