LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1768, 20 October 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE CHILD SPY. His name was Stenne, little Stenne. He was a “child of Paris,” thin and pale, and was ten, perhaps twelve years old, for one can never say how old these children are. His mother was dead, and his father, an old marine, was the guardian of a square in the quarter of the Temple. The nurses and babies, the old ladies who always carry their own folding chairs, and the poor mothers, all that small world of Paris which seek shelter from vehicles, in those gardens that are surrounded by pavements, knew Father Stenne, and loved him. They knew that under his rough moustache, which was the terror of dogs and disturbers of benches, was hidden a kind, tender, and almost motherly smile, and that in order to bring it forth they had only to say to the’good man ::

‘ How is your little son ?’ For Father Stenne loved his little aon“so much.

He was so happy in the afternoon wh?n, after his school, his little boy would call for him, and together they would make the rounds of the path, stopping at each bed to speak to the habitues of the square, aud to answer their good wishes. But when the siege began everything was sadly changed. Father Stenne’s square was closed and filled with petroleum, and the poor man, condemned to an incessant surveillance, passed his life in tho deserted, upturned paths, quite alone, not permitted to smoke, and only seeing his little son lata in the evening at his home. You should have seen his moustache when he spoke of the Prussians. * * * Little Stenne, however, did not complain of his new life.

A siege! Nothing is more amusing for such urchins. No more school, no more studies. Holiday all the while, and the streets as exciting as a fair. The child ran about all day till nightfall. He followed the battalions of the quarter to the ramparts, choosing those that had a good band. Little Stenne was well posted on that subject. He would tell you very glibly that the 95th’s band was not worth much, but the 55th had an excellent one. Sometimes he would watch the Mobiles training, and then there were the processions. . . . With his basket under his arm he would join in tho long files that were formed in the dark, cold, wintry mornings, when there was no gas before the butchers’ and bakers’ shops. There, with their feet in the wet, tso people would meet acquaintances and talk politics, and, as he was Mr Stenne’s son, everybody would ask his opinion. But the most amusing of all were the afternoon games, especially the famous game of galoche, which the Breton Mobiles made the fashion during the siege. When little Stenne was not at the ramparts or baker’s shop you would be sure to find him at the square of the Chateau d’Eau He did not play, however ; it needed too much money j he was satisfied with watching the players with all his eyes. One especially, a great fellow in a blue workman’s blouse, who only played with five-Lane pieces, excited his admiration. When he ran one could hear tho coins jingling under his blouse. One day, as he was picking up a piece that had rolled under little Stenne’a feet, the great fellow said to him in a low tone : ‘That makes you wink, hey. Well, if you like. I’ll teU yon where they are to be found.’

The game over, he took him to a corner of the room, and proposed that he should join him in selling newspapers to the Prussians. That he would make thirty franca for every trip. At first Stenne was very indignant, and refused, and what was more he remained away from the game for three days. Three terrible days. He neither ate nor slept any more. At night he would see great heaps of galoches piled on the foot of his bed, and five-frano-piecea moving over it bright and shining. The temptation was too strong for him. The fourth day he returned to the Chateau d’Eau, saw the large fellow end was overcome. * * * * *

They set out one sunny morning, a linen bag thrown over their shoulders, and their newspapers hidden under their blouses. When they reached the Flanders gate it was yet hardly dawn. The large fellow took Stenne by the hand, and approached the sentinel —a good civilian with a red nose and a kind air—he said to him, with a plaintive tone :

‘ Let us pass, my good monsieur. Our mother is ill, and papa is dead. We are going to see -my little brother and I—if we can’t find some potatoes to pick up in the fields.’

He cried, and Stenne, who was ashamed, lowered his head. The sentinel looked at them a moment, and then, giving a glance at the white, deserted road, ‘ Go quickly,’ ho said to them, moving aside, and then they were on the road to Aubervilliers. How the large fellow laughed. Confusedly, as though in a dream, little Stenne saw thd manufactories turned into barracks, their courts deserted and hung with wet rags, their tall chimneys, which pierced the fog and seemed to reach the sky, tireless and battered. Now and again they would see a sentinel and officers who were looking far off through their field glasses, and their small tents, wet with snow, which was melting before dying fires. The large fellow knew the way, and would make short cu'.s over the fields in order to escape the outposts. But suddenly they came upon a large body of sharp-shooters too late to escape thsm. They were in their little cabins, hidden in a ditch half-full of water, and encamped along the Soissons railway. This time, though the large fellow re-commenced his tearful story, they would not let him pass. As ho was lamenting, an old sergeant, white and wrinkled, and who looked like old Father Stenne, came out of the postguard’s cabin. * Well! little ones, don’t cry any more ! said he to the children, ‘we will let yon go after your potatoes, but before you leave come in and warm yourselves a little, . , . He looks frozen, that small boy there.’ Alas ! It was not with cold that little gtomn fr-t-tnl-W if wnc from fear, from

In the post house they

shame found some soldiers gathered round a small lire, a real winter’s fire, by whose blaze they were thawing their biscuits on the ends of their bayonets. They crowded close together so as to make room for the children. They Brave them a drop of wine and a little coffee. While they were drinking an officer came to the door, called the sergeant, spoke to him in a low voice, and then quickly went away. ‘ Boys ! ’ said the sergeant, as he came in radiant, ‘ there will bo tobacco to night. pass word. I think this time we will take back from them that d— Bouget I * Then there followed an explosion of bravos and laughter. They danced and sang and swung their sabres in the air. Profiting by the tumult, the children disappeared. Having passed the breastwork, nothing re mained to be crossed but the plain, at the end of which was a long white wa’l fi’led with loop-holes. They directed their steps towards this, stopping every now and then, and making believe to look for potatoes ‘Let ns return Don’t go any further,’ little Stennie said all the while, but the large one only shrugged his shoulders and went on Suddenly they heard the click of a gun being aimed at them. ‘ Lie down, ’ said the large boy, throwing himself on the ground. When he was down he whistled, and another whistle answered him over the snow, and they went on, climbing on their hands and knoas. In front of the wall, and even with the ground, two yellow moustaches under greasy caps appeared, and the large boy leaped into the ditch beside the Prussians. ‘ That is my brother,’ said he, pointing to his companion. He was so small, little Stennie, that on seeing him the Prussians began to laugh, and one of them was obliged to take him in his arms in order to lift him over the breach

On the other side of the wall were large breastworks, fallen trees, and black holes in the snow, and in each one of these was the same yellow moustache and greasy cap, and there was great laughing as the soldiers saw the children pass by. In a corner was a gardener’s house, casemated with the trunks of trees, the low o ■ part of which was full of soldiers, who were playing cards and making soup over a clear, bright Are. How good the cabbages and the bacon smelt, and what a difference to the sharpshooters’ bivouac 1 Upstairs were the officers, and they heard them playing on the piano and opening champagne bottles. When the Parisians entered the room a hurrah of joy greeted them. They gave up their newspapers and the officers gave them some, thing to drink, and make them talk. They all had a proud, hard look, but the large boy amused them with his Parisian gaiety and his gamin slang. They laughed and repeated his words after him, and seemed to wallow with delight in the Parisian mud he brought them.

Little Stenne, tco, would have liked to have talked and to prove that he was no stupid, bat something embarrassed him. Opposite to him, sitting apart, was a Prussian, older and more serious than the others, who was reading, or rather seemed to read, for he never took his eyes off little Stenne, and there was In his glance both tenderness and reproach, as though this man might have had a child of little Stenne’ sage at home, and as if he were saying to himself, ‘ I would rather die than see my son doing such a thing,’ and as be looked at little Stenne the boy felt as if a hand were clutching at his heart and keeping it from beating. To escape the anguish he began to drink, and soon everything turned around him. He heard vaguely, amid loud laughs, his comrade making fun of the National Guards, of their way of going through thtir drill, he imitated an assault of arms in the Marais, and a surprise at night on the ramparts. Then the large boy lowered his voice, the officers approached nearer to him, and their faces grew more solemn. The miserable fellow was telling them about the premeditated attack of which the sharpshooters had spoken. Then little Stenne rose, furious and completely sobered—- ‘ Don’t tell that fellow ; Jt won’t have you.’ But the other one laughed, and continued ; but before he had finished the officers were all on their feet, and one of them showing the door to the children, told them to * Begone,’ and then began to talk hurriedly together in German. The large boy left the room as proud as a doge, clinking his money. Little Stenne followed him, holding down his head, and as he was passing the Prussian whose look so disturbed him he heard a sad voice saying to him, ‘N ot nice that; not nice,’ and the tears came to his eyes. Once more in the plain, the children began to run, and returned to Paris quickly. Their sacks were filled with potatoes which the Prussians had given them, and with these they passed the sharpshooters’ encampment without any trouble. They were preparing for the night attack. Troops were arriving silently, and were massed behind the wall. The old sergeant was there, busily arranging his men, with such a happy look. When the children passed near him he recognised them, and smiled kindly at them. Oh 1 how badly the smile made little Stenne feel. For a moment he felt as if he should burst out crying, and say to them : ‘ Don’t go there. * * * We have betrayed you. ’ Bnt the other boy told him that if he spoke a word he would be shot, and so fear kept him silent. At Courneuve, they entered an abandoned house to div'do the money. Truth compe’a me to say the division was honestly made, and when he heard the five crowns sounding under his blouse, and thought of his future games of galoohe, little Stenne felt his crime was not so dreadful after all. But when he was alone, the unhappy child!—when at the gates of the city the large boy left him, then his pockets grew heavy, and the hand that had been grasping his heart held it tighter still. Paris seemed no longer the same to him. the passers-by regarded him severely, as if they knew from whence he came, and he heard the word • gpy ’ in all the sounds of the street, and in the beating of the drums along the squares where the troops were exercising. At last he reached his home, and, glad to find that his father had not yet come in, he hurried to his room, and h>d the crowns that were weighing so heavily under his pillow. Never had Father Stenne been so good humoured and joyous as he was that night on coming home. Good news had been received from the provinces ; the country affairs were going better. While he was eating, the old soldier looked at his gun hung on the wall, and he said to the boy, with a hearty laugh: ‘ Hey ! my son, how you would go after the Prussians, if you were old enough ! ’ About eight o’clock they heard the sound of cannon. ‘lt is at Aubervillier’s they are flighting at Bourget! ’ said the old man, who knew where all the forts were situated. Little Stenne grew pale, and feigning great fatigue, went to bed, but not to sleep. The cannon were thundering continuously. He pictured to himself the sharp shooters going at night to surprise the Prussians, and falling into an ambuscade themselves. He recalled the sergeant who had smiled at him, and saw him stretched out there in the snow, and so many others with him ! . . . The price of all the blood was hidden there under his pillow, and it was he, the son of M. Stenne—of a soldier. His tears choked him. In the adjoining room he heard his father walking to and fro, and then opening a window. Down in tho street the rappsl was sounded ; a battalion of mobiles werege tting ready to start. Then there was no doubt about there being a great battle going on. The unhappy boy could not keep back his sobs. ‘ What is the matter with you ? ’ asked his father, entering his room. The child could bear it no longer ; he jumped from his bed and threw himself at his father’s feet. In so doing, the silver crowns rolled down on tho floor.

‘What is this ? Have you been stealing,’ asked the old man, beginning to tremble. Then, all in one breath, little Stenue told him that ho had been to the Prussians, and ail that he had done, and as he was speaking he felt his heart grow lighter ; it comforted him to make the confession. Bis father listened to him with a terrible look on his face, and when the story was | old, ha lur ed bin face in his hands and woj>t. < Father, father ! ’ the child tried to say, but the old man pushed him off without replying to him, aud picked up the money. ‘ls that all?’ he asked. Little Stenno made a sign that it was ; then the old man took down his gun and cartridges, aud putting the money in his pocket, said : *I am going to return it to them ; and without another word —without even turning his head, he went down into the street, and joined the mobiles who wore starting off in the night. He was never seen again.—» From the French of ‘Alphonse Pftudet.’