 section 16 of violets and other tales this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by James K. White Chula Vista violets and other tales by Alice Moore section 16 the unknown life of Jesus Christ a new gem has been added to sacred literature and this is the accidental discovery by Nicholas Notovich of a Buddhist history of a phase of Christ's life left blank in the scriptures Notovich an adventurer searching amid the ruins of India delving deep in all the ancient Buddhistic lore accidentally stumbles upon the name of Saint Isa a renowned preacher anti-dating some 2000 years the name becomes a wondrous attraction to Notovich particularly as he learns through many Buddhist priests Isa's name in juxtaposition with the Christian faith and later has reason to believe that the Jesus Christ of our religion and the Saint Isa of their tradition are identical through a seemingly unfortunate accident Notovich sustains an injury to his leg and is cared for most tenderly by the monks of the convent of Hemis despite his severe agonies he retains consciousness and curiosity enough to plead for a glimpse of the wonderful documents contained in the archives of the convent treating of the life of Saint Isa and the genealogy of the House of David this he has translated and gives to the public just whether to take the history seriously or not is a subject that requires much thought but whether it be truth or fiction whether the result of patient investigation and careful study of an interested scholar or the wild imaginings of a feeble brain it opens a wild field of speculation to the thoughtful mind the first three chapters of this history contain a brief epitome of the Pentateuch of Moses though contrary to the teachings of tradition Moses is said not to have written these books himself but that they were transcribed generations after his time according to this theory then the seeming imperfections and inconsistencies and tautological errors of the Old Testament as compared with the brief clear concise logical statement of the Buddhists may readily be explained by the frailty of human memory and the vividness of oriental imagination Prince Moses of the Buddhists otherwise Moses of the Jews was not as is popularly supposed a foundling of the Jews or a protégé of the Egyptian Princess but a full fledged Prince son of Pharaoh the mighty this abrupt overthrow of the tradition of ages is like all disillusions distasteful but even the most superficial study of Egyptian customs and laws of that time will serve to impress us with the verity of this opinion the law of caste was most rigidly and cruelly adhered to and though all the pleadings and threatening and weeping of the starry eyed favorite of the harem may have been brought to bear upon this descendant of Ramses yet is it probable that a descendant of an outcast race should receive the care and learning and advantages of a legally born Prince hardly the condition of the ancient Israelites in the Christian scriptures and in the Buddhist parchment are the same yet there is reason to believe that the former was transcribed many centuries after the hieroglyphics of the latter became faded with age hence perhaps the difference in the parentage of Moses and was beloved throughout the land of Egypt for the goodness and compassion he displayed for them that suffered pleaded with his father to soften the lot of these unhappy people but Pharaoh became angry with him and only imposed more hardships upon his slaves at this period in our scriptures the Lord communicates with Moses and inflicts the plagues upon the nation while in the manuscript of the hemost monks the annual plague brought on by natural causes falls upon Egypt and decimates the community here is a strange reversal of the order of things in India for ages the home of superstition and idol worship that which has always been regarded by the Christians the sworn enemies of the supernatural as an inexplicable mystery is accounted for by perfectly natural causes from that time the fourth chapter of the Chronicle of Saint Isa corresponds exactly in its condensed form to the most prominent chronology of the with the beginning of the next chapter the divine infant through whom the salvation of the world was to come appears upon the scene as the first born of a poor but highly connected family referring presumably to the ancestry of Joseph and Mary the remarkable wisdom of the child in earlier years is chronicled in our ancient parchment with as much care as in the vellum bound volume of our church scriptures at the age of 12 the last glimpse we have of Jesus in the New Testament is as a precocious boy seated in the temple expounding the scriptures to the learned members of the Sanhedrin after that we have no further sight of him until 16 years later he reappears at the marriage in Kanna a grown and serious man already with well formulated plans for the furtherance of his father's kingdom this broad lapse in the scriptures is filled by one simple sentence in the gospel of Saint Luke and he was in the desert till the day of his showing into Israel where he was why he had gone and what he was doing are left to the imagination of the scholar and commentator many theories have been advanced and the one most accepted was that he had followed the trade of his terrestrial father Joseph and was near Jerusalem among the tools of carpentry helping his parents to feed the hungry mouths of his brothers and sisters but there appears another plausible theory advanced by the Buddhist historians and sustained by the Buddhist traditions that as Moses had fled into the wilderness to spend 40 years in fasting and preparation for his life work so Jesus had fled not to the wilderness but to the ancient culture and learning and the wisdom of centuries to prepare himself by a knowledge of all religions for the day of the redemption among the Jews of that day and even among the more conservative descendants of Abraham yet there existed and exists a law which accustoms the marrying of the sons especially the oldest son at the age of 13 it is supposed that Issa resisting the thralldom and carnal temptation of the marital state fled from the importunities of the wise men who would feign unite their offspring with such a wise and serious youth it was then that Issa clandestinely left his father's house went out of Jerusalem and in company with some merchants traveled toward Sinai that he might perfect himself in the divine word and study the laws of the great Buddha for six years he kept all India stirred to its utmost depths as he afterward kept all Palestine stirred by the purity of his doctrines and the direct simplicity of his teachings the white priests of Brahma gave him all their law teaching him the language and religion of the dwellers of the five rivers in juggernaut, Raja Griglia, Benares and other holy cities he was beloved by all for true here as elsewhere to his theory of the universal brotherhood of man not only did he move among the upper classes but also with the wretched vicis and sudras the lowest of low castes who even were forbidden to hear the Vedas read save only on feast days just as among the Jews he was tolerant merciful and kindly disposed towards the Samaritans, the Magdalenes, the Lazaruses as to the haughty rabbis his impress upon the home of Buddha and Brahma was manifested by the hitherto unknown theory of monotheism established by him but gradually permitted to fall into desuatude and become confounded with the polytheistic hierarchy of the confusing religion just as the grand oneness and simplicity of the Christian religion has been permitted to deteriorate into many petty sex each with its absurd limitations and its particular little method of worshiping the great father the teachings of isa in India bear close relation in the general trend of thought to the teachings of Jesus among the multitudes about Jerusalem there is the same universal simplicity of man's brotherhood the complete self-abnegation of the flesh to the mind the charitable impulses of a kind heart and the utter disregard of caste whether of birth or breeding or riches of miracles in India isa says the miracles of our God began when the universe was created they occur each day each instant whosoever does not see them is deprived of one of the most beautiful gifts of life at last according to the chronicles of the Buddhists isa was recalled from his labors in India to the land of Israel where the people oppressed as of old by the pharaohs and now by the mighty men from the country of the Ramones otherwise the Romans here Pilate appears in a new light here to for he has always been a passive figure in the story of the crucifixion indeed he is entirely exonerated from all blame by some of our religious bibliographers and made to appear in a philanthropic light but the priests of Egypt undeceived by the treacherous memories and careless chronicling on the disciples of old place Pilate before us as a thorough Roman greedy crafty cruel unscrupulous according to them he places a spy upon the actions of Jesus in the beginning of his three years teachings who follows him in all his journeys and in the end betrays him to the Romans this person can be no other than Judas the betrayer and here we are permitted to view his seemingly inexplicable actions in a new light and from being Judas a sorrowing misanthrope the erstwhile friend of Christ he becomes merely a common enemy the tool of the Romans then we have the trial and death of isa strongly similar to our accepted version and the chronicle briefly ends with the statement of the subsequent work of the disciples the story of the Buddhist was written very shortly after the passion of the cross the New Testament was transcribed years after the chief actors were dust we are so steeped in tradition and so conservative on any subject that touches our religious beliefs that it is somewhat difficult to reconcile ourselves to another addition to our scriptures but if we should look at the matter earnestly and give deep thought to the relative positions lives and endings of these two noble men isa and Christ we could scarcely doubt that they are one without trying as does the author to break down with one fell swoop the entire structure of the bible we cannot but admit the probability of the new theory it may be claimed that the remarkable personality of Christ would have left more of an impress upon India than it did and that Christianity there and in India would have been synchronous but we must remember that there among the idols of Brahma and Vishnu the way was not prepared the people unexpected of a new prophet unworned of him and unheeded there he seems to have had no close personal followers to take up the work just where he left it and continue the dwellers of India were more happy in their entirety and more comfortable than the Jews hence there was no deliverer to impress them forever with the gigantic sacrifice of human frame and divine soul Saint Issa one of the most revered prophets of the Buddhists Jesus Christ the man and God of all other men the divine incarnation of the ideal are they the same why not end of section 16 recording by James K White Chula Vista section 17 of violets and other tales this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by James K White Chula Vista violets and other tales by Alice Moore section 17 in our neighborhood the hearts were going to give a party neither Mrs. Hart nor the Mrs. Hart nor the small and busy hearts who amused themselves and the neighborhood by continually falling in the gutter on special occasions had mentioned this fact to anyone but all the interested denizens of that particular square could tell by the unusual air of bustle and activity which pervaded the heart domicile Lillian the aesthetic who furnished theme for many spirited discussions leaned eerily out of the window her auburn red tresses carefully done in curlpapers Martha the practical flourished the broom and duster with unwonted activity which the small boys of the neighborhood peering through the green shutters of the front door duly reported to their mamas busily engaged in holding down their respective doorsteps by patiently sitting there on pretty soon the junior hearts to a number began to travel to and fro soliciting the loan of a few chairs some nice dishes and such like things indispensable to every decent self-respecting party but to all inquiries as to the use to which these articles were to be put they only vouchsafed one reply ma told us as we wasn't to tell just ask for the things that's all Mrs. Tuckley the dressmaker brought her sewing out on the front steps and entered a vigorous protest to her next door neighbor hmm she sniffed mighty funny they can't say what's up must be something in it couldn't get none of my things and not invite me did she ask you for any absent mindedly inquired Mrs. Luke shielding her eyes from the sun no but she'd better since she knows me she ain't mercy me Stella just look at that child tumbling in the mud you Stella come here I say look at you now there and there and there the luckless Stella having been soundly cuffed and sent whimpering in the backyard Mrs. Tuckley continued yes as I was saying of course taint none of my business but I always did wonder how them hearts do keep up why them girls dress just as fine as any lady on the avenue and that their Lillian wears real diamond earrings peers mighty mighty funny to me and Lord the airs they do put on holding up their heads like nobody's good enough to speak to I don't like to talk about people you know yourself Mrs. Luke I never speak about anybody but mark my word girls that cut up capers like them hearts as girls never come to any good Mrs. Luke heaved a deep sigh of appreciation at the wisdom of her neighbor but before she could reply a reinforcement in the person of little Mrs. Peters apron over her head hands shriveled and soap sudsy from washing appeared did you ever see the like she asked in her usual rapid breathless way why my Lewis says they're putting canvas cloths on the floor and taking down the bed in the back room and putting greenery and such like trash about some style about a may Mrs. Tuckley tossed her head and sniffed contemptuously Mrs. Luke began to rehearse a time worn tale how once a carriage had driven up to the heart house at nine o'clock at night and a distinguished looking man alighted went in stayed about ten minutes and finally drove off with a great clatter heads that had shaken ominously over this story before began to shake again and tongues that had wagged themselves tired with conjectures started now with some brand new ideas and theories the children of the square tired of fishing for minnows in the ditches and making mud pies in the street clustered about their mother's skirts receiving occasional slaps when their attempts at taking part in the conversation became too pronounced meanwhile in the heart household all was bustle and preparation to and fro the members of the house flitted arranging chairs putting little touches here and there washing saucers and glasses chasing the heart juniors about losing things and calling frantically for each other's assistance to find them mama heart big plump and perspiring puffed here and there like a large rosy engine giving impossible orders and receiving sharp answers to foolish questions lilyon the aesthetic practiced her most graceful poses before the large mirror in the parlor martha rushed about changing the order of the furniture and papa heart just come in from work paced the rooms disconsolately asking for dinner dinner screamed mama heart dinner who's got time to fool with dinner this evening look at the sideboard and you'll see some bread and ham eat that and shut up eight o'clock finally arrived and with it the music and some straggling guests when the first faint chi chi of the violin floated out into the murky atmosphere the smaller portion of the neighborhood went straight away into ecstasies boys and girls in all stages of dishevella clustered about the doorsteps and gave vent to audible exclamations of approval or disapprobation concerning the state of affairs behind the green shutters it was a warm night and the big round moon sailed serenely in a cloudless blue sky mrs. tucley had put on a clean calico wrapper and planted herself with the indomitable stella on her steps to watch the proceedings the party was a grand success even the intensely critical small fry dancing on the pavement without to the scraping and fiddling of the string band had to admit that so far as they were concerned it was all right but what shall we say of the guests within they who glided easily over the canvas floors bowed and scraped and simpered just like the big folks on the avenue who ate the ice cream and cake and drank the sweet weak catawba wine amid boisterous healths to mr. and mrs. heart and the mrs. heart who smirked and perspired and cracked ancient jokes and heart-rending puns during the intervals of the dances who shall say that they did not enjoy themselves as thoroughly and as fully as those who frequented the wealthier entertainments of town lillian and martha in gossamer gowns of pink and blue flitted to and fro attending to the wants of their guests mrs. heart gorgeous in a black satin affair all folds and lace and drapery made desperate efforts to appear cool and collected and failed miserably papa heart spent one half his time standing in front of the mantle spreading out his coattails and benignly smiling upon the young people while the other half was devoted to initiating the male portion of the guests into the mysteries of snake killing everybody had said that he or she had had a splendid time and finally when the last kisses had been kissed the last goodbyes been said the whole heart family sat down in the now deserted and disordered rooms and sighed with relief that the great event was over at last nice crowd a remarked papa heart he was brimful of joy and second-class whiskey so no one paid any attention to him but did you see how shamefully mod flirted with willy howard said lillian martha tossed her head in disdain mr. howard she had always considered her a special property so lillian's observation had a rather disturbing effect i'm so warm and tired cried mama heart plaintively children how are we going to sleep tonight thereupon the whole family arose to devise ways and means of wooing the drowsy god as for the heart juniors they had long since solved the problem by falling asleep with sticky hands and faces upon a pile of bed clothing behind the kitchen door it was late in the next day before the house had begun to resume anything like its former appearance the little hearts were kept busy all morning returning chairs and dishes and distributing the remnants of the feast to the vicinity the ice cream had melted into a warm custard and the cakes had a rather worse for wear appearance but they were appreciated as much as though just from the confectioner no one was forgotten even mrs. tuckley busily stitching on a muslin garment on the steps and anxiously rolling the latest morsel of scandal under her tongue was obliged to confess that them heartses wasn't such bad people after all just a bit queer at times about two o'clock just as lillian was redraping the tidies on the stiff common plush chairs in the parlor someone pulled the bell violently the visitor a rather good-looking young fellow with a worried expression smiled somewhat sarcastically as he heard a sound of scuffling and running within the house presently mrs. heart opened the door wiping her hand red and smoking with dishwater upon her apron the worried expression deepened on the visitor's face as he addressed the woman with visible embarrassment uh i i suppose you are mrs. heart he inquired awkwardly that's my name sir replied she with pretentious dignity uh you're may i come in madam certainly and she opened the door to admit him and offered a chair your husband is an employee in the fisher oil mills is he not mrs. heart straightened herself with pride as she replied in the affirmative she had always been proud of mr heart's position as foreman of the big oil mills and was never so happy as when he was expounding to someone in her presence the difficulties and intricacies of machine work well you see my dear mrs. heart continued the visitor now pray don't get excited there has been an accident and your husband has uh been hurt you know but for a painful whitening in her usually rosy face and a quick compression of her lips the wife made no sign what was the accident she queried leaning her elbows on her knees well you see i don't understand machinery and the like but there was something about a wheel out of gear and a band burst it or something anyhow a big wheel flew to pieces and as he was standing near he was hit where well well i may as well tell you the truth madam a large piece of the wheel struck him on the head and he was killed instantly she did not faint nor make any outcry nor tear her hair as he had partly expected but sat still staring at him with a sort of helpless dumb horror shining out of her eyes then with a low moan bowed her head on her knees and shuddered just as julian came in curious to know what the handsome stranger had to say to her mother the poor mutilated body came home at last and was laid in a stiff silver decorated black coffin in the middle of the sitting room which had been made to look as uncomfortable and unnatural as mirrors and furniture shrouded in sheets and mantel and tables divested of ornaments would permit there was a wake that night to the unconfined joy of the neighbors who would rather a burial than a wedding the friends of the family sat about the coffin and through the house with long pulled faces mrs. tuckley officiated in the kitchen making coffee and dispensing cheese and crackers to those who were hungry as the night wore on and the first restraint disappeared jokes were cracked and quiet laughter indulged in while the young folks congregated in the kitchen were hilariously happy until some member of the family would appear when every face would sober down the older persons contended themselves with recounting the virtues of the deceased and telling anecdotes wherein he figured largely it was astonishing how many intimate friends of his had suddenly come to light every other man present had either attended school with him or was a close companion until he died proverbs and tales and witty sayings were palmed off as having emanated from his lips in fact the dead man would have been surprised himself had he suddenly come to life and discovered what an important what a modern Solomon he had become the long night dragged on and the people departed in groups of twos and threes until when the gray dawn crept slowly over the blackness of night shrouding the electric lights and mists of cloudy blue and sending cold chills of dampness through the house but a few of the great crowd remained the day seemed so gray in contrast to the softening influence of the night the grief which could be hidden then must now come forth and parade itself before all eyes there was the funeral to prepare for the dismal black dresses and bonnets with their long crepe veils to dawn there were the condolences of sorrowing friends to receive the floral offerings to be looked at the little hearts strutted about resplendent in stiff black cravats and high crepe bands about their hats they were divided between two conflicting emotions joy at belonging to a family so noteworthy and important and sorrow at the death as the time for the funeral approached and Lillian began to indulge in a series of fainting fits the latter feeling predominated well it was all over at last the family had returned and as on two nights previous sat once more in the deserted and dismantled parlor mrs. Tuckley and mrs. Luke having rendered all assistance possible had repaired to their respective front steps to keep count of the number of visitors who returned to condole with the family a real nice funeral remarked the dressmaker at last a nice funeral everybody took it so hard and Lillian fainted real beautiful she's a good girl that Lillian poor things i wonder what they'll do now Stella the irrepressible was busily engaged balancing herself on one toe a la ballet maybe she's going to get married she volunteered eagerly because i saw that yellow haired young man but comes there all the time with his arms around her waist and a telling her not to grieve as he'd take care of her i was a peeping in the dining room how dare you peep at other folks and pry into people's affairs i can't imagine where you get your meddlesome ways from there ain't none in my family next time i catch you at it i'll spank you good then after a pause well what else did he say end of section 17 recording by james k white chulavista section 17 of violets and other tales this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by james k white chulavista violets and other tales by Alice Moore section 17 farewell and little miss Sophie farewell farewell sweetheart and again farewell today we part and who can tell if we shall air again meet and with clasped hands renew our vows of love and forget the sad dull pain dear heart tis bitter thus to lose thee and think may have you will forget me and yet i thrill as i remember long and happy days fraught with sweet love and pleasant memories that linger still you go to loved ones who will smile and clasp you in their arms and all the while i stay and moan for you my love my heart and strive to gather up life's dull gray thread and walk alone i with you love the red and gold goes from my life and leaves it cold and dull and bare why should i strive to live and learn and smile and just and daily try you from my heart to tear nay sweetheart rather would i lie me down and sleep for i or fly to regions far where cruel fate is not and lovers live nor feel the grim cold hand of destiny their way to bar i murmur not dear love i only say again farewell god bless the day on which we met and bless you too my love and be with you in sorrow or in happiness nor let you air me forget little miss sophie when miss sophie knew consciousness again the long faint swelling notes of the organ were dying away in distant echoes through the great arches of the silent church and she was alone crouching in a little forsaken black heap at the altar of the virgin the twinkling tapers seemed to smile pityingly upon her the beneficent smile of the white-robed Madonna seemed to whisper comfort a long gust of chill air swept up the aisles and miss sophie shivered not from cold but from nervousness but darkness was falling and soon the lights would be lowered and the great massive doors would be closed so gathering her thin little cape about her frail shoulders miss sophie hurried out and along the brilliant noisy streets home it was a wretched lonely little room where the cracks let the boisterous wind whistle through and the smoky grimy walls looked cheerless and unhome-like a miserable little room in a miserable little cottage in one of the squalid streets of the third district that nature and the city fathers seem to have forgotten as bare and comfortless the room so was miss sophie's lonely life she rented these four walls from an unkempt little creole woman whose progeny seemed like the promised offspring of abraham multitudinous the flickering life in the pale little body she scarcely kept there by the unceasing toil of a pair of bony hands stitching stitching ceaselessly wearingly on the bands and pockets of pants it was her bread this monotonous unending work and though while days and nights constant labor brought but the most meager recompense it was her only hope of life she sat before the little charcoal brazier and warmed her transparent needle-pricked fingers thinking meanwhile of the strange events of the day she had been uptown to carry the great black bundle of pants and vests to the factory and receive her small pittance and on the way home stopped in at the jesuit church to say her little prayer at the altar of the calm white virgin there had been a wondrous burst of music from the great organ as she knelt there an overpowering perfume of many flowers the glittering dazzle of many lights and the dainty fru-fru of silken skirts of wedding guests filing and tripping so miss sophie stayed to the wedding for what feminine heart be it ever so old and seared does not delight in one and why shouldn't a poor little creole old maid be interested too when the wedding party had filed in solemnly to the rolling swelling peeling tones of the organ important-looking groomsmen dainty fluffy white-robed maids stately satin-robed illusion veiled bride and happy groom she leaned forward to catch a better glimpse of their faces ah those near the virgin's altar who heard a faint sigh and rustle on the steps glanced curiously as they saw a slight black robed figure clutch the railing and lean her head against it miss sophie had fainted i must have been hungry she mused over the charcoal fire in her little room i must have been hungry and she smiled a wand smile and busied herself getting her evening meal of coffee and bread and ham if one were given to pity the first thought that would rush to one's lips at sight of miss sophie would have been poor little miss sophie she had come among the bareness and sordidness of this neighborhood five years ago robed in crepe and crying with great sobs that seemed to fairly shake the vitality out of her perfectly silent too about her former life but for all that michael the quarter grosser at the corner and madame le ron who kept the rab shop opposite had fixed it all up between them of her sad history and past glories not that they knew but then michael must invent something when the neighbors came to him their fountainhead of wisdom one morning little miss sophie opened wide her dingy windows to catch the early freshness of the autumn wind as it whistled through the yellow leafed trees it was one of those calm blue misted balmy november days that new orleans can have when all the rest of the country is fur wrapped miss sophie pulled her machine to the window where the sweet damp wind could whisk among her black locks were were went the machine ticking fast and lightly over the belts of the rough jean pants were were yes and miss sophie was actually humming a tune she felt strangely light today ma foie muttered michelle strolling across the street to where madame le ron sat sewing behind the counter on blue and brown checked aprons but the little mom was there seeing's perhaps she recollects perhaps muttered the rab woman but little miss sophie felt restless a strange impulse seemed drawing her uptown and the machine seemed to run slow slow before it would stitch the endless number of jean belts her fingers trembled with nervous haste as she pinned up the unwieldy black bundle of the finished work and her feet fairly tripped over each other and their eagerness to get to clayborne street where she could board the uptown car there was a feverish desire to go somewhere a sense of elation foolish happiness that brought a faint echo of color into her pinched cheeks she wondered why no one noticed her in the car passengers on the clayborne line are too much accustomed to frail little black robe women with big black bundles it is one of the city's most pitiful sights she leaned her head out of the window to catch a glimpse of the oleanders on bayu road when her attention was caught by a conversation in the car yes it's too bad for neil and lately married too said the elder man i can't see what he is to do neil she pricked up her ears that was the name of the groom in the jesuit church how did it happen languidly inquired the younger he was a stranger evidently a stranger with a high regard for the faultlessness of male attire too well the firm failed first he didn't mind that much he was so sure of his uncle's inheritance repairing his lost fortunes but suddenly this difficulty of identification springs up and he is literally on the verge of ruin won't some of you fellows who've known him all your lives due to identify him gracious man we've tried but the absurd old will expressly stipulates that he shall be known only by a certain quaint roman ring and unless he has it no identification no fortune he has given the ring away and that settles it well you're all chumps why doesn't he get the ring from the owner easily said but it seems that neil had some little creole love affair some years ago and gave this ring to his dusky eyed fiancé but you know how neil is with his love affairs went off and forgot the girl in a month it seems however she took it to heart so much so until he's ashamed to try to find her or the ring miss sophie heard no more as she gazed out into the dusty grass there were tears in her eyes hot blinding ones that wouldn't drop for pride but stayed and scalded she knew the story with all its embellishments of heartaches the ring too she remembered the day she had kissed and wept and fondled it until it seemed her heart must burst under its load of grief before she took it to the pawnbrokers that another might be eased before the end game that other her father the little creole love affair of neils had not always been poor and old and jaded looking but reverses must come even neil knew that so the ring was at the Mont-de-Piette still he must have it it was his it would save him from disgrace and suffering and from trailing the proud head of the white gown bride into sorrow he must have it but how there it was still at the pawnbrokers no one would have such a jewel and the ticket was home in the bureau drawer well he must have it she might starve in the attempt such a thing as going to him and telling him that he might redeem it was an impossibility that good straight-backed stiff-necked creole blood would have risen in all its strength and choked her no as a present had the quaint roman circlet been placed upon her finger as a present should it be returned the bumping car rode heavily and the hot thoughts beat heavily in her poor little head he must have the ring but how the ring the roman ring the white-robed bride starving she was going mad ah yes the church right in the busiest most bustling part of town it's fresco and bronze and iron quaintly suggestive of medieval times within all cool and dim and restful with a faintest whiff of lingering incense rising and pervading the gray arches yes the virgin would know and have pity the sweet white-robed virgin at the pretty flower-decked altar or the one away up in the niche far above the golden dome where the host was holy mary mother of god poor little miss sophie titish the busybody of the house noticed that miss sophie's bundle was larger than usual that afternoon ah poor woman side titish's mother she would be rich for christmas the bundle grew larger each day and miss sophie grew smaller the damp cold rain and mist closed the white-curtained window but always there behind the sewing machine drooped and bobbed the little black-robed figure were were went the wheels and the coarse jean pants piled and great heaps at her side the clay-born streetcar saw her oftener than before and the sweet white virgin in the flowered niche above the gold domed altar smiled at the little penitent almost every day my foie said the slatteringly landlady to madame loran and michelle one day i know see how she live eat nothing nothing almost and last night when it was cold and foggy a i have to make him build fire she most freeze whereupon the rumor spread that miss sophie was starving herself to death to get some luckless relative out of jail for christmas a rumor which enveloped her scraggly little figure with a kind of halo to the neighbors when she appeared on the streets november had verged into december and the little pile of coins were yet far from the sum needed dear god how the money did have to go the rent and the groceries and the coal though to be sure she used a precious bit of that all the work and saving and skimping maybe yes maybe by christmas what a gift christmas eve night on royal street is no place for a weakling for the shouts and carousels of the roisters will strike fear into the brave yet amid the cries and yells the deafening blow of horns and ten whistles and the really dangerous fuselage of fireworks the little figure hurried along one hand clutching tight the battered hat that the rude merry makers would have torn off the other grasping under the thin black cape a worn little pocketbook into the montepiette breathless eager the ticket here worn crumpled the ring it was not gone no thank heaven it was really a joy well worth her toil she thought to have it again had titish not been shooting crackers on the banquet instead of peering into the crack as was his won't his big round black eyes would have grown saucer wide to see little miss sophie kiss and fondle a ring an ugly clumsy band of gold ah dear ring she murmured once you were his and you shall be his again you shall be on his finger and perhaps touch his heart dear ring you are his you were mine once too tonight just one night i'll keep you then tomorrow where you can save him ah the virgin she smiles at me because i did right did i not sweet mother she smiles and i grow faint the loud whistles and horns of the little ones rose on the balmy air next morning no one would doubt it was christmas day even if doors and windows are open wide to let in cool air why there was christmas even in the very look of the mules on the pokey cars there was christmas noise in the streets and christmas toys and christmas odors savory ones that made the nose wrinkle approvingly issuing from the kitchen michelle and madame lauren smiled greetings across the street at each other and the salutation from a passerby recalled the many progeny landlady to herself miss sophie well poor soul not very much christmas for her may i'll just call her in to spend the day with me it'll cheer her a bit so clean and orderly within the poor little room not a speck of dust or a litter of any kind on the quaint little old time high bureau unless you might accept a sheet of paper lying loose with something written on it titish had evidently inherited his prying propensities for the landlady turned it over and read louis here is the ring i return it to you i heard you needed it i hope it comes not too late sophie the ring where muttered the landlady there it was clasped between her fingers on her bosom a bosom white and cold under a cold happy face christmas had indeed dawn for miss sophie the eternal christmas end of section 18 recording by james k white chulavista section 19 of violets and other tales this is a leber vox recording all leber vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit leber vox dot org recording by james k white chulavista violets and other tales by alice more section 19 if i had known and shall met if i had known two years ago how drear this life should be and crowd upon itself all strangely sad may have another song would burst from out my lips overflowing with the happiness of future hopes may have another throb then that of joy have stirred my soul into its inmost depths if i had known if i had known two years ago the impotence of love the vainness of a kiss how barren occurs may have my soul to hire things have sworn nor clung to earthly loves and tender dreams but ever up aloft into the blue imperian and there to master all the world of mind if i had known shall met wreaths of lilies and immortels scattered upon each silent mound voices in loving remembrance swell chanting to heaven the solemn sound glad skies above and glad earth beneath and grateful hearts who silently gather earth's flowers and tenderly wreath woman's sweet token of fragility ah the noble forms who fought so well lie some unnamed neath the grassy mound heroes brave heroes the stories tell silently to the unmarked mounds tenderly wreath them about with flowers joyously pour out your praises loud for every joy beat in these hearts of ours is only a drawing us nearer to god little enough is the song we sing little enough is the tale we tell when we think of the voices who erst did ring air their owners in smoke of battle fell little enough are the flowers we cull to scatter afar on the grass grown graves when we think of bright eyes now dimmed and dull for the cause they loyally strove to save and they fought right well did these brave men for their banner still floats unto the breeze and the pains of ages forever shall tell their glorious tale beyond the seas ring out your voices and praises loud sing sweet your notes of music gay tell me in all you loyal crowd throbs there a heart unmoved today meeting together again this year as met we in faulty and love before men maids and matrons to reverently hear praises of brave men who fought of your tell the little ones with wandering eyes the tail of the flag that floats so free till their tiny voices shall merrily rise in hymns of rejoicing and praises to thee many a pure and noble heart lies under the sod all covered with green many a soul that had felt the smart of life's sad torture or may have had seen the faint hope of love pass afar from the site like swift flight of bird to a rarer climb many a youth whose death caused the blight of tender hearts in that long said time nay but this is no hour for sorrow they died at their duty shall we repine let us gaze hopefully on to the morrow praying that our lives thus shall shine ring out your bugles sound out your cheers man has been godlike so may we be give cheering thanks there dry up those tears widowed and orphaned the country is free wreaths of lilies and immortels scattered upon each silent mound voices in loving remembrance swell chanting to heaven the solemn sound glad skies above and glad earth beneath and grateful hearts who silently gather earth's flowers and tenderly wreath woman's sweet token of fragility end of section 19 recording by james k white chulavista section 20 of violets and other tales this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by james k white chulavista violets and other tales by Alice Moore section 20 at Eventide all day had she watched and waited for his coming and still her strained ears caught no sounds of the footsteps she loved and longed to hear all day while the great sun panted on his way around the brazen skies all day while the busy world throbbed its mighty engines of labor nor witted of the breaking hearts in its midst and now when the eve had come and the sun sank slowly to rest casting his red rays over the earthy loved and bidding tired nature a gentle radiant good night she still watched and waited waited while the young moon shone silvery in the crimson flush of the eastern sky while the one bright star trembled as he strove to near his love waited while the hum of soul-wearing traffic died in the distant streets and the merry voices of happy children floated to her ears and still he came not what kept him from her side had he learned the cold lesson of self-control or found one other thing more potent than love had some cruel chain of circumstances forced him to disobey her bidding or did he love another but no she smiles triumphantly he could not have known and loved her sitting in the deep embrasure of the window through which the distant wave sounds of city life floated to her the pages of her life seemed to turn back and she read the almost forgotten tale of long ago the story of their love in those days his wish had been her law his smile her son his frown her wretchedness within his arms earth seemed a far away dream of empty nothingness and when his lips touched and clung to hers sweet with the perfume of the south they floated away into a paradise of unfolding space where time and death and the woes of this great earth are not only these two and love the Almighty and so their happiness drifted slowly across the sea of time until it struck a cruel rock whose sharp teeth showed not above the dimpled waves and where once had been a craft of strength and beauty now was only a hideous wreck for the tempter had come into this Eden and soon his foul whisper found place in her heart and the tempter's name was ambition often had the praises and plaudits of men rang in her ears when her sweet voice sang to her chosen friends often had the tears evoked by her songs of love and hope and trust thrilled her breast faintly as the young bird stirs in its nest under the loving mother's wing but he had clasped his arms around her and that was enough but one day the tempter whispered why waste such talent bring that beauty of voice before the world and see men bow in homage and women envy and praise come forth and follow me but she put him fiercely aside and cried I want no homage but his I want no envy from anyone still the whisper stayed in her heart nor would the honeyed words of praise be gone even when he kissed her and thank the gods for this pearl of great price then as time fled on the tiny whisper grew into a great roar and all the praise of men and the sweet words of women filled her brain and what had once been her aversion became a great desire and caused her brow to grow thoughtful and her eyes moody but when she spoke to him of this new love he smiled and said my wife must be mine and mine alone I want not a woman whom the world claims and shouts her name abroad my wife and my home must be in violet and again as of your his wish controlled her but only for a while then the tiny whisper grown into the great roar urging her on became a mighty wind which drove her before it nor could she turn aside from the path of ambition but swept on and conquered ah sweet sweet the exultation of the victor dear the plaudits of the admiring world wild the joy when queen of song admired of men she stood upon the pinnacle of fame and he true to his old convictions turned sadly from the woman who placed the admiration of the world before his love and the happiness of his home and went out from her life brokenhearted disappointed miserable all these things and more she thought upon in the first flush of eventide as the bold young star climbed toward his lady love the moon all these things and what had come to pass after the victory for there came a day when the world wearied of its toy and turned with shouts of joy and wreaths of fresh laurels for the new star then came disappointments and miseries crowding fast upon her the sorrows which a loving heart knows when it finds its idols faithless then the love for him which he had once repressed arose in all its strength which had gained during the long struggle with the world arose and overwhelmed her with its might and filled her soul with an unutterable longing for peace and rest and him she wrote to him and told him all her heart and begged of him to come back to her for fame was but an empty bubble while love was supreme and the only happiness after all and now she waited while the crimson and gold of the west grew dark and gray and lowering hark she hears his loved step he comes ah joy of heaven he comes soon will he clasp her in his arms and there on his bosom shall she know peace and rest and love as he enters the door she hastens to meet him the love light shining in her tired eyes her soft rounded arms outstretched to meet him but he folds her not in his embrace nor yet does he look with love into her upturned eyes the voice she loves ah so well breaks upon the dusky silence pitiless stern most faithless of faithless women think you that like the toy of a fickle child i can be thrown aside then picked up again think you that i can take a soil lily to my bosom think you that i can cherish the gaudy sunflower that ever turns to the broad brazen glare of the uncaring sun rather than the modest shrinking violet nay be not deceived i loved you once but that love you killed in its youth and beauty leaving me to stand and weep alone over its grave i came tonight not to kiss you and to forgive you as you entreat but to tell you that i have wed another the pitiless voice seized and she was alone in the dusky silence alone in all the shame and agony and grief of unrequited love and worthless fame alone to writhe and groan and despair while the rosate flush of evintide passed into the coldness of midnight oh faithless woman oh faithless men how frail the memory of thy binding vows thy blissful hours of love are they forgotten only the record of broken hearts and loveless lives will show end of section 20 recording by james k white chulavista section 21 of violets and other tales this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by james k white chulavista violets and other tales by Alice Moore section 21 the idler and love and the butterfly the idler an idle lingerer on the wayside's road he gathers up his work and yawns away a little longer ere the tiresome load shall be reduced to ashes or to clay no matter if the world has marched along and scorned his slowness as it quickly passed no matter if amid the busy throng he greets some face infantile at the last his mission well there is but one and if it is a mission he knows it nay to be a happy idler to lounge and sun and dreaming pass his long drawn days away so dreams he on his happy life to pass content without ambitions painful size until the sands run down into the glass he smiles content unmoved and dies and yet with all the pity that you feel for this poor mothling of that flame the world are you the better for your desperate deal when you like him into infinitude are hurled love and the butterfly i heard a merry voice one day and glancing at my side fair love all breathless fleshed with play a butterfly did ride wither away old sportive boy i asked he tossed his head laughing aloud for purest joy and passed me swiftly sped next day i heard a plaintive cry and love crept in my arms weeping he held the butterfly devoid of all its charms sweet words of comfort whispered i into his dainty ears but love still hugged the butterfly and bathed its wounds with tears end of section 21 recording by james k. white chulavista section 22 of violets and other tales this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by james k. white chulavista violets and other tales by alice more section 22 the beeman and amid the roses the beeman we were glancing over the mental photograph album and commenting on the great lack of dissimilarity in tastes nearly everyone preferred spring to any other season with a very few exceptions in favor of autumn the women loved mrs. browning and longfellow the men showed decided preferences after emerson and macaulay conceit stuck out when the majority wanted to be themselves and none other and only two did not want to live in the 19th century but in one place in answer to the question whom would you rather be if not yourself the answer was a baby why would you rather be a baby than any other personage queried someone glancing at the writer who blushed as she replied because then i might be able to live a better life i might have better opportunities and better chances for improving them and it would bring me nearer the 20th century about eight or nine years ago said the first speaker i remember reading a story in a magazine for young folks it was merely a fairy story and perhaps was not intended to point a moral but only to amuse the little ones it was something on this order once upon a time there lived in an out-of-the-way spot an ancient decrepit beeman how old he was no one knew whence he came no one could tell to the memory of the oldest inhabitant he had always lived in his dirty hut surrounded by myriads of hives attended always by a swarm of bees he was good to the bits of children and always ready with a sweet morsel of honeycomb for them all his ambitions sympathies and hopes were centered in his hives until one day a fairy crept into his hut and whispered you have not always been a common beeman once you were something else tell me what i was he asked eagerly nay that i cannot do replied the fairy our queen sent me to tell you this and if you wish to search for your former self i am to assist you you must search the entire valley and the first thing you meet to which you become violently attached that is what you formerly were and i shall give you back your correct form so the next morning the beeman strapping his usual hive upon his back and accompanied by the fairy in the form of a queen bee set out upon his search throughout the valley at first he became violently attached to the handsome person and fine castle of the lord of the realm but on being kicked out of the lord's domains his love turned to dislike the beeman and the fairy traveled far and wide and carefully inspected everything they met the very imp the languid young man the hippogriffeth the thousand-tailed hippopotamus and many other types until the beeman grew weary and was about to give up the search in disgust but suddenly amid all the vast halls of the enchanted domains through which they were wandering there sounded shrieks and wails and the inmates were thrown into the greatest confusion by the sight of the hideous hippogriffeth dashing through a million sparks emanating from his great eyes his barbed tail waving high in the air and holding in his talons a tiny infant now as soon as the beeman saw this a great wave of sorrow and pity filled his breast and he hastily followed the monster arriving at his cave just in time to see him preparing to devour his prey madly dashing his hive of bees into the hippogriffeth's face and seizing the infant while the disturbed and angry bees stung and swarmed the beeman rushed out followed by the very imp the languid young man and the fairy and made his way to the child's mother just as soon as the baby was safely restored the beeman ruminated thoughtfully a while and finally remarked to the fairy do you know of all the things i've met so far i like the baby best of all so i think i must have been a baby once right you are assented the fairy i knew it before but of course i couldn't tell now i shall change you into your former shape but remember you must try to be something better than a beeman the beeman promised and was instantly changed into a baby the fairy inoculated him from harm with a bee sting and gave him to the rescued infant's mother nearly a cycle passed by and one day the fairy having business in the valley thought she would make inquiries concerning her protege in her way she happened to pass a little low curious hut with many beehives about it and swarms of bees flying in and out the fairy tired as well as curious peeped in and discovered an ancient man attending to the wants of his pets upon a closer inspection she recognized her infant of years ago he had become a beeman again it points a pretty little moral said the fatalist for it certainly proves that do what we will we cannot get away from our natures it was inherent in that man's nature to ten bees being was the occupation chosen for him by fate and had the beneficent fairy changed him a dozen times he would ultimately have gone to being in some form or other the fatalist was doubtless right for it seems as though the inherent things in our nature must come out but if we want to dig deep into the child story for metaphysical morals does it not also uphold the theory of reincarnation the ancient beeman perhaps is but a type of humanity growing old and settled in its mode of living while the fairy is but thought whispering into our souls things half dread half pleasant there are moments when the consciousness of a former life comes sharply upon us and swift lightning flashes too sudden to be tangible too dazzling to leave an impress or may have in troubled dreams that bewilder and confuse with vague remembrances if only a burst of memory would come upon some mortal that the tale might be fully told and these theories established as facts it would unfold great possibilities of historical lore of literary life of religious speculation amid the roses there is tropical warmth and languorous life where the roses lie an attempting drift of pink and red and golden light untouched as yet by the pruning knife and the still warm life of the roses fair that whisper come with promises of sweet caresses close and pure has a thorny whiff in the perfumed air there are thorns and love in the roses bed and satan too must linger there so satan's wiles and the conscious stings must now abide the roses are dead end of section 22 recording by james k white chulavista end of violets and other tales by ellis more