The herald and news. [volume] (Newberry S.C.) 1903-1937, 1908-12-01

NE w -
thinker, or whatnot contrary to the
Christian doctrines. Not exactly in
any Of these categories is curious
and impressive tomb on the slope be-
low the Demidoff mausoleum. 1t was
erected recently by the family Of
Guet, and is a granite incarnation of
the question of the ages. Above the
sarcophagus is a female figure with
fingers pressed upon tightly closed
lips-the silence and mystery Of the
grave. On the right and left are two
unshapen, roughly quaried monoliths.
From the rugged surface Of the first
emerges the faint outline of a hu-
man form, as if the rock were on the
point of being transformed into liv-
ing flesh, and craven below in Latin,
the question "Whence?" On the sec-
ond pillar is an indistinct figure
merging back into the rock; the low
er limbs disappear in the unhewn
stone: only one or two strong lines
suggest, or rather indicate, body,
and the face, contorted in agony,
seems about to lose all expression. Be-
meath is the query. 'Whither?'
After a deal of trouble I found the
resting place Of Heloise and Abelard,
but not in the secluded depth Of a sad
cypress grove, not surrounded by
kneeling maidens. not the rendezvous
Of pensive, 1ove-sick, hungry poets. In
lieu Of lawns and weeping willows, I
found hard cobblestone and gravel;
instead Of the expected circle of love-
lorn damsels and long haired poets,
there was nothing but rusty iron
fence. The spot was deserted.
If the romantic essayists are
worthy Of belief, it IS a favorite
French pastime to deposit wreaths Of
immortelles upon this tomb. Such is
the particular function commonly as
signed to the spot, just as the Alps is
famous for mountain climbing, Coney
Island for sea-bathing, India for ele-
plant hunting, Heaven for climate,
etc., etc. Little children hearing at
their nurses knees the pretty story
of the monk and his charming pupil,
gather huge bouquets Of flowers and
hasten toward the cemetery, school
girls suffering from their first attack
Of puppy love weave fragrant gar
lands and fly to this is'sympathetic spot
for consolation; yellow haired griset-
tes from the Latin Quarter, abandon
ed by their student lovers, deposit
here the little pot Of geraniums that
'bloomed in their garret windows, and
then drown themselves in the Seine;
gray haired couples totter hitherward
arm in arm to drop blossom and d
tear in memory of their own departed
youth: in fact all France, from the
cradle to the grave, spends its idle
moments in sentimental pilgrimage to
this hallowed shrine. If YOU don t
believe it, pick up at random any
continental novelist and De convinced.
Judge then my CONSERVATION in be-
holding the tomb and its environs dry
and barren as Sahara. Not petal, not
tear. Was I, perhaps, mistaken i'll
the spot? No, the inscription was
distinct. It flashed across my mind
that there might be two pairs Of Hell
oise and Abelard, just as there are
two brands Of Bakers Chocolate IN
America, and that I might have hap
pened upon the imitation. I decided
to "insist on the original'' and cali
ed a policeman.
"No." he had never heard that
there was competition in the Heloise-
and-Abelard business. and this tomb
was the only one he knew OF. Dis
satisfied and disappointed. fingered
in the vicinity and marvelled at the
mendacity Of all the tribe of seribes
and poets. The desolation palled up
on me. Abelard in particular SEEM
ed sad and neglected. Reposing at
full length in granite effgy. his dis
eonsolate expression seemed to reflect
the thought that he had loved and
died in vain. A noble emotion stirred
within nv breast. I, stranger,
would lay my humble tribute at MS
feet, as an example to his forgetful
countrymen. Moved by this lofty re-
solve, I hurried outside the cemetery
cate, and sought an establishment