The Argosy — page 338: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

1 T Faiyv Normandy. FEF sadness and solitude—for fate thus deals out her contrary and per- plexing measures ; we see it every day, and every day we wonder ; but all we can do is to live on, and possess our souls in patience, and place our faith in the wisdom of the Unseen. We must not attempt to unravel the mysteries of life. Or the cobbler of Dreux may have lost his children, and, like Rachel, wept through long years because they were not. Or he may have had a long fight with poverty, which perhaps is a trouble that touches the heart least, yet is hardest of all to bear. Whatever the cross may have been, there he still was. Probably it had passed away ; for extreme old age is resigned. The world 1s over, the future is all—the strange, unknown future. The long, soli- tary journey is about to be undertaken. And the cross is then often removed ; for life being nearly over, the discipline necessary for earlier years is necessary no longer. No one believes that trouble is sent for any other purpose than discipline. He worked by the light of a bright lamp, which played upon his face and brought it out in strong relief; well-shaped, clear-cut features, with the wrinkles of age upon cheek and brow, but none of the marks invariably sown by an ill-spent life. We looked through the hole, and his face was framed within, and ours, as he lifted his head from his work, was framed without. ‘The lamp-light revealed us distinctly. He looked surprised, but only fora moment. Huis thoughts had evidently been very far off. The _ old live in the past; their happiness is in retrospection, recollection ; _ the days that have been; their lost youth, lost loves. What have they to do with the present, whose silver cord is loosening, whose _ pitcher is taking its last journey to the fountain ? He looked up and saw us. And he must have found that our _ gaze was one of interest, not merely of curiosity; must have seen - in our expression a little of the touch of nature, the bond of sym- pathy “‘which makes the whole world kin;” for he did not resent our intrusion, but accepted our visit. “Messieurs are abroad late to-night. It is dark and lonesome.” “We are travellers,” we explained; ‘‘birds of passage, taking _ Dreux on our way to Chartres. We are going up the hill to try _ and get into the Royal Chapel.” “Then you will not succeed,” was the consoling reply. ‘“* You _ will have your trouble for your pains. ‘The gates are closed.” “But there is no doubt a concierge?” “A very dragon,” he returned ; and by his expression we began tu think that his particular cross might have been the long-lived shrew, _ not the broken dream of short-lived happiness. ‘‘ A very dragon, as ruthless as fate, as silent as the Delphic Oracle. She will not open the gates for you. She would not open them for the President of the Republic.” We were surprised to hear this old shoemaker quoting mythology CORINELMOO© SS) mM