THE WOODEN SABOTS.

Press, Volume XLVI, Issue 7346, 26 June 1889, Page 2

THE WOODEN SABOTS.

Le Figaro. General Gilbert, de Motier, Marquis de, La Fayette, possessed at Auvergne his old family chateau, Chavaniac— a huge, strongly built, clumsy end characterless pile. Not far away rose rugged cliffs, covered by a tall growth of chestnut* and beeches. Between the green night of these forests swarmed the toilers of the wood. Dwelling in hats, working side by side in the open air, were the charcoal makers, the ream workers, the plank sawyers, the stave cutters, the makers of sabots. Among them was a young sabot maker who neither sang nor worked with the rest. He was an orphan and a dreamer, reserved and taciturn. Apart from the others, he silently cut, shaped, pointed and polished bis sabots. His name was Bazon, signifying, in patois, Reason; but as he had such strange ways, lived alone and spoke little, the peasants gave him the nickname of Darazon, or " The Simpleton.' And when, after awhile, it was discovered that beneath a rusty old musket on the wall of Oarason's hut there was pinned a tiny picture of Marie Antoinette, his com* pan ions laughed and whispered among themselves and called him Darazon, the over of the Queen. One day General de la Fayette arrived atChavaniac from Paris. It was just at this time that the Court of 'France -was amusing itself d Iα poetorole, at Trianon, and great lords and ladles masqueraded In the garb of shepherds and shepherdesses, millers and milkmaids, and thrust their aristocratic feet into wooden shoes— dainty ones, to be sure, but still genuine wooden sabots. And it was Marie Antoinette, herself, who wore the first pair. All this the Marquis recounted to the groups of peasants in the forest, where he went, -good Marquis that he was, for a friendly gossip with his people. Darazon listened breathlessly — wide-eyed and eager. '• The Queen wears sabots ? Sabots did you say?" "Yes I" "And if—if I should make her a pair, would you give them ip her—would you. Monsieur le/Marqui3?" "Why, yes I" replied the General, • smiling; "only remember to make them far too pretty even for your sweetheart and quite pretty enough for your Queen 1" Darazon answered nothing. Only day*, break found him at his work, and when twilight fell he was still working, and nearly all the night he worked by a feeble light in his hut. In fifteen days he had made a little pair of sabots—prettier than the prettiest tabots de noees. They were finished i Darazon took them carefully in his right hand. He went through the forest and along the steep road until he came to the great chateau. He knocked and asked to see Monsieur le Marquis. "It is I," he said; "and here are the Queen's sabots. ,, " You have really made them, then 1" said the General. He took them from Darazon and looked at them curiously. They were delicately fashioned from the wood of the chestnut, waxed and exquisitely polished; they were slender, elegant and daintily pointed—because they were for a Queen and sot for a peasant; they were covered with a delicate tracery of vines, and beautifully carved on the toe of each little shoe was a heart, wreathed by a garland twined through the letters T.T.L/V.

The Marquis smiled. He knew the significance of these four letters, which every lover of Auvergne has carved upon the sabots of hie sweetheart.

The. Marquis de La Fayette returned to Paris, and true to his promise, carried the sabots to the Queen at Trianon. Hβ told their simple, little story. Trianon was pastoral-mad and Marie Antoinette was enchanted. What 1 To have real sabots 1 Sabots such as peasants wear! And made by a real sabotier 1 " This heart, Marquis," said the Queen, " wreathed in ' favours' like the hands of the Virgin, that I can understand; but these letters T.T.L.V.?"

" Your Majesty alone has the right to permit mc, or rather to command mc, to translate thorn." "Translate, then, it is my desire 1" "Talnaerattoutala.vida." .".'.. _

♦'But I cannot understand this strange language?" "This strange language Is the patois of Auvergne, your Majesty, and means •' I will love thee all my lite 1 "• The Qaeea neither smiled nor spoke. . "The truth i3,"continued the Marquis, "that this poor sabotier, who is a little simple, worships your Majesty in the shape of a small portrait." "Poor fellow f Brave fellow!" murmnredthe Queen tenderly. "The sabots* Monsieur leMarquie.seem tobe a trifle large, bat they will the better hold the recompense I and Marie Antoinette whispered something in the ear of the Princess de LambsH" ■>"»«* smiled, took the sabots,

and left the room, returning with the little wooden shoes filled with as much gold as they could hold. "And now, Marquis," said the Queen, "will you have this gold sent, In a Casket to your young sabotier, with my warmest thanks and say also—no! say nothing more 1" And the contents of tbe little shoes were sent. But Paris was on the eve of the Revolulution, and the wooden shoes were for* gotten. 1789, 1792, 1783 passed like peals of thunder, each more terrible than the last. Darazon, in the heart of his forest, knew this—like the rest of the world. There was terrible anguish In his heart, but he said nqthing. Finally came the news of the imprisonment of the Royal family in the Temple. After this Darazon crew etill more silent and sombre. One day he disappeared from the forest. They searched his hat. Oα the table lay an empty, open casket. The old musket and the picture of Marie Antoinette were gone. Darazon was on the road to Paris. He reached the city on October 17,17U3—in wild rage with the tormentors of the Queen. At the Place de la Bastille he accosted a patriot wearing a scarlet cap and armed with a club. " How can I reach the Temple V " What do you want there?' " To deliver the Queen!" "The Austrian? She is a head shorter since yesterday 1" replied the man with a ferocious gesture. Darazon, pale as death, snatched his musket from his shoulder, but the patriot dealt him a crushing blow with the club and the peasant fell, like a stone. The mob gathered instantly. The peasant's body was roughly searched. On his breast they found the portrait of Marie Antoinette, beneath it the suspicious letters T. T. L. V. Ah then? This man was a complot. " Away with him 1" The poor body was seized and hurried to the Seine. Toe river silently opened her arms to receive the poor sabot maker of Auvergoe—the lover of tbe Queen —with the dear gold pieces hidden in his peasant's blouse and the sacred image nest his heart. Aime Giron.