LISETTE OF THE CELLAR.

Press, Volume LXIV, Issue 13161, 7 July 1908, Page 3

LISETTE OF THE CELLAR.

Edward Cecil, in "The Sketch." In the nameless, narrow cul-de-sac to which entrance is gained from the Hue do la Kergero. iuseif a narrow and tortuous stroet near the Place.-de* Vv_>grs, there lived in the summer of ISBD a girl tvho was known to the inhabitant,, cf tho Impasse as Lisetto of the- Cellar. She w.ns thus called partly in distinction from that other Lisette- of whom the court was proud, partly in contempt, -"be did not." indeed, liA-e, a.s 6oa:e of the human drojas of Paris li.-<xl then, in a cellar; but at the basement window of one of tho houses sho Avas daily to bo seen working, so long as the daylight lasted. Attorwards sho worked" for many hours longer, by tho light of a lamp. She A.crkc. 1 .so iiidu..----triou_-y that sho caino to he spoken of as a miser, for. despite her labour, sho lived with every sign of extreme poverty. Old Jacques Grosniain, one or the idlers of tho Impasse, when he had a few francs in his pocket often stopped on hot summer nights, when her window A.a_. open, and, looking down, asked her to leave her toil and the Irn£..sse behind her and go out with him somewhere where tho air was cool. And during the -winter he or another often asked her to join them at the Cafe of the- Shepherdess. But shoal-A.a.-s refused. •'it would lie go~d to see hor laugh," said c!J t'iTA.ui.iin. "Shf .i_ young Name of a name, i: her sho ihh-r.s v.i..v straight she would be pretty.'' •She- had been pretty once. There wcr. some, however, who were <-iretui never to snare Lisette. They laughed doAvn her pretests, threaten*.! to search her collar for her hidden store _-i' gol.i. because they enjoyed seeing fear come into her eyes. They corn;.and her remorselessly tvith that other Lisette whom they Avorshippcd. It seemed to them something amusing that her chest was becoming fiat. Of that other Lisette. .vhoni the dAveilers in the Impaj-se loved, _<-omo little must be said. She .vas a girl of great physical beauty; her features were faultless, her limbs were straight and perfect; bar health \yas as _rude as that of some animal cf the fields, she was strong and perfectly formed In her veins the rich .vine of life flowed freely. Unlike Lisette of the Cellar—of 'the round shoulders and tho dull eves—..he enjoyed living.

In that, Paris of the Second Empire she found a place. She had no need to live in the Impasse: but she had been born in it, and she therefore loved it. It was her home. She knew no parents, and it may bo said that she was the child of the Impasse.

"Aro you not all my comrade-?" she said.*with a light laugh, whon old Giostnain asked her why she lived with them when she might have had a pleasant house—say, at Passy. "Moreover." she added, "while I am thus, I am free."

It was not surprising that the Impasse loved its child. ■*- » _ »

Of what did Lisette of tho Cellar think durinu: those lons hours through which she sat toiling with her needle? Did she think at all?, If she dad not, it i 6 hard to explain the smile which sometimes lit up her face. There was, indeed, before Lisette a future which was over present. When her fingerp wero stiff, she pictured it till she actually seemed to live in it. When her shoulders ached, she called up its details. When at length her right arm refused to draw the cotton tight, thinking of that future so strcngtln-ii-ed hor "that sho forgot that sho was exhausted. What a good future it was! A* little village iv Touraine bathed in sunlight before her eyes; a stretch of opeiToountry; above all, a child's face, very different, from tho faces of the children of the Impasse—such were her visions of the future. It was, after all. a simple enough thing which kept Lisette toiling. Far away from Paris, in a little viuttgo of Touraiiio, her mother lived—her mother and a child, a boy, four years old, in wliose eyes there was the light of happiness and on whose cheeks there was tiie glow of health. Day by day he laughed and played, day by day he grew from childhood to boyhood in tho sweet Touraine air. All that his mother earned, after providing for the bare necessaries of her own life, went to that Touraine village and to her savings. Lisethe's toil and poverty wero not useless. Moreover, in her self-inflicted poverty she waa making atonement feller sin in the past, and tho greater lier present poverty, the nearer her future, when she also would be in Touraine. "You have repented and made atonement," the Cure of St. Genevieve told her "yon will not lack your reward." He spoke gently. In his eyes she was almost a saint.

One August evening, Lisette 6at at her window sewing, with a great pile of work beside her, work from her best customer —that other Lisette whom the Impasse loved. It was such work as ha.l come to her many times. Thero was the skirt of an expensive silk dress, a flounce of which had come unstitched: there was other rich clothing, made at the best shops in Paris, which had been heedlessly damaged; there was lingerie which had been carelessly torn, all of it hand-stitched and embroidered by the patient hand.- which now once again went over it. It was the usual wreckage of the other Lisette .» heedless life which came to Lisette of the Cellar for Tepair. And for the hundredth time she reboDed dully against it.

There was something mere than irony in the fate which made Lisette the peed Catholic the slave of Lisette tho fillo. There was that clashing of two great- force., which produces tragedy. •'They must hate each other." said old C-Tosmain. "thc&o two, the child of pleasure and the Cure's saint. Some day you will *co." He wos an acute observer, this old idler who picked up his living «s he could. On that- August evening, as sho sat at her window, hot, bitter thoughts of hatred swelled up in Lisette's mind. She bent over her work industriously. After all, why sliould it matter for whom she worked? She was paid for it, though never at more than-the fair market value for what she did.

More than any other thought, perhaps, this reflection pricked her as a goad. Though money was alwa.v-p'eii-ful for Li«?tte the fillo, though she often scattered it broadcast in tho Impasise. she pave only the barest marketvalue for her work to tho {nrl who toiled for her. Aud when she paid, she did so contemptuously, always exactly, always scrupulously to the fraction of' a franc. Sometimes, when there were mistakes, the payment was less than the market- value of the work. Yet, since it came so frequently, Lisette of the Cellar could not afford to refuse it. Nevertheless, her hatred never lost its strength.

Lisette the fillo was physically perfect. She wos so well able to pom contempt upon the round shoulders of the toiler, since her own were straight and beautiful. She could look into the other's eyes and see them dull, because her own were always bright with the sheer joy of living. Lisette of the Cellar was indeed her inferior. Her toil had stamped her. Whereas to Lisette the filk. Nature had given everything. A Grecian statue was not more fine than she, so they ._ciid in ihe Latin Quarter. And the inferior Liseite h_u.«d the

other b»>caiis,-» of her perfection, yet told her-solf that she did so bpeauso> tile !i!le lived in open, shameless sin. th» money she gained being the price of sin, the perfection she had beeu given, the lure of the devil.

"Her whole' life ministers to sin.*' ihough* Li~ctte the saint. "It is incredible that Ck>d allows her to live. Tiie vei-r work that I do helps bar; the money I earn from her is* polluted."

-i lt- would be bettor," thought Lis otto of the Cellar, "'if she wero dead. She makes mc minister to her sin."

But she went on doing the work ■and sent the money to the little village in Touraine. And as she did the work she hid under a garb of righteousness her natural human hatred.

That August night, when the light failed, she put together the work sho had done and took it up to the second floor, the whole of which was rented by the iille and furnished in cornion and, in some details, in luxury.

A few miniiu.- later sho was kneeling besido her employer, who stood before ;i long mirror. She was pulling the silk skirt sho had repaired into position. And suddenly, as she. did so, sho liegnn to tremble. She had sewn the flounce which had borome unstitched not to the foundation of the skirt, hut to tho flaunee above it. In consequence th? skirt was rucked hideously at tho side. It -was a stupid mistake, and <is she tried to smooth what could not be smoothed, the girl's hand trembled.

Lisette the fillo twisted her body round to we what delayed the proper falling of the skirt. She saw instantly what had been done. She also saw tho trembling hand, and her anger surged up. -'You fool!" sho cried. "You careless fool! "What do I pay you for? Are you becoming blind?" Ho.- hand Avas disengaged. She h"d ,-;_-.:. d to wear the dress that

vi :':'.. and now she could not. She did i<.i._.<k to r.ttiiiin her argcr, 'but lit-r arm. she struck doAv.n

: .inrpiy. and t!'.'.■• back of her hand fell upon the kiwc-lin-g girl's cheek. Her soli, rounded arm did not lack strength. The blow was hard.

L-'sette of tho Cellar ceased to t-renible. Her lips closed in a firm line, her face grew Avhite sa.vo for these rod nwirks where tho fillo, knuckles had -Inio.st brokr_i through t..-o skin. Without luioAvicg how she did so, she rostrni.iud herself. Hor lips moved. "What is tltat you aro saying?" cried tlio fillo. •'You are praying? You little fool, aro you pj-aying?" Her burst of auger passed into hear usur.l cold conitom.ot.

"Why don't yoii strike mie back?" sho taunted. ''Come, do so!" She looked down, amu_-d. She despised the girl, who was 6till on her knees, but &ho was puzzled. She was surprised that her poweir of restraint was so great. She almost decided to strike again.

"I will do nothing,'" she sand. "You shall hare your blow back. I will not move. I will not flinch. Come, strike!" Lii-otto of the Celhr did not speak. Every muscle in her body was ready to strike. But she did nothing, as she rose from her knees.

Her tormentor laughed. "Come," sho tempted contemptuously, "and strike at your will. You would lake to sco my beauty spoiled. Spoil it !" But Lisette of the Cellar went to the door of tho room without speaking, opened it. and went out.

When she had gone, ______-© tho fillo sat puszled. She kirew that tho power which liad helped Lisette of the Celllar was not human. For that alone she hated her.

"Sho is mad '" she told herself oont emptuously, after a timo. '•Poor, flat-chested, round-shouldered little fool, sho is mad!"

Within a short time she was meady to go out. Sho wont doi.n6ta.irs -laid out into tho Impasse. She exchanged a gay word with evea-yome she met, a.nd at the corner of the Rue de la Bergero sho found a fiacre. She stopped into it. and tho coc-her clacked his whip as ho headed his horse westward _tir_i=«a tho Pkico dee Vosges. From tho corner ono of tho Impasse's idlers waved hie hand, nnd Lisette the fillo smiled gaily _~<_• waved back.

Had the Cure of St. Genevieve been in the Impasse that night he might have seen that the devil was buey.

When the twilight had wined, amd the shadows of night were -liliready deep, old Grot-main, passing along the Imipai-jse, looked down and saw that Lisette of the Cellar eat by her open window. Ho ooii.ini.cd to look. Ho could not believe his eyes. She was not working. "Well," he exclaimed, "how is it thx-t you have not lit your lamp? I have never seem you sitting Like this before. Ane you ill?" Lisct.t<e looked up. Sho had not noticed that darkness had come.

"No," she said. "1 am not ill. Ts it strange that I should be resting?"

"My faith," said Grot-main, '_iot at all! But when have I seen you doing so before?"

He remained leaning against the railin&tj, though Lusetto did not offer to talk. "You work too hard," he observed after a pamso. •'That is my affair," she a__3wer__ sharply. "La-la! How you snap trie up! T was only thinking that I have seen .chors liko yon. Always wcirfc and never play has only one end —Pere Lac-iaise."

Lisette said nothing, but old Grosmain was not dismayed. "Ton bury continued, "that you do not even know the news cf the Impasse. You do n*>_ know, of course, what happened to-diy in tho Rue de la Bergere?"

''Xo,'* said Lisette lis_l__sly. "What was it?*' Old Groemaiin laughed. "A little fain?«i:K affair came to a sudden termination—th it is all. You know Jules L.-grand, the pork butcher? Xo? Ah, well, you do .not come to the Cafe of tho Shepherdes.! Well, a few hours ago he "k-'led his wife. She had not been faithful. He told mc that some day he would do it. Well, to-day it has. been done."

Lisette questioned him almost as he spoke. "How was it done?" she _sked. • '_<_ -. ily enough. He had a short, sharp knife. One stab here, just where the heart lieats. and it was done." -You say. easily enough,'' said Litsett-., "li it easy to take mother's life?" ••It i. net difficult. It is often done., ft has been done once or twice hero in this Impasse. A sharp knife with a stron.2 point, and a steady hand— v 'la, it- is done '." v Tho old idler shrugged his shoulders. Lise-te shuddered. "And if the hand bo not steady?" sho queried. " "Well, it will bungle." cried old Grosmain, with a liugh.

Then he began to talk about Jules Logrnnd, and, to his surjW-se, Lisette listened and questioned him. He looked at her keenly.

Several hours pa_-_d, and not aply da-knees, but even silence, fell upon -he Impasse. With her window open, without a light, ilone in the da-knees, Lisette of the Cellar sat in her basement room—waiting.

In the reaction which had come after her almost superhuman self-control under the fiile's blow, her hatred had grown te a strength which it had never known before. She wished that 6he h-d buried her fingers in the fiile's ___coth, round throat. They were strong. They might have done therir work. Even as this thought possessed her, old Grcsmain had come with his tale of the easiness with which a knife may be __riv-_i to rest in the heart. Xow. as she sat waiting, Lisette of the Cellar had beside her such a knife as she had leairned was best fitted for the puToose.

After a time she heard Lisette the fillo returning. She heard l_er footstep and the rustle of her dress. She even heard her enter the Impnfise. she

hoard her oosi-e to tho door and enter, the house; s_ie hoard her mount tho ataiirs _uid shut her door. Then sho h-tened intoatly. Sho did not look it. And she was alone.

"It k to be to-night, after aU," she reflected. "Well, the lees .raiting. I am glad." She began to make her pr_pa__v__c___. She lit heir lamp and coverea her window with tho curtain -hit served for a blind. She took from a earner of tho room a small box, the key of which she kept on a 6tr_ng round her neck. Out of this box ____• took BeyoN-l things—a bundle of notes, hw savingp; a rosary and somo religious medals; 'ina'lv. „ pdece of folded pipor. w__k_h contained a lock of a child's hair. In the bottom of the box was a scrawled letter—nearly four ye-ai- old. It had 1 ->en written to he.- by the man to whom she had given hex love, when he loft her. Sho had kept it for four yo-rs, but- now, in her exultation, she hold it over tho lamp till it caught fire. Then she hold it before her, and watched it burning. When sho had put the bundle of notes, tho medals, and tho pa>p_\r containing tho lock of her child's hair safely into tiie bosom of her drees, she knelt down to pray. Afterwards she put out heir lamp, oponcd the door of the room, and, going out. clc-ied it- behind her. Ii wis then the hour before dawn.

.Then she stood outside her own door three flights of stairs separated Lisertto of t-lie Celk-r fjom the door of the room where Lisette tho fillo slept. They a. ere full of darkness and silence.

And LiseWo mounted cautiously, 6tep l.y step. Yet, dewpito her cautioln, tho loos© boaixls of the stairs often creaked. And each time, tlio silence was rent Lisette became motion!.--. mhl remained motionless till the silence had become once again deep. And suddenly, when tho fire, flight had been p-tiesr,. ah© realised that htNr hand., v'hich had be-on steady when sho put out the lamp, hod begun to trc.r_.ble. *'If my hand is unste.dv,*' was her terrified thl.Mi7.ht, -'1 shaJl! "not bo abio to bring to an end this life of sin."

And once ag-aiin her lips shaped a prayer. After that she mounted to the top of the second flight. liisefcto's plan was simple. When tho knife had been diriven home she would hurry from tho house and flnom the Impasse for ever. Perhaps she would go for a time to Touraine. perhaps in some otheir remote couner of Paris she would continue her toil. But wherever site went, she told hers__f, she would have the consciousness that the world was better for what she had done. That night, through, her. a life of shameless sin would end. She had persuaded herself thit tho deed to the doing of which the stole up tho-je. creaking flight of stairs was a righteous one. Her hand that night was the hand of God.

She want forward, amd onoe again the-creaking boards made her progress sLaw, onoe again her hand was trembling. She knew nothing of tho great gulf she was seeking to cross-—the wide gulf that always exists beftween the intention and the actual crin-o. She had imagined it was but a step, as maray do. In her bosom rested those relimious n__dals which firom time to time" had been sm*n her, and the paper in which was a look of her child's hair. Would the medals have bean given heir if 6he had then ever done what she was now resolved to do? When she went to oonfession, in a few d _ys, would she confess that she had killed Lisette the fillo? When her child came to her arms, would he know that heir hands had been stained with blood? These, questions began to assail her, Ixu* she reached the eind of tho third flight. She stood outside the door. She took courage. With how good a -will would 6he drive the krwfe home!

With how good i wiM ! The thought clung to her. With bow good a will! Her hamd was once again steady. And then suddenly she stood motionless. _.© stair had creaked. The __]__ioe was deep and profound. She was alone at the end of her journey. "Why was liar will so good? Why hid the rniere thought made her hand so steady? The question burnt itself into her consciousness, and she realised that the sin of Lisette, the fille., before God, was not the reason why she stood there in tho dai'kineas with a knife in her bajid. It was only the cloak beneath which she hid her hatred.

.And for i long time she stood there motion-ess. She had seen the truth.

Upon the next day, Lisette of the Collar sat at her window working. In the early morning light she was unstitching a flounce upon a silk skirt. In her face were traces of the o-dioal through which she hud passed, but her thoughts were calm. Before long her future would come.

In -i room tbree flights of staare distant, Lisette the fille lay lazily thinking of the everbts of tho day winch had paesed. It had been for lier, as were so many days, a day of triumph. But, though ebo gore no heed to it, the future held for her only one certainty. Her youth would pass. Her roumded iimibs would wither. Her strength would fail. And when it came to fighting again... the dying of her youth no one would pity her. For her the futuro held nothing of which sho dared think.