The Minneapolis journal. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn.) 1888-1939, 1903-03-19
The Garden Of Lies
By Justus Miles Forman
Copyright 1902 By Frederick i. stokes COMPANY
CHAPTER Ill.
By Justus Miles Forman
Copyright 1902 BY Frederick a. stokes Company.

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CHAPTER III.
The old convent garden by the Boule-
ward Raspail is a quaint still place of COOL
ness and of odor.r of damp, black mold
underfoot, messy with age, of prim, order
~ rows of trees and shrubs. of mellow
sunshine splasi1ed with shadows of green
isolation, of peace beyond belief: a walled
quiet where the outer world never pene-
trates.s .A
There are many such in old Paris,
though few. perhaps. so large. They lie
asleep behind those high. blank succeed
walls with spiked tops and Defense,
d'Afflcher' printed black. across them,
that you pass In your walks or on, top of
your footing tram. You may see the tops.
Of the great trees peeping over the walls
coping, you may catch, If it be springtide,
a great Whit of perfume, lilac or. chests
nut or acacia, borne out, to YOU by some
vagrant little puff of wind, but the nlys-.
teries that lie behind that fifteen feet of,
stone and plaster YOU may not solve. save,
once in long time, a tiny postern door
set perchance in the high wall may be
by accident left ajar Then you shall
see such old world quiet such ordered
peace, such guarded sweetness! =
The big convent garden is--as has been
said-a triangle. with it's apex and a por-
ton of one side filed by the former con-
vent buildings. Its sides that lie along
the Boulevard Raspail and the Rue Den-
fert Roehereau are walled to great height
No eye may. spy upon that green seclu-,
sion. It's base is the blank. rear wall
of the long barra like row of studio
buildings, two stories high. that face in
the rue Boissonade. A blank, rear wall
Iresatd. That is not quite true. There is
or was--one window, small one. set
heaven knows why-about ten feet from
the ground of the garden below 1t be-
TO no ct a q end of the long
row, at the inner end of the little street,
for the rue Boissonade is properly no rue
at all, but an impasse. This studio was
occupied at the time, Of which l write
by young Denis Mallory. ex-soldier Of for
tune, present writer of descriptive arti-
cles for London weekly paper.
A Quaint still place Of GOODNESS and
odors The odors come blended from
everywhere from the black earth, stained
green with moss here and there, and al
ways damp-as in a celar-from the rows
of great lilac bushes that stand along
the high street walls-when the lilacs are
in flower the perfume IS well-nigh stupe
fying-from the chestnuts and acacias
that stand severely arrow up and down the
garden, their trunks black and smooth
with years; from the mignonette and lit
tie spice pinks and red single roses that
fill the round beds at the corners of the
walls. There is a gravel walk down
through the middle of all, with a border
of little whitehead stones. and. another
path that, runs, around the enclosure I'M
der the walls . L..
In the very center is the fountain OF
marble. 1t was white. once, and fine with
scrolls and ornamentation, but the mar
BILE is stained yellow and green with age
and the carved vines and leaves and fruit
are. broken. A. living vine twists anc
clngs trumphantly where the sculptor's
' challenged admiration so long ago. Doubt
less the new vine is the better one. The
carved stone margin of the basin is
cracked too and stained roots have forced
their way between the joints, and moss
bass filled the bottom of the pool, but
that doesn't matter so much, for only q
gurging squirt Of water trlckles down IRON
the fount nowadays.
Even the marble seats. that stand In q
broken circle about the fountain. are
stained. cracked Ind brol1en; and'the' sum
dial. uplifted near by on its pedestal, Is
hidden in a mass Of vines. 49, = =.
You might sit. here all the. day long. i
you liked, bathing yourself in the yellow
sunshine that seems always warm bu
never hot, or hiding under the cool greer
shade. breathing in fragrance exquisite
aromatic, a blended essence of all delight
full smells: and you would be as utterly on
of the world. as far away from it's nois
and hurry and strife as if you were alon
in the Hesperides. 1t would be still, of
stiffness unbelievable! No sounqs .woult
reach you from over those high stone wall
but the toot of a passing tram. the tin1l
Of it's bell, the whistle of a street gani1i
the bell from a nearby chapel; and thes
made somehow thin. and faint as IF from
a great distance, unreal and alien
All. it's good old place! A quaint oil
sweet old place. the great green conven
garden by the Boulevard Raspail!
Sir Gavin and young Denis Mallory stoo
IN the grey stone porch, a beautiful oil
crumbling Gothic porch, Of what had bee
the refectory Of the convent. Young MAJ
larry was a bit haggard from the nigh
before, a bit pale and drawn as to tn
cheeks, and black as to the eyes. but 9th
erwse quite himself; an earlier self, on
would have said There was a sonethin
Of boyishness. light in the eye; and HI
hand was not quite steady. -. -:~s~
"Yell be careful, lad" warned MacKer
zie. Remember always that she's In
nervous state so extreme that it's mig
hysteria. Yen be cautious"
Aye said young Mallory. Impatient
AYE, haven't I been coached for tV
hours? I'm letter perfect" And his eye
strayed down the length of the garde
below them. 3~>,t -.
" Mackenzie .heaved a great sigh
God knows" said he, shaking his gre;
H. head. God knows. Eth, well, be off wit
We an have it over
Young Mallory went down the gray
path between the great chestnut trees
It was one Of those unseasonably war
afternoons that come sometimes at tt
end Of April or early in May. a heat thu
forewarns the approaching summer, thu
makes the sunshine oppressive, draws tt
young leaves from their twigs almost whf
one watches them. = p =
tt had brought the sticky buds of. tt
chestnut into flower all in a day. so tn:
their fragrance. heavy and tropical. rnil
EOOD ESSONS -