The Washington herald., 1908-07-15
BASTILE GETS WET.
BUT RED INK FLOWS
That Is, Count Perreard's
Wine Did the Flowing.
INVITES FRIENDS AT so PER
English Is Murdered and MnrSeiI-
laiSe Is Sung, but Panic l. Averted
When the Count Stops singing.
Solemn Celebration Is EnIivened
by POly-nationaI Orchestra.

up and wet. and eet ees too soft 20 stand
up on him feet, said monsieur the
Count" Pereard. proprietaire Of the
/ French Castle. tears and perspiration
trickIing down over his French mus
/ tache and expansive white waistcoat last
night as he conducted the bastHe cele-
orators into his two-by-four backyard.
where the anniversary Of French liberty
| is celebrated perenniauy by the count
and his cronies.
| That poor little back yard was a sight,
| indeed And it had been decorated with
a thousand dollars worth Of paper bunt-
/ ing In celebration Of IA plus grande ami
versair-r-r-re Of everybody. Even though
1t was as hot as blazes in that little back
yard. the count is proud Of It's associa-
tions. Every year. or July Il. the fall Of
the Bastile is celebrated in that place.
and the English language Is murdered.
butchered. and crucifed. and red ink is
CONSUMED by the barreIfuL
Not Red Ink at All.
II looks Ike red ink 10 the uninItiataf
and those who profess the prohibition
creed. but the count says It IS the real
juice Of the grape Be that as it may.
or may that as il be, it is there every
year, and il was there last night.
Everybody admired the ruined paper
decoration. and coudoled with the count
and shed a few tears. just 20 show tina;
| diplomatic relations were not strained
But there is nothing under the sun that
could stop the count from celebrating his
own annual celebration. and he so in
formed those who had come IN response
10 a picture postal which bore the
counts classical features
''Je suis-oh. pardonnez moi; eet makes
no deemerenCe-we viii have le diunaire
in ze other room. and eet costs you only
ver-r-ry leetle monaie. have engage ze
finest chef in ze whole Etats Unls. and
he makes zc dinnaire superfiue-
only 80 cent for ze dinnaire, ah. and
my chef IS est ze best in ze world La.
Ia CONNIE ci. CONNIE ca"
Table quite Unusual.
The deserted back yard the dripping
little penny flags and cheap paper bunt-
ing. seemed 10 put a damper on a cele-
bration which. under more auspici7us
weather conditions. might have turned
out quite CONNIE Il faut as Il We're
nest ce pas Ich weiss NIGHTS davou
That dining-roOm never looked so sweet
as It did last night One long table
right In the middle, reached from one
end Of the room to the other Il was a
wooden table. with a leg on each corner
Its head vas all covered up nicely with
a white handkerchief. reaching 10 the
northwest southwest. northeast and
southeast corners on the table were
forks. spoons. knives. and dishes and
plates and few glass vases. with no
water. into which were stuck beautiful
fragrant paper flowers
Chairs were placed around this wooden
table at intervals Of every ten inches. and
were occupied by old men and young men.
who had evidently never met before. They
said nothing and were silent A negro
with a white apron tied around hts neck
and reaching down % his toes. came into
The room and Perspired freely. but one Of
his hands was not engaged With the
other he held a tray aloft. upon which
were displayed all the delicacies OF the
18th OF July which were distributed TO
the old men and young men who ate the
.delicacies and drank the red ink. Il was
not red ink really. but Il looked much like
Il. It wasn't. though.
Just Ate and Listened.
Nobody said nothing. but everybody
seemed TO be eating them there deIicacies
and barking 10 the sounds OF a harp
played by a beautiful young girl from
Venice. a fiddle treated by a sturdy young
man from Norway and trombone han
died by a giant from the Sahara desert
Count" PeTreard. who occupied the
head Of the wooden table. shifted IN
easily in his chair. He put the butt Of his
cigar aside and looked at II for a moment
in a wistful way. The count was uneasy
again. and he blushed Ike unto the June
bride. His manly mUstache trembied. his
mouth opened, displaying tweEty-six
teeth, all counted, and the annual 18th Of
July perOration was on its way The
celebrators stopped IN their mad career Of
feasting. the Venetian harpist. the Nor
wegfan fiddler. and the Saharan from
bonist ceased in their operations. the col
ored waiter perspired some more. and the
old men and young men howled. It was
lovely.
BastiIe Had Some Uses.
The count spoke in a Frenchifed Amer
lean style. interspersed with garlic. and
amid tears referred TO his dear old Bas-
tile. which he said should have been kill
ed long ago. because there was a scarcity
Of building stones in Paris. anyway. and
the Bastile was a regular quarry. The
count franticaIiy waved the tricolor Of
Ia belle France. and the old men and the
young men, the orchestra, the waiter. and
everybody cheered and drank some more
red ink.
Carried along by sentiments Of patriot
ism. tears cOursing down his furrowed
cheeks and tenderly nesting in his ever
afccf.onate mustache. the count made
one grand last effort and sang the Mar
seillaise.
WeIl-taIk about singing. There never
has been anything like it within the four
walls Of the United States Il was some
thing that stopped the people on the
sidewalks. made horses run away. and
automobiles snort and blink with fright.
II was most efective-that song OF the
count
Panic Only MOmentary.
After the count had finished and silence
had once more been restored, everybody
returned to their chairs. They came
back from everywhere. The orchestra /
struck Up lively tune. and after some
more red ink. more songs were sung and I
more American language was tortured.
It was beautiful and ennobling. this