Phillipsburg herald. [volume] (Phillipsburg, Kan.) 1882-1905, 1902-08-23
| CLOCHETTE
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HOW strange they are, these old
memories which haunt us, and of
which we are not able to rid our
selves!
This one is so old, so old, that
1 cannot comprehend why it has re-
NAMED, living and tenacious, in my
mind. Since that time Ihave met with so
many things, sinister, affecting or
terrible, that it surprises me to find
that single day cannot pass with
out the face of Mother CIochette re-
tracing itself before my eyes, just
as I knew her. so long ago, when 1
was only 10 or IL years old.
She was an old seamstress, who
came each week, on Tuesday, to mend
the family linen. My parents in
habited one of those country dwell
ings called chateaux, which are sim
ply old houses with peaked roofs,
with four or five farms grouped
around.
The village, large one, almost a
town, was visible some hundred feet
distant, closely surrounding the
church, an edifice of red brick, black
ened by time.
Every Tuesday, then, Mother Clo-
chette arrived, between half-past six
and seven in the morning, and going
Up to the linen press, commenced
her work.
She was tall, thin woman, beard
ed, or rather hairy, for unexpected
and surprising tufts of hair appeared
all over her face.
She limped, not like ordinary Grip
When she rested her large body,
bony and bent, on her one good leg,
she seemed as if about to take a
leap, in order to ride huge wave;
then suddenly she would plunge, as
if to disappear in an abyss, or to
sink into the ground. Her gait gave
the impression of tempest, as she
seemed to swing and balance herself
at the same time; and her head, al
ways covered with an enormous
white bonnet, the ribbons of which
foated down her back, appeared to
traverse the horizon from the
north to south, and from south to
north, with each movement that she
made.
I adored Mother Clochette. AS
soon as I was out of bed I ascend
ed to the linen press, where I found
her installed with her sewing, a foot
warmer at her feet. When [ ap-
peared she insisted on my taking the
foot warmer and seating herself
upon it, in order that I should not
take cold in the chilly room, which
was directly under the roof.
'"That draws the blood from the
throat" she would say.
While she darned the linen with
her long, crooked active fingers, she
told me stories. Her eyes, behind he1
spectacles with their strangely mag
nifying glasses (for age had weak
ened her sight), appeared to me
enormous, strangely deep, and double
She had. as far as I can recall
from the things which she told me
and by which<my childish heart was
moved, a magnanimous soul. She
saw everything great and small. She
related to me events of the town;
the story of a COW which had es
capped from the barn, and had beer
found one morning in front of Pros
er Malet's mill, watching the turning
of the wooden wings; or the story
of a hens egg discovered in the
church turret. where no one coulC
ever imagine what creature haC
come to lay it there; or the &C
count of the dog of Jean-Jean Pilas
that had recovered at ten leagues
distance from the village his mas
ter's trousers, which had been stolel
by passer by as they were drying
before the door, after shower. Sht
related these simple events in such I
manner that they assumed, in M
mind, the proportions of never-to-be
forgotten dramas, of grand and mys
FERROUS poems; and the ingeniou
tales invented by poets and narrated
to me, in the evening, by my moth
er, had not that SAVIOR, that fullness
that power, which the recitals of tn
peasant possessed.
One Tuesday, after having passe,
the entire morning in listening t.
Mother Clochette, 1 went, with
servant, to gather nuts in the Halle
woods, back of the Noirpre farm
On nv return 1 went up to rejoil
the old woman. l recall all this a
distinctly as the events of yester
day.
On opening the door of the line
room, I perceived the old seamstres
living on the floor beside her chair
her face on the ground, her arms ez
tended, still holding her needle in on
hand, and in the other one of my shirts
One of her legs (the longer one
doubtless), in blue stocking, wa
stretched under her chair; and he
spectacles were glistening at, the en-
of the room, having rolled from hel
1 rushed out, giving sharp cries o
distress. The family came to my cal
and after some moments learned tina
Mother C1ochette was dead. I can
not describe the deep emotion, poig
nant and terrible, which contracted m
childish heart. I descended softly t
the drawing-room, hiding myself in
dark corner in the depths of an in
mense antique sofa, where 1 knel
weeping. must have remained Their
a long time, for darkness came on.