Little Almond Blossoms 1

Little Almond Blossoms 1

Little Almond Blossoms

A Book of Chinese Stories for Children

 

Author: Jessie Juliet Knox

 

_CONTENTS_

 

 

PAGE

 

In the Land of the Dragon 3

 

Two Little Chinese Sisters 15

 

The Little Highbinder 27

 

How Ah Chee found Santa Claus 39

 

The Moon Rabbit 65

 

How Santa Claus came to Suey Hip 93

 

The Easter Dream of Mun Chee 109

 

Ping Pong and Ping Yet 131

 

The Little Almond Blossom 153

 

The Christmas of Gum Ching 163

 

Ho Chin’s Fourth of July 173

 

The Little Fisher-Maiden 189

 

The Finding of Sing Ho 207

 

The Slave-Girl’s Thanksgiving 233

 

 

 

 

_LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS_

 

 

PAGE

 

A Little Almond Blossom _Frontispiece_

 

“Oh, what a dreadful monster” 5

 

“The Chinese children all marched to the

music in a row” 7

 

“Everybody giggled all the time, in their funny

little Chinese way” 9

 

“She brought forth from the flute the most

wonderful sounds” 17

 

“It was the old nurse, Suey” 22

 

“‘Where are you going, little one?’” 50

 

“Little Priest” 65

 

“She and one of her sisters were on the step

in front of their home” 67

 

“Suey Hip was very much dressed up” 99

 

“She sometimes longed to get out, she and her

two little brothers” 109

 

“There was a big bouquet for Ping Pong” 147

 

“Through the narrow streets” 177

 

“Two of his little friends, with their queer little

Chinese caps on” 208

 

“His own beautiful _mo chun_” 227

 

 

 

 

_IN THE LAND OF THE DRAGON_

 

 

 

 

_Little Almond Blossoms_

 

 

 

 

_IN THE LAND OF THE DRAGON_

 

 

Chung Goy ran as fast as his little sandals would permit, up the narrow

flight of steps which led to the Chinese restaurant, and out on the

balcony, where a crowd of Chinamen were watching for the great

Procession of the Dragon. His little legs were encased in pale green

silk trousers tied at the ankles, and his lavender _shom_ (blouse)

gleamed in the light of the many dragon lanterns which were swaying in

the night breeze. His hair was in a long queue, and on his head he wore

the little round black cap of the Chinese, with a button on top.

 

Chung Goy was so afraid he would miss seeing the dragon. He had never

seen it as yet, for he was not so very old, and now that the

long-expected moment had come he fairly trembled with excitement.

 

His _ho chun_ (father) was on this balcony, which was near their home,

and he hurried to nestle up to him, as it was cold, and the wind was

always blowing in San Francisco.

 

It seemed as if the procession would never come; he grew tired watching

so many people pass, and perhaps the fumes of the opium his father was

smoking got into his brain; but, at any rate, the first thing he

 

[Illustration: _Oh, what a dreadful monster!_]

 

knew he saw a great squirming thing approaching him.

 

It was spitting fire from its eyes and mouth, and at first he felt

afraid. Oh, what a dreadful monster! it would surely devour him. He

heard himself saying: “Velly bad snake--I no likee; go ’way! I ’flaid.”

And then he heard a voice like the muttering of thunder, and the voice

came out of the dragon’s mouth, and it was saying in the Chinese

language: “_Samen jai_ (little boy), I have come to take you to Dragon

Land. Slip away from _ho chun_, and fly with me.”

 

“Oh, no!” gasped the trembling boy, “I velly much ’flaid the big dlagon

eat me up.” And then the dragon spoke again, but this time his voice was

as soft and sweet as music, and the fire no longer came from his eyes

and mouth. He had such a kind look on his face too, and spoke in such a

persuasive tone, that little Chung Goy ceased to be afraid, and slipping

from his father’s arms he ran down the narrow steps again, and out into

the street, climbing up on the big dragon’s back. He saw lots of other

Chinese boys he knew, doing the same thing. He held on tightly, for the

dragon went in such a squirming way that he was afraid he would fall

off, and he held on to his little silk cap, too, as the dragon’s speed

increased, for it was his best one, and he did not want to lose it.

 

Oh, this was jolly! He had never thought he would ever ride on a

dragon’s back. What a lot he would have to tell his _mo chun_ (mother)

 

[Illustration: _The Chinese children all marched to the music in a

row_]

 

when he reached home. It was a good thing _mo chun_ did not know it now,

he thought, or she would be “velly much ’flaid.”

 

After squirming through all sorts of queer countries, the big dragon

stopped so suddenly that they all fell off his back, and down his

slippery sides. Chung Goy rubbed his eyes and looked around him. Oh, how

funny! There were just thousands of dragons of all sizes, and this

beautiful place was their home. They all had such kind faces, and spoke

in such a gentle way, that no one could feel afraid. There were great

groves of trees, all full of the tiny Chinese mandarin orange. Chung Goy

just loved those “ollanges,” but he had never before picked them from a

tree, as his _ho chun_ had bought them from the street-stands in

Chinatown. There were trees of _lichee_ (nuts), and long tables just

filled with Chinese candy, delicious preserved ginger, watermelon seed,

and all those good things so dear to a boy’s heart.

 

It was night, but the trees were so full of the great dragon lanterns

that it made it almost as light as day, and there were no dark corners

anywhere. There was a dragon orchestra under one of the trees, playing

the loveliest Chinese music. The shrill piping of the flageolets and the

beating of the “tom-toms” were indeed beautiful to the ears of Chung Goy

and his friends. It looked too funny for anything to see dragons holding

the different instruments with their claws. The Chinese children all

marched to

 

[Illustration: _Everybody giggled all the time, in their funny little

Chinese way_]

 

the music in a row, holding each other by the queue.

 

Chung Goy had never had so much fun in all his little life as he was

having now. Just as he was beginning to feel hungry there appeared

before his gaze a very long table, just filled with everything a child

could possibly want, and all served by cunning little dragons. There

were such dainty little China cups without handles, and in them the most

delicious _chah_ (tea).

 

Everybody giggled all the time, in their funny little Chinese way, and no one told them to stop.

요리하는 고야 새우의 부끄러움과 튼살치료

요리하는 고야 새우의 부끄러움과 튼살치료

2015년 1월 31일 밤 10시에 방송된 KBS2 '개그콘서트-요리하는 고야'에서 안상태가 가장의 삶을 새우요리에 비교해 웃음을 자아냈다.

안상태는 새우를 이 시대의 가장이라 칭해 그 이유에 궁금증을 자아냈다. 안상태는 "등허리가 휘었다는 고야. 야근 때문에 수염도 깎지 못했단 고야"라 설명했다.

정승환은 “껍질을 벗거야하는 거죠?”라고 새우껍질을 벗기려 하자, 안상태는 "그렇게 막 벗기면 안되는 거야. 그러면 새우가 얼마나 부끄럽겠어. 먼저 허리띠를 풀고 바지를 벗거야 하는 거야"라고 말해 웃음을 자아냈다.

안상태는 물에 불은 미역을 “볼륨 파마 한 아내”라 표현하며 “오늘 나 달라진 거 없는 것 같으냐”는 아내들의 공통 질문을 따라 해 폭소를 안겼다. “부인이 복 분자를 꺼내오는 고야. 야근도 했고 피곤한데 이건 아니거든. 한 잔 두 잔 마시는 고야. 갑자기 미역이 샤워를 하는 고야. 그럼 새우는 자는 척을 하는 고야”라고 부부 결혼생활을 해산물에 빗대 재연했다. “새우는 잠이 와서 잤는데, 부인한테 달달 볶이는 거야”라고 해 폭소케 했다.

 

본초구진http://bit.ly/1WW78tq 이란 한약재 책을 보면 覆盆子 복분자는 다음과 같이 나온다.

（蔓草）批 溫腎, 澀精, 固脫.

복분자는 만초이며 신을 따뜻하게 하며 정을 깔깔하게 하며 벗어남을 견고하게 해준다.

覆盆子（專入腎）。

복분자는 오로지 신장에 들어간다.

甘酸微溫, 性稟中和, 功能溫腎而不燥, 固精而不凝。

복분자는 감미, 산미로 약간 온기이며, 성품이 중화됨을 품수하며 공능이 신을 따뜻하게 하나 건조하지 않고 정을 견고하게 하며 응체하지 않는다.

（李士材曰: 強腎無燥熱之偏, 固精無凝澀之害, 金玉之品也。）

이사재가 말하길 신을 강하게 하나 건조하고 열나게 하는 치우침이 없으며 정을 견고하게 하나 얼고 깔깔한 피해가 없으니 금과 옥과 같은 약품이다.

故服陰痿能強, 肌膚能澤, 臟腑能和, 鬚髮不白, 女子服之多孕。

그래서 음위에 복용하면 강해질 수 있고 살갗과 피부는 윤택하며 5장6부는 조화로울 수 있고 수염과 모발은 희지 않으며 여자는 복용하면 많이 임신할 수 있다.

既有補益之功, 復多收斂之義, 名爲覆盆子者, 服之能使溺盆皆覆也。

이미 보익의 공로가 있고 다시 수렴하는 뜻이 많아서 복분자라고 이름함은 복용하면 요강을 모두 뒤집을 수 있음이다.

http://bit.ly/1RUNGOu

 

게나 새우는 구우면 특이하게 부끄러워 하는 사람의 안면홍조증처럼 붉어진다.

게나 랍스터 등의 갑각류는 청록색이지만, 삶거나 구우면 금방 붉은색으로 변한다.

이 변색 마술의 비밀은 아스타산틴(astaxanthin) 색소 때문인데, 단백질과 결합되어 있을때는 갈색 및 청록색이지만 분리되면 붉은색으로 변하는 성질을 갖고 있다.

게가 살아 있을 때는 단백질과 결합되어 있기 때문에 청록색으로 보이지만 일단, 가열을 하면 단백질과 분리하여 원래의 색인 붉은색으로 돌아간다.

이 아스타산틴은 산화를 통해서도 붉은색으로 변한다. 그러나, 껍질이 붉은색으로 변한다고 해서 게의 영양분이 변질되는 것은 아니다. 오히려, 원래의 색보다는 밝은 붉은색이 더욱 식욕을 돋우어 준다. 출처 수산물안전정보서비스 www.fsis.go.kr

 

안면홍조증도 사회적 심리적인 질병인데 튼살도 무심코 별일 아닌 것처럼 넘길수 있지만 부끄러워 한다. 튼살도 처음에는 붉은 염증기부터 사직해 몇달이 지나면 불이 꺼지듯 흰색으로 변화하여 치료가 어렵다고 생각한다. 하지만 이미지한의원의 튼살침 ST침 치료는 10-20 심지어는 30-40년이 지난 이후에도 튼살침 치료가 된다.

The History and Romance of Crime 28

The History and Romance of Crime 28

One or two later cases possessing some of the same features may be

included here,--those of Michel Campi and of Marchandon,--which throw

up into strong relief the insecurity of life, even in the most crowded

parts of a large city. In the first instance a peaceable old gentleman

and his sister were murdered at three o’clock in the afternoon in the

rue du Regard, not far from the avenue de Clichy. In the other a lady

of good position and ample means was done to death in the middle of the

night by her own man-servant, whom she had only engaged the day before.

 

The case of Campi is as follows: On the afternoon of a tenth of

August, a man rang at the door of an apartment in the rue du Regard

where resided Du Cros de Sixt with his sister. They were both old

people. He was well to do and secretary to a religious society. Their

residence was in a pavilion apart from the principal building. Mlle.

du Cros answered the door in the absence of their maid, and Campi

at once struck down the old lady with a succession of violent blows

with a hammer. Mlle. du Cros fell screaming and her brother rushing

out was treated in the same manner. Then the miscreant, opening a

large knife, cut the poor woman’s throat and next wounded M. du Cros

mortally. Now the concierge came to the rescue, found the two bodies

lying in a pool of blood, and hurriedly called in the police. When

they arrived they found the murderer in one of the rooms hunting for

plunder. He was forthwith arrested, and without difficulty, although

he later explained this to the instructing judge by saying that had

he not broken the handle of his hammer, he would have taken other

lives. Robbery was judged to be the motive of the crime, but Campi’s

advocate wished to suggest an idea of vengeance, although no proof of

this was ever forthcoming. There was some mystery about the man and his

relations with M. du Cros which never came out. Campi was certainly

acquainted with M. du Cros and his sister, who survived for a couple

of days. When questioned, she begged piteously not to be forced to

reveal the secret of the man’s identity. Campi was perfectly well known

to the police as a criminal, who had been in prison frequently, but

his secret antecedents were never brought to light. He was said to

have served in the Carlist ranks in Catalonia. He belonged originally

to Marseilles, and his connection with the Spanish insurgents was

attested by Carlist officers who recognised him. The mystery about him

was never definitely cleared up, and it served only to increase the

interest attached to him at the time of his trial. The account given

of his last appearance differed little from those of other executions,

but he was most anxious to show no weakness, declined all assistance,

and cried: “I would rather walk alone. I am not in the least afraid.”

When he saw the guillotine, he exclaimed contemptuously, “Is that all!”

The exact truth as to his identity will never be known, but those who

knew him maintained to the last that he was not a thief; that he was

essentially an honest man, who would not stoop to murder for mere

gain; and that some family scandal would have been revealed if the

whole story of the crime had been laid bare.

 

In the case of Marchandon, his intention to murder his new mistress

without loss of time was shown by the fact that he only hired for a

single day the clothes in which he presented himself in the rue de

Sèze. He had secured employment in many houses by means of a forged

certificate of character, which was so unsatisfactory that it roused

the suspicions of the Princess Poniatowski, who had engaged him, but

would not allow him to enter her house. She had gone at once to the

registry office to warn them, but found that Marchandon had already

been placed elsewhere, in fact, with Madame Cornet, his future victim.

He proceeded promptly to carry out his crime. Having secured a livery

coat as already described, he waited at table, and, after receiving

his orders for next day, he went up to bed in the garret. About one in

the morning he went down again and entered Madame Cornet’s apartment

by means of a key which he had secured, and hid himself between the

salon and the bedroom. When Madame Cornet had undressed and gone to

bed, Marchandon attacked her. Her piercing screams disturbed the

concierge who slept above. He got up to call the chambermaid, believing

that Madame Cornet was taken ill. The two came down-stairs together

and knocked at the door, but received no reply. They listened at the

door for a time, and then left, thinking all must be right, as she was

moving about. It was the murderer whom they heard, busied in getting

rid of his blood-stained clothes, and hunting for valuables.

 

The first clue to the detection of the crime was the discovery of

the hired livery coat, which was recognised by its owner when he was

found. With it came the identification of the man-servant. He had a

snug little home of his own in Compiègne, where he lived with his

wife very comfortably. When arrested in the course of the day, he was

just sitting down to a little dinner of croutons and roast fowl. The

establishment was run with the means Marchandon acquired in Paris and

brought down to his wife, the proceeds, no doubt, of his thefts. At one

time he was in the service of the well-known M. Worth, the dressmaker

of the rue de la Paix, but always managed to get down to Compiègne

in the evening for dinner, bringing with him fish or fruit, or some

other delicacy. He was a man of simple tastes, very popular in his own

neighborhood. The raising of poultry was his favorite amusement, and

he delighted in growing flowers. He was not without a certain sense of

grim humor; and a witness deposed in court to his having exclaimed,

when reading his newspaper the day after the murder of Madame Cornet,

“Why are people so careless as to engage their servants without proper

characters!”

 

The two Roquettes, small and great, were much mixed up with the painful

drama of the Paris Commune. The junior prison was for some time

appropriated to military prisoners. Paris, as the insurrection grew,

became more and more crowded with troops, and some penal establishment

was much needed. When the Commune was in full swing, La Petite Roquette

contained about four hundred soldiers of all branches of the service,

who in their turn gave place to the juveniles brought back from other

prisons. These, to the number of 127, were retained until the end of

May, when they were released and sent out armed to take part in the

defence of the barricades. They soon returned clamorous for shelter.

Later, La Petite Roquette was utilised as a place of safe custody for

all regular soldiers found in Paris who had refused to ally themselves

with the Commune. Some twelve hundred of these more than filled the

prison.

 

A darker shadow lies upon La Grande Roquette, for it was made the place

of detention for the so-called hostages of the Commune. Many persons

of rank and authority were arrested by the Communal authorities as a

means of imposing respect upon the government of Versailles, now moving

its troops forward to recover Paris and re-establish law and order.

Some idea of the savage and bloodthirsty spirit that possessed the

insurgents had already been seen in the murder of the two generals,

Clément Thomas and Lecomte, who had been arrested and mercilessly shot

at Montmartre. Early in April it was decided to arrest Monseigneur

Darboy, Archbishop of Paris. It is said that the same priest, Abbé

Lagard, Archdeacon of St. Genevieve, who had warned Archbishop Sibour

that Verger had threatened to take his life, now desired to put M.

Darboy on his guard. The trustful prelate could not believe that anyone

wished him evil, but the very next day after the fight at Châtillon,

an order was issued to two Communist captains to secure the persons

of the Archbishop and some of his clerics, and convey them to the

Conciergerie, where they were arraigned before three members of the

Committee of Public Safety, Rigault, Ferré, Dacosta. “My children,”

began the Monseigneur, “I am here to render you any satisfaction.”

“We are not your children, but your judges,” replied Rigault. “For

eighteen centuries you and men like you have been locking up humanity;

it is now your turn.” Sentence of death was then and there passed upon

them. “These are not men, but wild beasts,” protested the Archbishop,

who was forthwith removed with his secretary to the depot of the

Prefecture, whence they were transferred to Mazas. The possession of

these and other hostages inspired the Communists to open negotiations

with Versailles, backed by the threat that they would kill their

prisoners unless their terms were conceded. But indeed, this political

murder had been resolved upon the first moment of their arrest, and on

the morning of the twenty-fourth of May, 1871, they were all brought

from Mazas to La Grande Roquette, where the Governor gave a receipt

for their bodies worded as follows: “Received forty priests and

magistrates.”

 

By this time the troops stationed at La Roquette had been strongly

reinforced, and on the evening of the twenty-fifth of May another

detachment arrived. It was frankly admitted that they were the “platoon

of execution.” A list was handed to François, a low creature who had

been a carpenter, containing the names of all his prisoners. These

names were called out one by one, Darboy, the Archbishop, first. “Let

me get my coat,” said Monseigneur, but some one called out, “You will

not want it,” and taking him by the arm they led him down to the garden

that runs round the interior of the prison. This was the first _chemin

de ronde_. The second was reached by turning to the left, and again

to the left, and was well out of sight of the ordinary prison and the

hospital. The hostages then appear to have been arranged according to

rank from right to left. The Archbishop first, then M. le President

Bonjean, and then the rest of the priests. Just before the final act,

the Archbishop raised his hand to bless and absolve his companions, six

in all, who faced the firing party at thirty paces distant. At the word

of command the execution was completed. In those days of massacre the

guillotine was deemed too slow, and the bullet took its place.

 

At daylight next morning the same process was repeated with the fifteen

remaining hostages, who were led out one by one and formed up under

the same wall. Nowadays the many sympathisers with the victims of this

dastardly act, who come from all parts of the world to visit the scene

of the murder, will find a marble tablet fixed in the wall over the

exact spot where they fell. It bears the inscription: “Respect this

place which witnessed the death of the sainted and noble victims of the

24th of May, 1871.” An iron balustrade keeps off irreverent feet, and

is constantly adorned with wreaths of immortelles. A large number of

hostages remained, many of whom were gensdarmes. They were removed from

prison and massacred in a body at Belleville.

 

After many essays at improvement the prisons of Paris have entered upon

a stage of approximate perfection, and the capital is now possessed of

a penal establishment that compares with any in the civilised world.

The great prison of Fresnes, after four years in building at immense

outlay, was completed and occupied in July, 1898. It is situated on the

very outskirts of Paris, replacing a number of old-fashioned prisons.

It covers a wide extent of ground. The entrance is on the Versailles

road (on the left of the visitor coming from Berny station), where

the great edifice with its imposing, but not too florid, architecture,

presents a view of many lofty parallel blocks, flanked by smaller

buildings appropriated to the service of the prison.

 

Passing first the gatekeeper’s lodge, in front of which stands the

Governor’s residence of ambitious dimensions, we enter a long avenue,

well planted with trees, and find on the left other dwellings occupied

by the superior staff, and on the right a great block of 156 cells in

three tiers. This cell house is the _quartier de transfèrement_; in

other words, the place of passage in which are accommodated all the

classes till now found in La Grand Roquette. Those sentenced to long

terms exceeding one year will in due course move on elsewhere to the

colonial establishment beyond the sea, or the _maisons centrales_, the

district prisons in or near Paris. Further on is the main building,

housing close upon two thousand cells, arranged in three grand

divisions, each separate and distinct and containing 508 cells. Each

affords ample provision for the different categories of prisoners to

be lodged, _prévenues_ or those waiting trial, short term prisoners

and juveniles. The first design was to receive females at Fresnes,

but Saint Lazare is eventually to be replaced by another especially

constructed prison for their reception. The main entrance of this

principal quarter is in the centre, with a gatekeeper’s lodge on

one side and a military guard under an officer on the other. Beyond

and behind them are the extensive yards and buildings required in

attending to the services of the prison, the storehouses for food

and clothing, the kitchens and bakeries and laundries, and the plant

for the generation of electricity. All these are on the left, while

on the right is the reception ward with four hundred cells of ample

dimensions, each having a cubical content of eighteen yards.

The History and Romance of Crime 27

The History and Romance of Crime 27

A criminal drama which horrified all Paris in 1857 and had its

suitable dénouement on the Place de la Roquette, was the murder of the

Archbishop of Paris, Monseigneur Sibour, a dignified ecclesiastic,

who was universally loved and esteemed in his diocese. The Archbishop

was on his way to put on his vestments for the mass in the church of

St. Etienne du Mont. The procession was on the point of entering the

sacristy when a man, dressed in black, rushed in behind the Archbishop,

who was carrying aloft the Episcopal Cross, and with his left hand

caught hold of him and twisted him sharply round, while with his right

he struck him in the ribs with a knife. The wound was mortal, and the

Archbishop almost immediately fell dead, while his murderer was seized

and roughly handled by the indignant crowd. The police proceeded at

once to interrogate him and soon learned who he was. In appearance

short and thin, with a not unpleasing countenance, carefully dressed

in black, he proved to be one Louis Verger, an unfrocked priest. He

confessed that the murder was premeditated, and that he had come to

the church with the set intention of committing it. He had no animus

against the Archbishop, but desired to aim a blow at the dogma of the

Immaculate Conception. Thence his outcry when he struck the fatal blow,

“No more goddesses!” “Down with the goddesses!” He was quite calm and

self-possessed afterward, and the suggestion that he was insane quite

fell to the ground. When he was received at Mazas his mental condition

was inquired into, but there was no symptom of derangement. His first

demand was for food, for he had eaten nothing that morning, fearing

to interfere with the steadiness of his nerves. When questioned as to

the motives of his crime, his answers were clear and logical, except

that he was fanatically hostile to certain doctrines, and especially to

that of the celibacy of the clergy. In his parish he was constantly at

difference with his parishioners, with whom he had many quarrels, and

he was at length removed to another parish. He went to London to work

under Cardinal Wiseman, the new Archbishop of Westminster, and on his

return to Paris obtained fresh preferment at Saint Germain L’Auxerrois.

He was still turbulent and constantly a thorn in the side of the

Archbishop. His state of mind was held to be doubtful, but the doctors

declared him more dangerous than mad. He preached the most violent

diatribes against ecclesiastical authority, and richly deserved the

sentence of suspension that was decreed against him within a week of

his murderous attack upon the Archbishop.

 

No doubt excessive vanity and the desire to pose as a public character

were strong temptations to the crime he committed. He was always

greatly pleased when people came to see him and he gloried in his crime

as a new _cause célèbre_ which long would be the talk of the town. He

maintained this attitude all through his trial, and at times behaved

scandalously by insulting the judge and ridiculing the procedure. The

audience was furiously incensed with him, and more than once it was

necessary to suspend the proceedings. Public feeling was entirely on

the side of the murdered Archbishop. At the same time there can be very

little doubt that he was an irresponsible being, a maniac suffering

from exaltation, eager always to “show off;” and it would have been a

bitter disappointment to him if he had been put away in an asylum.

 

His conviction came as a matter of course, but he did not accept

it without protest, exclaiming contemptuously, “What justice! What

justice!” He cried out that he would appeal to the Emperor (Napoleon

III), and he assured his father, when the old man visited him, that

he would not abide by the sentence. Nevertheless he was removed from

the Conciergerie to La Roquette, and here in his last abode he tried

to play the hero, and with much satisfaction frequently repeated the

details of his crime. He denied that he felt any remorse for having

struck down “_ce pauvre Monseigneur_,” but was not glad that he had

done it. “My work was over,” he would say, “and I dropped my arms to

my side like the workman who has finished his task.” The appeal made

for reprieve was very ably maintained by his advocate, but was quite

fruitless. There could be no doubt as to his guilt, and no pity for the

criminal in the Emperor. Again and again the condemned man prayed to

be permitted to write to the head of the state, and was very indignant

when the privilege was denied him. Still he had access to friends

outside, and hoped for some reversal of sentence through their good

offices. He could hardly believe his ears when they came to him on the

morning of execution to make the last dread announcement, which was

conveyed by the Abbé Hugon, who was acting as _aumonier_, and who was

accompanied as usual by the Chief of the Police, the director of the

prison and other officials. “It is useless,” he repeated, “I know you

all; you are not speaking the truth and have only come to see what

effect the bad news would have on me. I do not, I cannot believe it. I

know the Emperor, and feel sure he will not abandon me.”

 

At last the dread reality forced itself on him, and his demeanor

completely changed. His air of nonchalant bravado suddenly disappeared,

and a fierce passion for self-preservation seized him. He grew livid

with fury, and with a wild gesture of repulsion he waved them away.

“Be off, I want no priests, no relics, no cross,” he cried. “Do not

think that I will go quietly to the scaffold. I’ll have no scaffold.

You will have to carry me there in pieces,” and he set himself to

resist vigorously, clinging to his bed, rolling himself in his

blankets, struggling with the warders, shouting, roaring, swearing

and blaspheming. Then the director of La Petite Roquette thought

of calling in the executioner, although by law he is not permitted

to enter the condemned cell. M. Heinderich came when summoned, an

embodiment of superior force, a perfect Colossus, six feet in height,

with broad shoulders, clear-eyed and full of resolution, the picture of

a self-reliant veteran. “Come, Verger,” he said quietly, “you will not

come of your own accord? we must take you then by force!” The prisoner

was conquered, and without more ado allowed himself to be secured.

Then he was led like a lamb to the outer office where his “toilette of

death” was quickly performed. At length he broke down, and cried with

bitter tears, “How terrible it is to die without relations or friends.”

He listened with gratitude to the consoling words of the priest,

confessed, received absolution, and almost immediately was a dead man.

 

A notability of the guillotine was Avinain, executed in 1867 for a

series of murders, all having similar features. Several corpses were

picked up, all of which had been very carefully dismembered by some

hand practised in dissection. In all, the head and limbs had been

skilfully removed from the trunk; but death had first been inflicted

by strangulation or many terrible wounds. The remains had generally

been found in the neighborhood of the Seine, and suspicion at length

attached to a certain Jean Charles, otherwise Charles Alfonse, who

had lived in four different houses on the riverside. The police now

discovered that there were stables and sheds forming part of these

several dwellings. In one building they picked up a saw, a hammer and

an axe, which evidently had been used for the purpose of dismembering

the bodies. These, according to French custom, had been exhibited at

the Morgue, and one of the articles was recognised by a young man

as having belonged to his father, who had recently disappeared. The

deceased was a forage merchant. He had come to Paris to sell a cartload

of hay, and had met Charles, with whom he agreed on a price. The

purchaser very civilly offered him the accommodation of his stables

for the night and a bed at his house, so that the purchase might be

completed next morning. It appeared in the trial that before this

another person had sold forage and had accepted hospitality for the

night, but when the host came, insisting that the light should be

extinguished for fear of setting fire to the barn, he carried in his

hand a hammer; and the guest, a little suspicious, declared that he

always slept with a light burning, and in a very significant fashion

took out his knife as though to use it in self-defence. There was

little doubt that this man with the hammer was the same Charles already

indicated, and the police proceeded to inquire into his identity. He

proved to be one Charles Avinain, a butcher by trade, who had recently

been a convict in Cayenne. Since his return from transportation he had

frequently been in trouble, and was now easily traced and arrested by

means of clues furnished by his wife and daughter. He still lived at

the riverside, and nearly made his escape from the police by means of

a trap door in the floor of the basement which opened on to a passage.

Several murders were brought home to him, committed either with hammer

or knife. His victims were mostly forage merchants, and he had dealt

with the bodies in the same barbarous fashion. It is recorded of him

that he never exhibited the slightest remorse, until the very last

moment, and then it was under the influence of overwhelming terror as

he trod the steps of the scaffold. He had always repulsed the chaplain,

but in the end accepted his ministrations, confessed, and received

absolution.

 

Moreux, who had murdered a girl to rob her and give a present to his

beloved, put down his pipe quietly, when he received the news, saying,

“I did not think it would be before next Wednesday,” ascended the

scaffold quickly, and remarked to the chief warder in bidding him

good-bye, “You see what comes of evil behavior.” Toly, who tried to

kill a warder when first locked up, took his sentence very calmly, and

faced death with great self-possession. He spent his last night at

cards, but received the chaplain with great emotion and deep sentiments

of repentance. Coutalier had murdered his wife with one blow of a

hatchet, and bore up well until he saw the guillotine, when he threw

himself back violently, but soon regained his impassiveness. Many were

at great pains to proclaim their innocence. It was so with Boudas,

an ex-priest, whose consuming desire was to become rich. He poisoned

two wives in succession, so as to secure their inheritances. It was

clearly proved against him, but he reiterated as he knelt and laid his

head on the block: “Let every one know that I am not guilty.” Gervais

sacrificed an aged companion, a well-to-do dealer in antiques, because

he wanted means to marry. His awakening on the last morning was a

frightful scene. “I can’t, I won’t believe it. It is impossible. The

law is about to commit a terrible crime.” He fought the executioner so

hard that he had to be led twice to the block. But he died smiling with

that curious, artificial grin that relaxes the muscles of the face at

moments of great nervous derangement, and has no connection with real

laughter. Billoir hated his wife for her extravagance and slovenliness,

murdered her, and threw the body into the Seine. He was an old soldier

of good character and distinguished service, but Marshal MacMahon, the

President, positively refused to pardon him. He was quite overwhelmed

with the shock when told the fatal news, but speedily recovered

himself, and, crossing his hands on his breast, respectfully saluted

the chaplain.

 

Welker, one of the worst and most inhuman of his class, who had

murdered a pretty child of eight, showed the most abject cowardice. It

was necessary to carry him bodily to the scaffold, and place him in

position under the knife. A corpse was really guillotined, for he was

already dead with fright, and had pardon come at the eleventh hour it

could not have benefitted him. Menesclon has left a name more execrable

than Welker, for his victim was an infant of four, whom he was believed

to hold in strong affection, lavishing gifts upon her constantly. One

day she went into his room, and the child was never seen again. After

many denials that he knew anything about her, a neighbor was drawn to

his room by the nauseating smell of burning flesh, and on forcing his

door he was found stirring up a blazing fire in his stove. Menesclon

was barely saved from the fury of the people when the story became

known. He was interrogated, and gave his own account of the affair. He

had invited the child into his room to give her some flowers. But she

irritated him by crying, and, being unable to quiet her, he suddenly

seized her by the throat and choked her. When she was dead he thrust

the body between his two mattresses, and slept the whole night through.

Early next morning he set himself to get rid of the horrible evidence

of his crime in the manner already described. This miserable creature

was one of the lowest type of his class. He had been graduated in the

lowest schools of vice, beginning as a child at La Petite Roquette, to

which he had been committed at the instance of his parents as perfectly

unmanageable at home. He passed thence into the navy, after having

been the despair of many workshops in which he had been employed, at

last having assaulted and robbed his father. He had developed into an

undersized weak creature with a hideous, pimpled face, low forehead,

furtive manner and foxy eyes. He was quite indifferent at his trial,

showed no remorse for his crime, and rarely answered the questions put

to him, which threw into strong relief the enormity of his conduct.

Service in Senegal had left him with an incurable deafness, which

heightened his stupidity. He gazed without flinching at the _pièces de

conviction_ lying on the table before him. Close by was a copy-book

filled with verses, for he had poetical aspirations and was a bit of

an artist. His cold-blooded unconcern culminated in his last answer

to the question why he had committed the crime. “I can’t tell you,”

he replied, “but you are at liberty to do the same to me.” Menesclon

exhibited the same impassibility at the last hour. He heard his fate

with his hand to his ear, the better to catch the words, and merely

said, “_Ah, bon!_” when he understood; and then walked quietly to the scaffold.