The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 7, 1902, Page 9

VAZARPE PARTIH. BY MARY HARTW CATHERWOOD ONE BUT THE BRAVE,” the most exciting Revo- lutionary novel of the de- cade—listed at $1.50 by the book blishers—printed complete in two s of the Sunday Call and beau- illustrated photographically the full strength o' « 1e Frawley company in correct costu.aes and set- tings, for 10 cents. “Lazarre,” the most talked of novel of two continents—sold by the publishers at $1.50—printzd com- plete in three editions of The Sunday Call, strikingly iltustrated by haif- tone ‘reproductions of famous paint- ings by Old and New World masters, for 15 cents. There you have The Sunday Cail’s new literary policy in a nut- shell. The two big successes of the year complete in five weeks—$3.00 worth of excellent literature for 25 cents. It is an achievement never before equaléd in Westersi journalism. But it is only the beginning. Read on and see. To-day the third and last install- ment of “Lazarre” is presented. The first two installments were published on Sunday, August 24 and 31, re- spectively. No long waits between s—no intermiinable series of ontinued in our mext” catch lines aggravate the reader at the thrilling points. The whole (19 to most 435 pages of Mary Hartwell Cather- wood’s stirring historical romance e presented in three consecutive As The Sunday Call has rated it the novel is now far attractive than it is in book “The Gavotte” is considered to be Maciver Grierson’s masterpiece, while the “Garden of the Tuileries” is one e prettiest scenes ever painted by rancois Fleming. The two American ctures of the war of 1812, “Com- e Perry at the Battle of Erie” e Battle of the Thames,” are ng the best paintings of J. R. t perhaps the most striking and ue feature of all is the series of ontispiece photographs posed Sydney St. L. Cavill, the well- known athlete of the Olympic Club. The #first was “Lazarre,” the ted Iroquois warrior. The; second was “Lazarre,” the ncl dauphin, in his ancestral pal- The third is “Lazarre,” the apos- Iroquois. ey ere all thres masterpieces in grephy and were made espe- y for The Sunday Call by Taber. nder, Taber's chief opera- several excellent studies T in & Co., the costumers, d dressed Mr. Cavill in correct de- tail, but e picture presented here- ith is the best. It is perhaps mnot nade remarkable, therefore, that “Lazarre” has created & big furore, And now for the other surprises. The next book will be “Alice of Old v ennes,” and after that “When Knighthood Was in Flower,” both $1.50 books that have been drama- tized with wonderful results. You get them with The Sunday Call for one- tenth that price. Can you beat it? m the corridor into ese upper room e humoring Ma- Ferrier and making e in the crowd and the Mar- se. I saw them y could dressing- the last 1 told me you t believe the em- unused ut—his back was me against the spoke in the hol- rcase, but it with ed. “He may —it moves in- spring, too?” didn’t know.” any door here?” was.” doar, but it will not gainst us, a rush of murmur as Qf wind wing it. said Madame de Fer- are gone (Yet T would h me again!) r. You are in danger. & e /puched me through the me to feel for every step. the top one, and held to her © her in passing through u the heavy days before her e blank before me. I could not let er wrists. We were fools to waste could work for her in Amer- = being torn from me, devil without her. I [ & id. But I knew the bru e which had risen like a lion in me w d never conquer the woman who tlss(—d me in the darkness and held me at ay. ‘Oh, Louis—oh, Lazarre; Think of Paul and ilippe! You shall be your bes le mother! I will come to you s g Then she held the door between us and I went down around and around the spiral of stone. BOOK ITL ARRIVING. I ven when a year had passed I said of ape from the Tuilerles: “It was a could it have happened?”’ For the adventures of my wandering fell from me like a garment, leaving the one changeless passion. Skenedon I met on the ship a New England minister, who looked upon and co! dered us from day to day. I used to sit in the stern, the miles stretching me as a rack stretches flesh and tendons, The minister regarded me as prostrated by the spider bite of that wicked Parls, out of which he learned I had come, by talking to my Oneida. The Indian and I were a queer palr that interested him, and when he discovered that I bore the name of Eleazar WIili his friendship was sealed to u: Willlams of Deerfield, the grandmother of Thomas Willlams, was a_traditional brand never snatched from the burning, in the minister's town of Longmeadow, where nearly every inhabitant was de- scended from or espoused to a Williams. Though he himself was born Storrs, his wife was born Willlams, and I could have lain at his feet and cried, 50 open was the heart of this good man to a wanderer re- bounding from a family that disowned the Pretender. He was my welcome back to America. The breath of Eastern pines and the resinous sweetness of Western plains T had not yet seen, but which drew me so that I could scarcely wait to land, came to me with that man. Before the voyage ended I had told him my whole history as far as I knew it, except the story of Madame de Ferrier, and the be- gmnlng of it was by no means new to im. The New England Willlamses kept a praverful eye on that branch descend- ing from the Iroquois. This transplanted Briton, returning from his one memorable » visit to the England of his forefathers, desp] my Bourbon claims, and even the French contraction of my name. ““What are you going to do now, Elea- zar?” he inquired. Hugging my old dream to myself, feeling my heart leap toward that Western em- Fh’e which must fascinate a young man as ong as there remain any Western lands to possess, I told him I intended to edu- cate our Iroquois as soon as I could pre- pare myself to it and settle them where they could grow into a great nation. The man of God kindled in the face. He was a dark-eyed, square-browed, seri- ous man, with black hair falling below his white band. His mouth had a sweet be- nign expression, even when he quizzed me about my dauphinhood. A New Eng- land pastor was a flame that burned for the enlightenment of the nations. From that hour it was settled that I should be his pupil and go with him to Longmeadow to_finish my education. ‘When we landed he helped me to sell my babylonish clothes, except. the white court dress, to which I clung with tenac- ity displeasing to him, and garb.myself in more befitting ralment. By Skenedonk's K a “LAZARRE, THE APOQSTLE OF THEIROPUOIS , FOSED BY SYPNEY ST L. CAVILL , OF THE OLYMPIC CLUB. hand I sent some of the remaining gold coin to my mother Marianne and the chief, when he rejoined theitribe and went to pass the winter at St. Regis. And by no means did I forget to .tell him to bring me letters from De Chau- mont’s manor in the spring, if any ar- rived there for me. How near to heaven the New England village seemed, with Tom on the horizon giorious as Mount " Zion, ,the mighty sweep of meadow land, the Connecticut River flowing in great peat the broad street of elms like some gigantlc cathe- dral nave, and in its very midst a shrine— the meeting-house, double-decked with fan-topped windows. Religion and education were the main- eprings of its life, Pastor Storrs worked in his study nearly nine hours a day, and spent the remaining hours in what he called visitation of his flock. This being lifted out of Paris and lunged into Longmeadow was the pour- ng of white hot metal into chill moulds. It cast me. With a seething and a roar of loosened forces, the boy passed to the man. Nearly every night during all those 11T TARBER PMoTO. years of changing, for even faithfulness bas its tides,I put the snuffbox under my pillow, and Madame de Ferrier's key to my ear. I would say to myself: “The cne I love gave me this key. Did I ever sit beside her on a ledge of stone over- looking a sunken garden?—so near that I might have touched her! Does she ever think of the dauphin Louis? Where is she? Does she know that Lazarre has become Eleazar Willlams?" The pastor’s house was fronted with huge white fluted pillars of wood, up- holding a porch of which shaded the sec- ond floor windows. The doors In that hcuse had a short-waisted effect with little panels above and long panels be- low. I had a chamber so clean and small that I called it in° my mind the Monk's Cell, nearly filled with the high poster bed, the austere table and chairs. The whitewashed walls were bare of pictures, except a painted portrait of Stephen Wil- llams, pastor of Longmeadow from 1718 to 1785. Daily his laughing eyes watched me as if he found my pretensions a fire«t joke. He had a long nose, and a igh forehead. His black hair crinkled, and a merry crease drew its half circle CTION from one cheek around under his chin te the other, Longmeadow did not lve me with- out much question and ts. Thers were Willlamses in every direction; dis- uised, perhaps, for that generation, un- er the names of Cooley, Stebbins, Col- ter, Ely, Hole, and so on. A stately Sarah Willlams, as Mrs. Storrs, sat ot the head of the pastor’s table. Her dis- approval was a force, though it never manifested {tself except In withdrawal. 1f Mrs. Storrs had drawn back from me while I lived under her roof, I should have feit an outcast indeed. 'The subtle refinement of thcse Longmeadow women was like the limited sweetness of arbutus flower. Breeding passed from gemeration to generation. They had not mixed their blood with the biood of any outsiders; and their for- bears were English yeomen. I threw myself into books, as I had done during the first months at De Chau- mont’s, before I grew to think of Madame do Ferrier. One of those seven years I spent at Dartmouth. But the greater part of my knowledge I owe to Pastor Storrs. Greek and Hebrew he gave me to add to the languages I was beginning to own; and he unlocked all his accumulations of learning. It was a monk’s life that I lived; austere and without incident, but bracing as the air of the hills. The whole system was monastic, though abomina- tion alighted on that word in Longmead- ow. I took the discipline into my blood. It will go down to those after me. There a man had to walk with God whether he wanted to or not. Living was inexpensive, each item being gaged by careful nousekeeping. It was a in to gorge the body, and godly conver- sation was better than abundance. Yet the pastor's tea table arises with a halo around it. The rye and Indian bread, the doughnuts fragrant as flowers, the spar- ing tea, the prim mats which saved the cloth, the wire screen covering sponge cake—how sacred they seem! The autumn that I came to Longmead- ow Napoleon Bonaparte was beaten on the sea by the English, but won the bat- tle of Austeriitz, defeating the Russian coalition and changing the map of Eu- Tope. I felt sometimes a puppet while this man_ played his great part. It was no comfort that others of my house were nothing to France. Though I did not see Louis Philippe again, he wandered in America two or taree years, and went back to privacy. During my early novitiate at Long- meadow Aaron Burr's conspiracy went to pieces, dragging down with it that pleas- ant gentleman Harmon Blennerhassett, startling men like Jackson, who had best befriended him unawares. But this is no wise affected my own plans of empire. The solidarity of a nation of Indians on a remote tract could be mo menace to the general government. Skenedonk came and went, and I made journeys to my -people’ with him. * But there-was. never any letter waiting at De CHaumont's for me. After some years, in- deed, the Count having returned, to Cas- torland to oceupy his new manor at Le Rayville, the mansion I had known was torn down and the stome converted to other uses. Skenedonk brought me word early that Mademoiselle de Chaumont had been married to an officer of the em- pire and would remain in France! The door between my past and me was sealed. Madame de Ferrier stood on the other side of it, and no news from her penetrated its dense barrier. I tried to write letters to her. But nothing that I could write was fit to send, and I knew not whether she was yet at Mont Louls. Forever she was hoiding the door against me. Skenedonk, coming and going at his caprice, stayed a month In every year at Longmeadow, where the townspeople. having had a surfeit of aboriginal names called him John. He raised no obje tion, for that with half a dozen other Christian titles had been bestowed on him in baptism, and he entered the godiy list of Williamses as John Williams. The first summer I spent in Long- meadow there was an eclipse of the sun about the middle of June. I remember lying on open land. my book on its face beside me, and watching it through my eyelashes, until the weird and awful twi- light of a blotted sun in midheaven sent birds and beasts to shelter as from wrath. When there was but a *hairy shining around the orbed blackness, and stars trembled out and trembled back, as if they said: ‘“We are here. The old order will return,” and the earth held its breath at threat of eternal darkness, the ome I lIoved seemed to approach in the long shadows. It was a sign that out of the worst comes the best. But it was a ter- ror to the unprepared, and Pastor Storrs preached about it the following Sunday. The missionary spirit of Longmeadow stirred among the Williamses and many of them brought what they called their mites to Pastor Storrs for my education. If I were made a King no revenue could be half so sweet as that. The village was richer than-many a stonier New England place, but men were struggling then all over the wide States and Terri- tories for material existence. The pension no longer came from Eu- rope. It ceased when I returned from France. Its former payment was con- sidered apocryphal by Longmeadow, Wwhose very maids—too white, with a pink ot in each cheek—smiled with reserved amusement at a student who thought it possible he could ever be a King. I spoke to nobedy but Pastor Storrs about my own convictions. But local newspapers, with their omniscient grip on what is in the air, bandied the subject back and forth. We sometimes walked In the burying ground among dead Willlamses, while he argued down my claims, leaving them without a leg to stand on. Reversing the usual ministerial formula, “If what has been said is true, then it follows, first, secondly,” and so on, he used to say: “Eleazar, you were brought up among the Indians, conscious only of bodily ex- istence and unconscious of your origin; ranted. Money was sent—let us say Tom Europe—for your support; granted. Beveral persons, among them one who testified strongly against his will, teld you that you resembled the Bourbons; firan(ed. You bear on your person marks ke those which were’ inflicted on the unfortunate dauphin of France: granted. You were malignantly pursued while abroad; granted. But what does it all prove? Nothing. It amounts simply to this: You know nothing . about your early years; some forelgn perdon— erhaps an English Willlams—kind- y interested himself in. your up- bringing; you were probably scalded in ; you ha some accidental traits of the Bourbons:; a man who heard ou had a larger pension than the idiot {e was tending disliked you. You can prove nothing Tmote. ¥ . I never_attempi: o ‘e anythin, more to Pastor Storrs. It would h:vf been most ungrateful to persuade him I was an allen. At the same time he rophesied his hopes of me and many a judicious persog, blamed him for treating me as something out of the ordinary and cockering up pride. A blunter Willlams used to take me by the button on the street. “Bleazar Willlams,” he would , “do ou pretend to be the son of the nch k_lng? tell you what! I will not let the name of Willlams be disgraced by any relationship to any French monarch!" You must do onme of two things: You must either renounce Willlamsism or remounce Bourbonism!" Though there was liberty of consclence to criticize the 6utor. he was autocrat of Longmeadow. One who preceded Pastor Storrs had it told about him that two of his deacons wanted him to nt Rul Elders. He appointed (hxo:l‘ &