Republican news item. [volume] (Laport, Pa.) 1896-19??, 1899-03-09
THE PURPLE EGG.

BY ANATOLE FRANCE.

woman who had been driven to a
strange suicide by terror and remorse
She was highly bred and cultured.
Suspected of completely in crime of
which she had been % mute witness,
in despair at her irreparable coward
ice, tormented by perpetual night
mare that showed her her husband
pointing her out with his rotting fin
ger to the magistrates, she became
the helpless prey of her overwrought
nerves. A trif1ing circumstance de-
termined her fate. Her little nephew
was living with her. One morning, as
usual, he was learning his lesson in
the dining room; she was sitting near
by. The child began to translate,
word for word, some verses from
Sophocles. He said over the Greek
and French terms as he wrote them
out: "Kara teton, the divine head !;
Iokastes, of Yocasta; letneked, is dead
Sposa konnen, tearing her
hair; kalei, she calls; Laion nekron,
dead Lais. Eisedomen, we
saw; ten gunaika kremasten. the
woman hanged" He wound up with
flourish of his pen, stuck out his
tongue violet with ink and sang:
Hanged! hanged! hanged" The
wretched woman, her will-power Mt
terly destroyed. obeyed the sugges-
ton of the thrice-heard word. She
rose without word, without glance,
and hastened to her room. A few
hours later the commissary of police,
called in to investigate her violent
end, made this reflection; II have
seen many woman who has COM
mitted suicide. This is the first one
I've known to hang herself"
This case recalled q similar one to
my mind, that of my unfortunate com
rade and friend, Alexandra Mansel.
In the foregoing story the heroine
was killed by verse of Sophocles;
my friends life was brought to an end
by sentence of Lamprides.
Mansel, who was schoolmzte of
mine at the Lycee of Avranches, was
different from all other boys. He
seemed both older and younger than he
really was. Small and slight, at fifteen
he was afraid of all the bugaboos that
terrify children of five. He had hor-
ror of the dark We were not fond of
him; he would have become our butt
il he had not impressed us by cer-
tain fierce pride and his record as a
clever scholar. Though he worked
spasmodica!ly, he often stood at the
head of his class. They used to say
that he talked at night in the dormi-
tory and walked in his sleep. None
of US could swear to it, for we never
woke after our heads once touched the
pillow.
For n long time l was more curious
about him than fond of him. We sud
denly grew great friends on an excur-
sion that we all took together to the
abbey of Mont st. Michel We had
walked barefooted along the shingle,
carrying our shoes and our luncheon
on this end of our sticks, all singing
at the top of our voices. We crossed
the drawbridge and sat down side by
side on one of the old cannon, rusted
by Ave centuries of rain and spray.
Looking with his dim eyes from the
old stones to the sky, swinging his
bare feet, Alexandra abruptly spoke
to me:
'I should like to have been knight
in the old wars. l would have taken
a hundred cannon. 1 would have
fought single handed oD the ramparts,
and the Archangel ST Michael would
have stood over my head like white
cloud"
From that day on I understood
far better than before my schoolmate's
character. J. discovered that it was
founded on an immense pride that l
had not suspected 1 need not tell
you that at fifteen 1 was not pro-
fouad psychologist, and Mansels
pride was too subtle to be at first evi-
dent. 1t extended itself to vague
chimeras and had no tangible form.
Yet it inspired all my friends senti-
ments and gave sort of unity to his
whimsical, incoherent ideas.
During the vacation following our
excursion 10 Mont st. Michel, Mansel
invited me to spend day at his
parents home at St. Julien. Secur-
ing my mothers rather unwilling con-
sent, 1 started off, in white vest and
blue tie, early one Sunday morning.
Alexandra, smiling like happy
child, was waiting for me on the thresh-
old. He led me by the hand into the
''best ROOM" Though the house
half rustic, half bourgeoise - was
neither poor nor disorderly, 1 was OPP
pressed on entering it, SO silent and
sad it was. Near the window, whose
slightly parted curtains denoted GER
lain curiosity, was seated a woman to
all appearances old-perhaps not SO
old as she looked. She was thin and
sallow; her eyes glittered in their dark
sockets under their Redeemed lids. In
spite of the warm summer day she
was swathed, head and all, in black
garments. But the strangest thing
about her was the metal circlet that
,lasped her brow like diadem.
Here is my mother; she has her
neuralgia.
Nine. Mansel made me welcome in