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here, dies in the glory of the future, and we are entering a tomb all flooded with the radiance of dawn.” Jehan paused. All gazed at him intently, desiring to hear more. This is the way they reasoned; those young men in the bloom of health and youth. Heroes of the French Revolution. Suddenly in the midst of the dismal calm, a mysterious movement was heard at a certain distance. It was evident that the critical moment was approaching; several moments passed, then a sound of footsteps, measured, heavy, numerous, approached with a terrible continuity. Each man took his position for the conflict.
They knelt inside the barricade with their heads on a level with the crest of the barricade, the barrels of their guns and carbines aimed on the stones, attentive, mute, ready to fire. Some installed themselves at the windows of the building with their guns leveled at their shoulders. In this attack a cannon was approaching. They could see the smoke of the burning lint stock. The footsteps were that of a throng approaching. This tread drew nearer, still nearer and stopped. It was night, they could not be seen, but in that dense obscurity a multitude of metallic threads could be distinguished. These were bayonets and gun barrels, confusedly illumined by the distant reflection of a torch. A pause ensued as though both sides were waiting. All at
once from the depths of the darkness, a voice shouted,— “Who goes there?”
At the same time the click of guns as they were lowered into position was heard. Charles replied in tones of great dignity,+ “The French Revolution.” “Lay down your arms,” commanded the officer. “Long live the Republic,” shouted the insurgents. “Fire!” shouted the voice. A flash empurpled all the facades in the street as though the door of a furnace had been flung open. The attack was a hurricane, the cannon began to roar; the army hurled itself on the barricade with beating drums, trumpets braying, bayonets leveled, the sappers at their head, and imperturbable under the projectiles, charged straight for the barricade with the weight of a brazen beam against the wall. The wall held firm. The insurgents fired impetuously. James had entered the barricade disguised as an unknown recruit; he cared for the wounded and at the same time kept his eye on Jehan. Philip had returned to tell Evadne that Jehan was in a barricade, engaged in civil war.
“Oh,” cried Evadne, “he will be killed. Order the carriage at once and take me to the barricade.” Evadne was in male attire.
The barricade in which Jehan was, was at the extreme edge of the invested quarter. They found their way to it from the side not invaded, through those narrow, many angled lanes. The carriage was left at a distance, not far away. There at the corner of the building in a curtain of shadow they could see inside the barricade without being seen. At the extremity of the barricade, not far from the point where Evadne and Phillip stood, Jehan fought unprotected. He stood with about half his body above the breastworks. He seemed like a phantom engaged in firing a gun. A soldier was taking aim at Jehan. Evadne saw this, darted forward with the swiftness of lightning, laid hold of the arm of the soldier, and disappeared in the shade. The shot sped, grazed Jehan's shoulder. He fell to the ground, he had received many wounds. With the agility of a tiger, James sprang forward, seized Jehan and bore him off. All this happened in the thick cloud of combat. No one saw the act of Evadne. The act of James was not noticed. Jehan was taken to his home. There his father had passed the last twelve hours in despair. Jehan was unconscious and seemed to be dead. Monsieur Lenormand was now beside himself with grief. He went suddenly into his room. Did he have some sinister intention? His sister, Maria, a widow who had for years kept house for him, feared. She looked in, cautiously. He was on his knees praying. Up to that time he had believed but little in God. Jehan recovered. Monsieur Lenormand told his son that it was Evadne who had flung herself into the battle and saved his life by turning aside the aim of the soldier. This news had the effect of “the joy of life after the agony of death.” Jehan and Evadne beheld each other once more.
The French revolution had many friends throughout the world. There were some whose names are famous in the annals of history; of one we will make mention—Beethoven. We do this by request of Miss Hazel Loviner, one of the gifted young musicians of Los Angeles.
Believing that it will be helpful to the lover of Liberty who may chance to read this narrative, we quote from the following work:
If Bach is the mathematician of music, as has been asserted, Beethoven is its philosopher. In his work the philosophic comes to the fore. To the genius of the musician is added in Beethoven a wide mental grasp, an altruistic spirit, that seeks to help humanity on the upward path; he addresses the intellect in mankind.
Up to Beethoven's time, musicians in general (Bach is always an exception), performed their work without the aid of the intellect, for the most part, they worked by intuition. In everything outside their art they were like children. Beethoven was the first one having independence to think for himself, the first to have ideas on subjects unconnected with his art. He it was who established the dignity of the artist over that of the simply well born. His entire life was a protest against the pretentions of birth over mind. His predecessors, to a great extent, subjected by their social superiors, sought only to please. Nothing farther was expected of them. This mental attitude is apparent in their work. The language of the courtier is usually polished, but without the virility that characterizes the speech of the free man. Stirring times they were in which he first saw the light, and so indeed continued in ever increasing intensity, like a good drama until nearly the end. The American Revolution became an accomplished fact during his boyhood. Nearer home, events were fast coming to a focus, which culminated in the French Revolution. The magic words Liberty, Equality, Fraternity and the ideas for which they stood were everywhere in the minds of the people. The age called for enlightenment, spiritual growth. On reaching manhood he found a world in transition; he realized that he was on the threshold of a new order of things, and with ready prescience took advantage of such as could be utilized in his art. In Beethoven's time and long before the aristocracy led lives of easy, complacent enjoyment, dabbling in art, patronizing music—music and the composers, seemingly with no prevision that the musicians whom they attached to their train, and who in the cases of Mozart and Haydn, were