Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1906-04-19
THE INSPIRATION |
OF JEAN WGNOL
By FRANCOIS COPPEE

By coPPEE

dreadful and blood-and-thunder fiction
for the family story papers. He dealt
exclusively in conspiracies, murders,
stolen wills, k~idnapings and substitu-
lions of babes in the cradle. His works
are not so bad, of their kind. If you
ever have to go through a long, tedious
illness-which God grant you may not
you might do worse than while away
the hours of convalescence by reading
his Mysteries of Menilmontant," in
two fat paper-covered volumes.
Yet his practice was not large, and
sometimes he found it difficult to dis
pose Of his copy even at the most
meager space rates
His debut in letters had been ambi-
tious enough. To this day there repose
In the oblivion of a dark corner OF a
bottom bureau drawer two early and un-
published works. composed by him at the
time when he had hair on his head
and real artistic aspirations in his
heart.
Unfortunately, these were not nego-
table in the literary market-and Jean
Vignol had to live. 1t was in the Belle
vile quarter of Paris, on the fifth floor
of a sordid tenement, that he had
dwelt alone with his aged mother,
who was a martyr to rheumatism.
To earn a little money-little enough,
verily!-the poet had turned hack
novelist, in the same logged spirit
that an art-school graduate who has
failed at painting, takes to p%hotogra-
ply.
While old Mamma Vignol lived, Jean,
a model of flial piety, had plodded
along contentedly enough. But since
her death, two years ago, he was alone
in the world-without parents or
friends, an habitual stay-at-home:
He was, at the time of which we
write, a sturdy little man of Al years,
beginning to grow pudgy, with a heavy
black beard, a Socratic nose, a pair OF
honest small eyes, and a few sparse
bristles on the top of his otherwise
denuded dome of thought.
What a bother!" he exclaimed to
himself on a Christmas eve, as he
mounted slowly to his fifth foor-for
he was slightly asthmatic. Here is
the editor complaining that my latest,
Behind the Bars wants ~action-mean-
ing, of course, more bloodshed. Is
life worth living?
Entering mis- forlorn apartment, he
found a whole series of petty annoy
ances awaiting him. In the first place
his coke fire had gone out and he must
start it afresh. Then, as he was cast
ing q regretful look upon the old pipes
he was forbidden to smoke, his writ
ing lamp flickered out. A new wick
was required. And, come to look,
there were only two matches left in
the box.
Thunder and Mars!" growled Jean
Vignol, letting go his strongest oath.
Here am I in a pretty fl A merry
Christmas eve, to be sure! Shall
go down those five flights again for
matches? No! rather than that, I'll
borrow of my %neighbor."
His neighbor was Mere Matthew, q
poor old widow whose daughter, a vau-
deville actress abandoned by her hus-
band. had died in childbirth the sum.
mer before, leaving the infant to be
brought up on the bottle by the afore.
said Mere Matthew. She supported her
self by sewing for a department store
The novelist had helped her out" with
a few francs on several occasions when
her need had been greater than his
own. Now he raped at her door and
called out:
Mere Matthew! can you lend me g
few matches"
He stopped short as the door opened
and he looked in. There was the poo
woman kneeAng on the floor, busily
: engaged in rolling and tying up thu
hair mattress which she had takeI
from her bed, leaving revealed a limp
looking tick half filled with straw
Close by, the baby slept peacefully il
q wicker cradle.
why, what are you up to now, Mer,
Matthew? Going to move before rem
day comes %around?"
"Oh, no, M. Vignol. l am just goin.
to the pawn shop with this mattress
!. 1t is good for ten francs, at least;
:, must hurry, for they close at eight"
= "What-and sleep on the straw"
eyes; it won't be for the first time
You see, my younger sister, who is
} widow like myself-the one who wa
wardrobe mistress at the Varietes-ha
, fallen i'll again, and they won't tax
her at the hospital because they a.,
she is incurable. So I must help he
a a little-she has always been SO goo
to me. In a week or so, when | ge
q my fortnightly wages from the store,
can have the mattress back again. AL
that bothers me now is-what to d
with the baby while | go out. Usuall
the janitor's wife takes care of it 70
me; but tonight being Christmas ev
they have company to dinner and ar
going to celebrate the reveillon. So
don't know what to do with the youn
d one"
II Jean Vignol showed signs of agits
n ton. not to say emotion.
Don't do that, Mere Matthew" h
commanded. Don't go to the paw
/. shop. | have is francs--here are to
= Of them. Go straight to your siste
= AS for the %kid-well, you can leav
y him with me. ne sleeps like a church
goer; lie won't disturb my writing.
dare say | car roc the cradle with m
4 foot. ami even manage to give him tn
bottle in case he wakes up and bowls
N This was a great boon to the poe
Widow Matthew, and she departel