Evening star., 1934-03-11
BY KATHARINE DUNLAP.

IA IGHT-and under the tall
n lights of the vast. tree
" fanked square a dark, surg
l ing mass of human beings,
and. ever swelling, that most
| omlnous of all sounds-the menacing
growl Of an angered mob. Close
packed by the obelisk that marks the
center of the square; milling around
the big bronze fountains, pressed
against the eight statues of the Free
Cities. the snarling crowd grows more
articulate.
All at once the snarl becomes a
roar, and the square leaps into bright
| ness-some one has fired a stranded
autobus. The flames shoot skyward
and the crowd falls back upon itself
to escape the fierce heat of the blaze
it has started. There are cries-the
police are forcing the mob back. and
blows are being struck. Groups are
struggling and shouting. There comes
the clop-clop of horses hoofs on the
wooden paving blocks. Stirrup to STIR
rup. the Republican Guard is arriv-
ing at the tr0t. The brass helmets
CLINT under the lights. The snorting
horses slip and plunge as they are
pressed against the crowd. and con-
fusion increases as the mass begins
to give way before them.
The fighting is in earnest now;
there are cries of pain and anger as
some fall under trampling hoofs. At
the corner glass crashes amid yells
of satisfaction: then. suddenly. sharp
ly. comes a volley of pistol shots-and
screams. The mob sways and crum-
bles; wounded are being dragged
away. The cries of meaningless rage
change to shouts of ASA ssins" and
''Murderers!" Young Royalists jostle
| would-be Communists. Fascists shout
beside Socialists.
Working Day Of French Is Long.
Across the -parapeted stone
bridge that spans the Seine rises the
| dark. triangle-topped shadow Of the
| Chamber of Deputies, vague object
of the crowds wrath. Is this clamor
really the nations voice? Is the
destiny Of France in the hands of
! these rioters? What is the real
France? Is there another side to the
| picture?
Go out. away from the city-ifty. a
hundred miles from Paris-and turn
off those wide avenues of traffic
known as the Routes Nationales into
some by-road that leads deep into
country Of small farms Here, be-
hind tangled hedgerows of wild
clematis and blackberry, the farmer is
working in his field, and his stone
| house at the bend of the road is
| half hidden by gnarled apple trees.
| Chickens straggle about the door,
COWS look over the bars in an OPEN
ing Of the hedge; from close at hand
comes the grunting of pigs. Barn and
stable are built at angles to the house,
forming courtyard which shelters
the all-important manure heap as
| well as most of the smaller farm ami
| mails. The working day of the French
| peasant is SO long and hard that he
spares himself unnecessary steps. Be
J sides, his wife, who cares for the poul-
| try the rabbits and the pigs, who
milks the COWS and does her churn-
! ing outside the kitchen door, has the
! house and children to look after and
cannot go too far afield.
Yet this little house, with its
crowded, squawking barnyard in such
untidy proximity, is the limit of am
bition of almost every French peasant;
his own little property, his own beasts
to feed. his own fields to till-though
the property may be no bigger than
minute, and the feeding of his beasts
and tilling of his fields mean long
grueling labor and the difficult eking
out OF harsh, scant existence.
Has Few Illusions.
The French farmer drives a hard
bargain. He holds fast to his sons
He knows what they have cost him
to earn. and he has never been taught
! that free spending is a virtue. 1t
! isn't to him. He never can aspire to
radio or even to a telephone, and
! his standard of living is so simple
| that there's no use even mentioning
| it. But if he makes every penny dc
| the work of two, and puts the saved
copper in his woolen stocking. some
| day he may be able to buy that strip
of meadow land along the little river
edged by pollard willows, then his
| horse and three cows can drink at will
and spare him the extra work OF
! watering them.
Old age is lying bleakly ahead OF
him. When he is no longer able to
wrest living from his plot of land
his son must do it-and a few extra
francs must be put by so that he
himself will not be an added handi-
cap to that small inheritance. He
has ambition for his children, but few
illusions. He does not hope that his
J son may become President, nor even
that he may rise into q higher social
class, but he would like to picture his
son as being careful and thrifty, and
as having two horses, where he him
self has had but one, and. if things
! prosper, few more hectares of land
! Thele is none Of that belief-which
we so confidently read into our own
archives-of a right to the pursuit OF
| happiness. He recognizes no such
birthright. IT, amid the hard facts
| Of which life is made up. SINE pleas
ures come his way, so much the bet
ter. but they are incidents and not
is not considered first. even in marry
ing. Marriage is a partnership in
serious business concern. A house
hold needs a woman to do her share
of the work, and to prove, literally
that two can live cheaper than one.
| The farmers wife will probably keer
! the accounts. and even hold the purse
strings. She has q great sense Of re-
sponsibility about her home. and heI