Newspaper Page Text
2 TIMES
, a-F
WEEK
VOL. 43.
THE MADONNAJtf THE SEPULCHRE.
By ALETHEA PHILLIPS.
Author of -The Strang® Face In the Glass," ..The Double feass Player,” ‘‘Picotin,”
Etc., Etc.
Copyrighted, 189(5, by Aiethea Phillips.
It "was gone. >
The famous Madonna of the sepulchre
had vanished. In the picture’s stead was ’
a space of red wall staring dully through
the huge gilt frame. It was ‘impossible
to imagine how *ny thief could have
managed the business so adroitly, for
extra precautions had been taken, yet
in spite of them all this valuable canvas
had been cut clean out and taken away.
Os course the matter would obtain no
toriety, for the painting was of world
wide fame, though until the previous
week It had rested in a private Ducal
collection, and it would be hopeless for
any person to bring it into a market,
where it was likely to realize half its
value, without being detected as the per
petrator of the crime. There was doubt
less satisfaction in this view of
the case, though it only rendered
the deed more Inexplicable, and the
small knot of men who had been
called in to consult as to the
best means of tracing the lost prop
erty, already began to feel a trifle de
pressed. There was not the shadow of a
scrap of evidence - against man, woman,
or child.
The picture had been bought on be
half of a wealthy client by Isaac Cohen,
or Old Co., as he was familiarly nick
named, and he would have to make good
its loss. J
He stood there now, working kjis lean,
restless hands together, and stared up
under his thick brows at the empty frame,
a bent figure in an ill-fitting sulf'of rusty
black, with a harshly outlined profile
that betokened his Semitic origin. Peo
ple's sympathies did not go out to him
as a rule, but even the rough carpenter,
who was kept to do odd jobs about the
place, and who haw Just stood a searching
cross-examination, could not resist a
movement of pity.
“Maybe it ain't so far off, but what we
shall find it, master,” he ventured to re
mark, drawing the back of one hand
across his lips.
Old Co. turned abruptly to fix an eagle
glance upon the man—a swift, search
ing, terrible glance, such as any but an
honest person must have quailed under,
but the carpenter remained stolid.
"How do 1 know you are not in the plot
to ruin me —a useful tool, perhaps!”
snarled the Jew. with a sardonic wrink
ling of his parchment skin.
“Como, Mr. Cohen,” said an official,
stepping forward; "Jarvis has given a very
good account of himself. He will be a
useful witness on your side, I fancy.”
The old man made no reply, but fell to
contemplating the empty frame once
more.
"Fifteen thousand—flf-teen thousand—’.”
he repeated again and again, in a nas-al
kind of murmur, while his, skinny fingers
ciutchad and gnwbed at the unsubstantial
ftli'4 it seemed softibnow as *.f he wot
feeling for the mone£ and could not find
, it. There was a horrible suggestion of
coming madness In the action, and those
■presertt shrank back, edging their way one
after the other from the room; for after
all their business was to take Immediate
etepa toward the picture's recovery, and
not to watch the effect of its loss upon
the miserable old Jew, who was responsi
ble. Even the sympathetlb carpenter
slunk into the back premises, leaving his
wretched master alone to face, the loss
which threatened to overwhelm him.
* It was a dingy little chamber, full of dust
and cobwebs; yet an plmost priceless treas
tire had been taken out of it. Old Cohen
was accustomed to work here hints- If.
V and the signs of his occupation lay seat
» tered about. He was not only a skillful
r restorer, but an accurate judge of old
. canvasses, and rnmny rich people pre
ft forced to trust to him rather than to pic
ture dealers in a large way of business,
for, bit by bit, they had found out that
no one could conclude a bargain so well
as Old Co., and no one else knew so well
when a bargain was worth concluding.
He was of undoubted Integrity In nil such
transactions, though being a Jew, the
renutation of a grasping nature had natu
rally fallen upon him, and some would
have It that- during all the years he had
passed a diligent but almost sordid exis
tence he had been amassing wealth in
•ecret.
People were always a little afraid of
him, and as he pottered about in the dirty
little shop downstairs among his curious,
his hawk-like eyes suddenly raised to some
inquisitive loiterer at, the window would
cause the latter to flee. Even street ur
chins lost some of their audacity when
that glance was turned upon them and the
chanted allusion to Nebuchadnezzar popu
lar In the neighborhood, died upon their
lips, even when they had put t*helr impu
dent heads Inside the door, no as to recite
under his nose the narrative about
that potentate selling his wife for a pair
of shoes.
It was whispered round about that this
allusion was peculiarly painful to Old Co.,
as according to tradition, he had himself
once had a young and beautiful wife,
though what bad become of her no one
knew. Very little, Indeed, was known of
his domestic history. He had been living
In this dark, narrow Street, where the
windows were nevor cleaned, so long that
he had become as much a part of It as
the patches of decayed plaster falling
from the walls, and people ceased to spec
ulate whether ho had himself ever been
young H« seemed somehow to have been
specially created out of the shadow of
the past to preside over relics of bygone
days, to move among the dusky memories
of what had been, and to renew the splen
dors that canto from the vanished hand
of some old master.
Ho held no Intercourse with the dull,
common mass of inhabitants in his neigh
borhood. though his manner of living was
M poverty-stricken as their own, but ti
tled and wealthy connoisseurs sought him
out and wore struck by the brilliant orig
inality of a mind choosing to remain in
the obscurity of this wretched street,
and resisting all their efforts of patronage
or kindness, to endeavor to remove its
possessor to a more congenial sphere.
It might have appeared at first sight as
■ If it was hardly safe for thia solitary old
man to live In such a place, considering
the valuable nature of the property he
dealt in, but hr was no fool, and hud taken
ample precautions, and the trust he plac
ed In tn® honesty of the population had
t never yet bwn shaken. They were too
Stupid to be thieves, hr would stay, with a
shrug of his lean shoulders expressive of
contempt, and. Indeed, most of them look
ed upon the contents of this musty old
ahop au» so much rubbish only tit to be
thrown on th® dust heap, and which none
but a cracked-brain jew would dream of
hoarding.
He stood In front of the empty frame n
hmg time after those ho had summoned on
the discovery of his loss had gone their
various ways, and his sallow face was
puckenxl with thought
Then all at once he began to bestir him
self among his paints and varnishes as If
to commence hit* occupation for the day.
The light from a single high window fell
with Intensity upon his bent back, cover
ed now with tut ancient cashmere dress
ing gown, frayed and torn at the eoges.
and upon the st«are grizzled locks strag
gling from beneath what had once been a
highly ornate smoking-cap. AH around him
were sombre brown shadows into the !
depths of which he dived every row and j
again, grunting with dissnusfaciion If he
failed immediately to lay tua .hands on 1
w X /OX jw
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I I B I -WgSF
EM ml kJ wl ifcfr A»e . Ba ..ft M !! J dXe—Or If La
<s EQ R G 1
J THE MORNING NEWS, )
) Established 1850. - - Incorporated • 1888. >
J. H. ESTILL. President. ” J
I what he wanted. An easel of heavy pro-
I portions stood in the highest light, and
I it was on that The Madonna of the Sepul
chre was tp have been placed for certain
i restorations before being delivered over
to its recent purchaser. The old man
moved the easel testily out of his way, as
if the recollection annoyed him, and drag
ging out a smaller one from where it lean
ed against the wall, proceeded to place a
very fair copy of a Greutz upon it.
"Not genuine, not genuine,” he mutter
ed, with some contempt, after tapping and
turning the canvas about in his hands,
while he held it this way and that to peer
more closely into the painter’s technique.
“What fools these country people are;
they hoard things in their galleries for
generations, and each one believes the
tradition his predecessor hands down to
him, without ever having the sense to as
certain the truth. A Greutz indeed! Even
he would turn in his grave at having such
a thing attributed to him. Ah, well, I
must clean it, I suppose, and make it
shine like a new kettle. It is wonderful
how such a crust could settle-on it in the
time,” and Old Co. drew his lipi up until
his nose looked longer ahd more pro
nounced than ever. - y'
He went on doggedly with hist work
keeping his ears open all the while fur a-hy
signs of movement in the shdp. It was
quiet enough at present, but he dreaded
an invasion of newspaper reporters aaid
interviewers, so soon as his loss had been
noised abroad, which it could not fail
to be in a little time. His mind seemed
soothed and composed under influence of
his dally habits, however, and the old
man who had grasped the air was quite
another being to the practical Individual
who roasted his own potatoes over a hand
ful of scanty fuel, and who grudged ev
ery moment of preciotis daylight as he
diligently scraped away at the counterfeit
Greutz.
The somber shadows deepened, closing
gradually round the old man as he sat
perched on his high stool. They came
creeping nearer and nearer, like the walls
of that diabolically constructed dungeon
are said to have done round some mis
erable victim of the inquisition. Yet he
presovered at his task till the ‘wreathed
smile on the pictured face became phan
tom-like. There was a. beckoning air in
the backward inclination of the head,
o, d man ' s fingers faltered. He
raised his eyes stealthily and let them
travel round the gloom, then slid from
nIH perch and stood Irresolute. The shad
ows darkened and thickened. He breath
ed in short snorting kind of gasps, as if
the atmosphere had become too confined.
A corner of the gilt frame hanging empty
on the opposite wall gleamed at him like
?i n ? yo fu of triumphant malice, and at
tnat moment a voice sounded shrilly in
the deserted street.
"Mysterious theft of a well known plc
tu^! oss of the celebrated Ma-don-ner!”
The Jew shook from head to foot as he
listened, for this was the notoriety he
had expected.
m , n -
. Twp hours later the shop door was burst
impetuously open and a slim, well-dressed
youth stood on the threshold shading his
eyes in the solitary habit of light, from
the room beyond, which shot through the
and fel > on his face. Then he
made his way cautiously amid the bric-a
brac, . _
< P rle t 5 in answer to a surly
growl. “It is Reuben.”
"Who told you to come?” snarled Old
Co., standing in the doorway of his work
room from whence he surveyed his visitor
w Jll anything but an inviting air.
No one told me to come,” faltered the
youth.
“Then go back to your rich relations, as
your mother did before you .and don’t
trouble me again,” the Jew said, harsh-
"Is it true?” whispered the lad, com
ing nearer.
"Is what true?”
.J.T he . y , say you wHI have to pay for
this picture, and it will be ruin for a
man in your way of business.”
' Ah, they say that, do they?”
Yes, yes, and I came here because
desperate” d y ° U mlght do something
The old Jew did not answer for a mo
ment. It may be that some fiber less
tough than others in his nature was
touched for he stepped backwards be
neath the swinging lamp, his lean hands
folded and gazed thoughtfully at the
beautiful boyish countenance, with its
touch of eager compassion In the parted
"PPa'pi preamy eyes. In that light and
with that expression, it was a head such
as Raphael himself might have painted
for a youthful St. John, and, the pictorial
instinct uppermost, IsaAc Cohen first im
pressed him with that idea, then began
vaguely to reckon how much such a pic
ture would be worth. But these were only
fleeting confused tricks of though which
arose from habit; underneath them all
lay something that angered him. while it
set all the pulses in his body quivering,
for he both longed to strain Reuben to
his breast and at the same time to cruelly
repulse him.
Seeing some traces of this agitation,
without rightly divining its cause, Reuben
approached and seized both the withered
hands in his own in an impulsive out
burst of boyish affection.
“Let me live for you—let me work for
you,” he exclaimed.
To his astonishment, the old man shook
him off as if he had been some poison
ous reptile, and stood motioning him to
go with a vehement gesture more elo
quent than speech.
"Oh. why do you hate me so?" cried the
lad, instinctively cowering for an instant
beneath that malignant glance. “Why do
you look at me as if you would kill me?”
"Go-go instantly, <T>efore I do.”
Reuben cast a look of terrified appeal
round the room, and his eye encountered
the empty frame hanging on the wall.
Then the fear died out of him. and he
turned with a sigh of compassion toward
the strange demented figure in the tat
tered gown, which still stood in a men
acing attitude before him.
"Father!”
The word came like a whisper from
some forgotten paradise, like an echo
heard ffi a dream, or like some strain of
music floating back from bygone days, and
Old Co. trembled at the sound.
“Father,” continued the other eagerly
seeing the advantage he had gained. "For
years I dreamt of you and wondered what
| you were like. Oh, how often I have
cried because they said you were harsh
and cruel, and hated the sight of your
only child. They told me how my mother
‘ an orphan girl, was married to you against
‘ her will, and how she ran away from you
to her brother and took me with her, so
| that never again did either of us cross
your threshold. In spite of all this, I
, longed to see my father, and one day
they brought me to this place and told
i you I was your son!”
“And hers,” hissed the Jew. angrily
( and he spat upon the ground. "Her face’
! her voice, her touch.” he shuddered.
“Yes. my poor girl-mother! She is dead,”
said the hoy. with tears quivering in his
■ voice and eyes. "God knows whether
I your treatment shortened her life, but I—
your son—offer to come back, to leave
the rich unde who Is kind to me, and
to bo the prop stay of your old age
j When ! heard of the misfortune which
has befallen yon I resolved to come.”
he concluded, with a grave dignity be
yond his yean*.
Old Co. took two or three paces about
I the room, his head sunk on his breast,
j and his arms hanging loosely at his sides.
| He shuffled rather than walked In felt slip
pers, which made no noise, and to Reu-
I ben. who was accustomed to the well
groomed appearance of th* portly Jew, his
uncle, in hi* luxurious surroundings, this
I mean, bent figure, slipping furtively about,
I had something repulsive,
I All the horror which his youthful mother
must have felt for such a husband sick-
ened in the boy’s soul. He felt almost
as if her spirit possessed him, and he was
living over again the suffering she must
have endured. Still he did not waver in
his resolution.
“Does this place attract you?”
The question was so sudden that Reu
ben started. His father was watching him
keenly, with the skin of his face drawn
up in that disagreeable, sneering grin pe
culiar to him.
"No, but I could live here.”
“And what would you do?”
“The same work as yours, if you would
teach me, ansl-and I could mind the
shop,” said Reuben sweetly, but he sighed
as if relinquishing some cherished dream.
"Hein! So you could turn yourself into
a counter-jumper. You, with your airs
of a young lord, and your superfine Eng
lish education. What do you know about
pictures?”
Old Co. tweaked his own nose derisively
with a thumb and forefinger, making a
sound that passed with him for laughter.
"I am—l was to have been an artist,”
cried the boy, quickly.
"So your uncle has chosen that career
for you?” sneered his father. “I suppose
he thinks he will make you an artist be
cause it is fashionable,” and again he emit
ted that unpleasant cackle without moving
a, mtisclc. a*
“Only God makes artists,” answered
Reuben, with,, one of those radiant looks
which transfigured his countenance into
the angelicism of the old painters.
» Again his father marked and appreciat
ed his beauty, but he turned aw’ay with
the fierce gesture of a madman.
“The devil makes thieves,” he broke out
all at once. "Do you hear that, boy?
Your uncle hates me. I believe he has sent
you here as a spy—a spy!”
• His anger seemd to choke him, but he
seized his son’s arm with a grip that made
him feel sick and faint.
is. a.plot to ruin me. There is the
framer but where is the canvas that w - as
in it, and* worth fifteen thousand—fifteen
thousand—a fortune? Where is it? Gone,
gone, gone!” He paused a moment and
looked round draftily. “There have been
thieves, or a thief. The picture is cut
clean out. A boy might do that with a
penknife.”
"Yes,” said Reuben, fearfully, for the
old man still held him as in a vice, and
his voice had taken a sinister tone of ac
cusation.
“That picture of the famous Madonna
of the Sepulchre, was hanging there the
other day, when your uncle brought you
here under the pretence of a wish to see
your—father.”
The boy glanced upward for a moment,
and nodded.
“It is a plot,” hissed the Jew, “and you
are the tool—the instrument— the thief.
Go! Go instantly, lest you be taken by the
police before my eyes.”
Before he could make any but a horri
fied exclamation Old Co. had shoved him
through the shop out into the darkness
and closed the door upon his son.
Reuben stood for a moment stupefied,
then, with the cry of a wounded animal,
he fled down the narrow street.
HI. ,
The affair of the missing Madonna cre
ated a great stir in the art world for a
certain period, and then, as no clue to its
whereabouts could be traced, the story
drifted into a kind of legendary lore.
It was years ago now since the dingy
shop had become at one and the same
time notorious and vacant. On the morn
ing after he had thrust his son into the
street, people noticed that Old Co. failed
to have his shutters taken down at the
usual hour. At first this circumstance
only gave rise to a few comments, for
Jarvis, the handy-man, was known to
have taken his dismissal the day before,
but as a whole weelj brepf on the neigh
borhood going - J®... the
same siilttVess way as Usual, round its
curiosity stirred at last to something bor
dering on a pitch of frantic excitement.
When the police appeared upon the scene
local Interest had centered itself. A
large crowd already blocked the thor
oughfare, and stood agape for details
of a more or less blood-curdling nature.
All sorts of surmises were abroad, the
least sensational of which was the sup
position that Old Co. had put an end
to himself in despair at making good the
loss of the picture, but others would have
it that a sanguinary murder had taken
place on the spot, and by the perpertra
tors of the first crime. Men, women and
children now surged tfhd swayed, a com
pact mass of struggling eagerness, to get
the first glimpse of this supposed tragedy.
An imaginative spectator might have seen
in them a pack of wolves transformed
into human shapes, ready to burst in and
devour the inhospitable Jew, who had so
often driven them from this very door,
and of whom they had hitherto lived in
fear, not untempered by superstition.
Something like a roar of exasperation was
given vent to by the crowd, therefore,
when they were forced back by the po
lice. while a couple of officials made their
way into the house.
Within all was dark and silent, and the
men proceeded cautiously to let in a little
light, for they expected every moment to
stumble either over or upon a dead body.
Everywhere was left exactly as it had
been except that in one corner of the
inner room a case stood ready packed
and directed to some country seat in a
Midland county. On opening it -was found
to contain the spurious Greutz “restored”
and ready to be returned to its ow’ner,
but of old Co. himself there was nothing
to be seen. He had vanished as complete
ly as the Madonna, which the outside
world was just then making a pother over,
and whose frakne still hung upon the
wall. Every nook and cranny of the house
was searched in vain—the Jew was gone.
When the mob heard that neither mur
der nor suicide had been committed in
this dingy abode to complete a curious
tale and invest a commonplace district
with tragic dignity, the news dispersed
them like a sleety rain, sullenly to their
homes. They could almost picture the old
man’s grin at thus baulking them of a
sensations, and as the house stood silent
and empty for years after this, it came
to be an undefined belief In the neighbor
hood that some sort of ghost of the once
familiar figure inhabiting it. still pervad
ed the place and chuckled incessantly at
I his own bodily disappearance.
Reuben’s uncle came forward to claim
what property there was in the name of
Isaac Cohen's son, but it was found that
either by accident or design, Old Co. had
managed to dispose of his valuables and
only left such objects behind, the sale
of which just sufficed to pay the rent
and one or two small debts owing. His
reputation for honesty remained untar
nished, though the claim for the great
picture was still in abeyance.
Meanwhile the boy, to whom his father’s
mad accusation had been like a sudden
thrust of a knife, as he shut him out
into the darkness, had grown and pros
pered. He was now a Handsome young
artist, whose amiability and talents won
for him an entree into the best society,
and few would have looked for his origin
in the dilapidated dwelling of an obscure
by-street. out of which he had been con
tumeliously driven.
In the year 18— Reuben Cohen deter
mined to take up his abode in Paris. His
studies there and elsewhere on the conti
nent had resulted in his gaining the Prix
d' Honneur at the salon, at an usually
earlv age. and the enthusiasm called forth
by bls picture led him to resolve he could
nowhere else be so appreciated nor so
happy as in that capital.
He was strolling through the exhibition
one afternoon, with a critical glance here
and there, as something arrested his at
tention among Ihe acres of canvas dis
played upon the walls, when he found him
self unexpectedly in the same room with
his own painting. A sort of natural mod- !
esty made him draw back on perceiving
the spectators clustered in front of his
, work, which bore its blushing honors in
scribed on a brass tablet fixed upon the
frame, but the next instant his eye had
caught that of a bent and shabby figure,
eagerly pushing its way among the crowd.
Instantly Reuben felt himself back
| among the dusty bric-a-brac of the little
shop. His fame had vanished. He was no
longer the successful genius, but the re
pulsed and tender-hearted boy whose sen
sibilities had been cut to the quick.
As one in a dream, the artist approached
his own picture, and heard the remon-
SAVANNAH, THURSDAY, MARCH 12, 1896.
- 7
strances addresrffed to the strange figure
elbowing Its way.
“Tiens!” cried a voice, “C’est le Jpiff
errant. Il est ala haffe le pauvre homme!”
A good humored laugh greeted this sally
and room was made; while Reuben stole
to the edge of the crowd to watch the old
man’s face. A long, white beard drooped
upon his breast and concealed the greater
part of his features. He looked so vener
able, so picturesque, that at first the
painter felt himself deceived. This was
some model from the studios who had im
bibed a taste for art; not the lean, sus
picious, and repulsive personage who had
accused his own son of being the tool and
accomplice of a crime. A feeling of relief
accompanied this hasty conviction, but
all at once the Jew, who had now obtained
a good place, raised his eyes with the
quick, stealthy, yet penetrating glance
which in earlier years had filled the boy’s
soul with repugnance. The glance, how
ever, rested on, the picture, coldly at first,
then critically. It scanned every detail,
it took in every effect, both broad and
minute. It was pitiless, severe, terrible,
Reuben felt, .
The winner of the P»-ix d’ * Honneur
stood aside, humbly waiting for a verdict
which seemed somehow to hold his future
fate in the balance.* To anyone else the
situation would have appeared absurd,
for already the world had stamped his
work with its approbation; yet a horri
ble conviction seized the painter’s mind
that in this figure, snuffling up and down
from length to length of his canvas, lay
the power of either e&alting or paralyzing
forever any genius £e might possess.
“Ferme! on fermer’
It was the voice ®f the official already
announcing that closing time had ar
rived. The cry w r as repeated in every
room by the special guardian of each, and
the lingering visitors driven irresistibly
forward as the gens d’armes formed a
sort of cordon,behind them.
Only the oldWew remained impassive
still, seeing he .’did not hear, an official
touched him ofi the arm. With a start
of horr&r, he drew himself away, the tri
umph gleaming in his eyes dashed by a
look of fear as jje caught sight of the uni
form. The furtive, hunted expression of
some by-gone ancestor flickered over the
wrinkled face for an instant; then he
pointed with a trembling finger to the
Prix d’Honneur.
“Do you see that?” he exclaimed,
shrilly. “It is painted by my son. There
is genius, I tell you, and it is painted by
my son!”
“Allons, monsieur,” said the gendarme,
briefly, at the same time giving him a
gentle push to clear the way.
Reuben sprang to his side and saved
his father from falling.
Old Co. was evidently weak from age
and over-excitemept. He accepted the
support and allowed himself to be drag
ged away. Once out in the open air some
•of- his former strength and asperity re
turned. **•
“I can walk,’ he muttered, withdrawing
his arm. “You will get nothing by dog
ging the footsteps of a poor man like
me. Go youMways and leave me to mine.”
"No, no,” said Reuben, firmly. "I am
your son. took at me as you did at my
work just now, and see if you do not rec
ognize some feature of the lad you acted
so cruelly towards that—that evening long
age ?” •
Even now at five-and-twenty years of
age his voice fatered at the allusion, but
he was surprised to see how his father
cowered before him, and trembled as if
with guilt.
“Ah, you have come back to taunt and
torment me—come back with your moth
er’s face and eyes. Can you not leave me
to die in peace?” cried the old man, al
most piteously.
“Where have you been all these years?
We sought for and then concluded
you were dead?Jitnoea interrupted, with
a mixture of wonder and pity as he stood
looking down at.the strange figure.
"Been? What does it matter W'here I
have been?”
The old harsh suspicious tone returned.
"Father,” cried the young man, with all
his former impetuosity, “you need hide
no longer. I am a successful artist, and
shall be rich. I will pay the fifteen thou
sand pounds for the lost Madonna.”
A look of crafty calculation came upon
Isaac Cohen’s venerable, sensitive coun
tenance.
“Fifteen thousand. It Is worth more
than that now,” he said, shaking his head.
“Well, heaven knows I will toil all my
life to pay for it, even if it ras risen to
the hopeless amount of a national debt,”
exclaimed his son. "Anything rather than
leave a stain resting on my father's hon
or.”
Reuben threw his head back proudly as
he spoke. He still possessed a good deal
of the beauty which had distinguished
him in early youth, though some of its
radiancy had been subdued by the
strength of manhood, and Old Co. shud
dered in his presence as in that of arch
angel sent to sum up the pettiness of his
deeds.
“Come with me,” he whispered “I have
something to tell you, but not here—not
here.”
Reuben followed him in silence, won
dering.
They left the wide, handsome streets
and crowded boulevards, where two or
three acquaintances stared to see the
painter so bent on pursuing what looked
like an ordinary professional model, with
hooked nose and white beard for attrac
tions. The old man walked faster than
anyone would have Imagined possible
from his aged appearance, and Reuben
stepped briskly, fearful at every moment
that he would vanish from sight in the
dingy purlieus they had now entered. It
was dusk, almost dark, in those narrow
wavs, which seemed stifling to one unac
customed to their atmosphere. At an
other time, Reuben’s eye might have found
picturesque details to arrest it in this old
forgotten part of the great city, but as
he hurried on after the shadowy figure
forever flitting in front of him, he was
only conscious of a vague uneasiness, and
that far away above the houses the young
Mav moon was sending silver shafts of
light upon the squalor through which
thev threaded their way.
Suddenly Old Co. turned to make sure
that his son had done his bidding, for
he had peremptorily desired him to keep
a certain distance behind. He nodded
his head toward a delipidated building,
and In another moment it seemed to have
swallowed him in the cavernous jaws of
what had once been an imposing entrance
but what now yawned like the toothless
mouth of some huge monster. Reuben
shuddered as he plunged after him. for
his nervous, fanciful temperament made
him keenly alive to impressions. He
stumbled as best he could up the filthy
stairway, led by the sound of his father s
shuffling activity, for Isaac Cohen seemed
gifted with the instinct of some noc
turnal animal.
It was like a dream of purgatory to the
younger man. All the light-hearted joy
of his existence had vanished, and when
at last he stood within the sordid hiding
place his father had chosen for himself
Rueben shrank back appaled at the mis
ery it revealed.
"Ah!” he exclaimed, "and I have been
living in luxury all this time.”
“You are a great painter.” murmured
the old man. as he turned up a small
oil lamp he had lit, and which smelt
abominably; but he paid no heed to the
compassionate words or looks of this son
whose tender nature was so incompre
hensible to his own.
“Have you enough to eat? How do you
live?” cried Rueben, catching hold of his
ragged sleeve.
"Good heavens, to think you should
starve for the sake of a cursed picture
that was taken away by some mean thief
to whom it can never have done any
I good.”
The old Jew plucked him sleeve awav
and paced wildly up and down, his fin
gers twisting themselves in his beard
“Yes it is a cursed picture. It has
ruined my life, shattered my peace, it
holds my soul in torments—the torments
of the damned,” he cried, hoarsely.
“Come away. then, from this horrible
place and think no more about It. Come
with me. In spite of everything, you are
my father. I am of you race, your blood
Atone to my mother’s injured spirit by
showing? some affection for her son,” said
Reuben, persuasively, holding out his
hands with one of those expressions which 1
still irradiated his features on occasions
as in his impulsive boyhood.
Old Co. stopped suddenly and looked at
the young man from beneath his brows.
“Her son!” he repeated slowly, with
bitter emphasis.
Then all at once Reuben was conscious
of a skinny hand clasping his own, and
the face of this strange parent gazing
triumphantly upon him.
“And mine!” cried Old Co. in a voice
that vibrated with intense passion. “Yes,
yes; I lay claim to the genius within you.
Her son in face, form and disposition,
but mine, all mine; in the power that
shall make you a great man.”
“Let it be so. I am content so long as
we are friends,” said Reuben, with a de
termination to humor his father’s eccen
tricities.
“Why do you not hate me as she did?”
inquired Old Co. with a vague look of
wonderment in his sunken eyes.
“Because I am sorry for you—because
you are my father.”
There was a straightforward simplicity
in all the younger painter said or did
which carried conviction even to the sus
picious mind of Isaac Cohen. He remain
ed silent for some moments, and then
turned away with a quivering, long
drawn sigh. To Reuben this sigh was the
first "sign of ordinary humanity the old
man had yet shown, and he regarded it as
a sign that his own filial devotion had not
been quite thrown away. He never could
explain, even to himself, the dual feel
ing with which this relationship inspired
him. Here was.a being whom he yearned
to honor, and yet he was so constituted
that his nature revolted from the effort.
Pity was the nearest kin to love he could
offer, but that pity was passionate pro
found, touched with self-accusing bitter
ness and mingled with a self-effacing de
sire for propitiation.
“They took him from me,” exclaimed
Old Co., with a suddenness that made
the other start. "They thought to de
stroy my share in him, but destiny and in
heritance are stronger than hate. My son
has returneddo me aften all—yes, in spite
of them,” his voice trailed off into senile
tears which dropped into his beard, and
he appeared to be addressing a dingy old
curtain hung across the end of the gar
ret.
Reuben was touched, though a painful
conviction seized him that his return was
of small avail to soften cherished ani
mosities.
“Will you leave this wretched place
with me, to-night? I can offer you luxury
compared to this,” he said, looking round
at the ragged bed, heaped up in one corner.
“What,” cried Old Co., with an angry
gesticulation advancing toward him. “You
come here to drag me out into the world,
to hold me up before the public, to be
laughed at, despised, condemned.”
“For what?” inquired Reuben, in bewil
derment.
“For living under a spell I cannot
break, for passing my life in worship of
what I hate and despise—the worship of a
woman.”
There was something in his wild energy,
as he threw both arms up, as if in writhing
protest, that prevented the younger man
from smiling at so strange a declaration.
“She lived in the Middle Ages,” con
tinued Old Co., speaking a rapid undertone
that had the effect of a prolonged hiss.
“She sat to him as model for the Ma
donna of the Sepulchre. I was the Jew
boy who sat for John the Baptist—but
that is all long ago,” he waved his hand
as if to dismiss the recollection, then
crept up to Reuben and spoke fearfully
Into his ear: “That woman has dragged
me back through the long, long centuries.
It is only for short periods I can live truly
in my own and mix with my contempor-
Q> I' 166. 1 *
"I will help to drive these fancies from
your mind.” s.aid Reuben reassuringly.
“No, no; they cannot be driven. Fancies,
you talk of what you do not understand.
Why did I—a man of fifty—marry a girl
of fifteen? Tell me that.”
He spoke now with a peculiar contempt
.uous snarl. Madness and age combined
made him truly hideous to behold, and his
eon put out both hands with a gesture of
disgust he could no longer overcome.
“It was cruel, a shameful bargain on the
part of an untrustworthy guardian to let
you have her,” he cried, boiling over with
indignation. “Never mention It to me
again.” ’
“Ah!” exclaimed Old Co., excitedly,
"your mother had the face and form of
that old witch who sat for the Madonna.
She drove me mad even when I tried to
beat it out of her. I should have killed
her for hating me while she held me in
the tolls of her beauty—but,” he paused,
“she ran away and pretended to be dead.’
“What do you mean?”
A sudden hope throbbed in his son’s
heart. Could it be possible the mother he
had adored in infancy was about to be
restored in some eccentric way to him
after all these years.
“She is dead,” he said, mournfully, af
ter a second turning his head away.
When he looked around again Old Co.
had withdrawn the curtain at the end
of the room and stood pointing exulting
ly at some object only dimly discernible
in the feeble light.
Reuben moved nearer horror-stricken,
his breath coming in gasps of pain. “Good
God!” he exclaimed, hoarsely, “The Ma
donna of Sepulcher.”
He snatched the lamp off the rickety
table and held it up to the canvas, ex
amining with a quick, practised eye, all
the marks of the picture’s genuineness.
Behind him his own figure cast a menac
ing shadow over half the room, and fell
like with funeral blackness on that of the
Jew, who watched him in a kind of ec
static madness of worshiping joy.
“My son, my son, and himself a painter
worthy to tread in the great footsteps,”
he muttered, rocking his body to and fro.
Meanwhile the light flared up on to the
sweet pictured face and down into Reu
ben’s own, revealing signs of that likeness
which seemed to have turned his fa&ier’s
brain, for Reuben had always closely re
sembled his girl mother. He put the lamp
down again.
“Oh, God!” he groaned, tn the bitter
ness of his spirit. "It is the lost Madonna,
and this madman, my father, is the thief.”
The old man made a timid movement
forward and laid a hand upon his arm,
but Reuben shook him off and staggered
blindly from the room.
All that night the painter wandered hag
gard and dejected through the streets.
The burden of disgrace lay heavily upon
him. It had fallen with crushing force on
to his sensitive nature, and he shrank
from the duty that lay before him.
The picture had never been lost, only
vilely secreted, and must be promptly re
stored to its legitimate owner.
Who was he? Reuben did not know;
only he felt he must search him out were
he compelled to walk barefooted through
the world. It was like the touch of a red
hot iron to think that his own name
must henceforth be smeared by connec
tion with that of the culprit. His name
which he had just considered made!
At dawn he found himself on one of the
bridges over the Seine, and a freshness in
the air that stole up from the gently ruf
fled waters brought back a certain amount
of calmness to his brain. Just as the
first yellowing streak shot across the sky,
however, an idea rushed into his mind,
which made him hold on to the parapet,
while he shivered violently wsth the fright
it had inspired. Then he made a bewild
ered attempt to retrace is steps, mutter
ing to himself.
“If I can only be in time—if I can only
be in time. Merciful heaven! grant that
I be not too late!”
Those persons who were aboard drew
aside as he passed. They shrugged their
shoulders and sighed with compassion. A
handsome man driven distracted by love
or gaming. Ah, well! the world was al
ways so! One sees strange sights in a
great city, and they fell to picturing a
fine corpse stretched on one of the tiled
slabs in the morning, while a crowd drank
in the sight with eager admiration.
Led by some strange instinct meanwhile,
Reuben found his way into the mean quar
ter he had quitted in such abhorrence.
He dashed up the narrow stairs, and
flung open the door.
Then ail at once he stood still, quite si
lent. He was in time, and yet—too late!
The great masterpiece hung there in all
its radiant beauty, lighted up by the new
ly-risen sun. which streamed tn at the
garret window, and before It lay a mo-
( WEEKLY 2-TIMES-A-WEEK $1 A YEAR 1
< 5 CENTS A COPY. I
I DAILY, $lO A YEAR. f
tionless figure, with face upturned, and
thin, yellow hand® clutching some papers
to its breast.
The Madonna of the Sepulchre was safe
from any frenzied, desire Old Co. might
have been seized with to destroy the ob
ject of his delusion. There he lay, already
stiffening under the rigid touch of the
sculptor Death, and it was with awe, his
not untempered with thankfulness, his
son knelt down to withdraw the papers
from his grasp.
He glanced almost mechanically at their
contents, and, little by littfe/ the-truth
about the missing picture dawned upon
his brain.
Henceforward Reuben Cohen would be
the sole possessor of this -coveted master
piece. There was no claim in abeyance,
for in his roundabout, secret fashion Old
Co. had purchased it fork himself.
He had stolen it from the eyes pf the
world—that alone was his crime—to gloat
over its beauty with th£ strange fanati
cism of a madman. ; 3
(The Emt) -
A MOBILE.
A Warehouse, Elevator and 3,460
Bales of Cotton Burned.
Mobile, Ala., March I..—Fire to-day de
stroyed the fertilizer warehouse and ele
vator, and the upper wharf cotton shed
belonging to the Mobile and Ohio Rail
road Company, and 3,460 bales of cotton
stored in the shed awaiting shipment to
Liverpool.
The fire started in -the midst of the
cotton;; .and spread from end to end of
the' ; <shed instantly. With great difficulty
the British steamship Corso, lying in the
slip alongside, was moved out into the
rtver. She* had 24,000 pounds of powder
and 300 barrels of petroleum on board.
The British ship Van Loo and the Brit
ish bark Killy, and the American schoon
er C. D. Hall, were rescued from the slip
adjoining the first slip on the south. The
Hall was slightly damaged.
The loss on the buildings and wharf
is about $21,000, and on the cotton about
$75,000, covered by blanket policies.
Westfield, Mass., March 11.—The Ma
sonic block, one of the principal build
ings of the town, was burned this after
noon. The total loss is about SIOO,OOO, with
$70,000 insurance. The building was owned
by Mount Monah Lodge of Masons, D. L.
Gillett and Col. J. A. Lakin. t
LAVIGNE TOO MUCH FOR M’AULIFFE
The Latter Out of Condition for the
' Bout.
New York, March 11.—After a long ab
sence from the roped arena Jack McAu
liffe appeared to-night in a six-round bout
with Kid Lavigne at Madison Square
Garden. At times the light-weight cham
pion showed some of his old-time quick
ness and cleverness, but he was in no
condition to antagonize the Kid, who had
the best of the argument. McAuliffe’s
poor condition was telling on him fast,
and he was nearly out when the police
stopped the bout.
Owing to the action of the authorities
no referee was appointed, and the men
sparred for a popular verdict.
McAuliffe held a warm place in the
hearts of the spectators because of his
previous reputation, but there was only
one verdict possible, and that was in La
vigne’s favor. Fully 3,000 persons wit
nessed the bout, After the contest. McAu
liffe challenged lavigne to a finish fight
within ten weeks, and negotiations are
now pending.
FOUNDERED AT SEA.
A Schooner Laden With Coal Aban
doned Off Cape Henry. '
Richmond, Va., March 11.—A Newport
"News special says the crew of the schoon
er James B. Ogden, Capt. James Sum
mers, which sailed from this city last
week for Allyns Point with a cargo of
coal, were brought back last night, having
been rescued from their vessel last Fri
day just before she foundered, 260 miles
from Cape Henry. The Ogden encoun
tered terrific gales soon after passing
through the capes, and for two days she
was tossed about like a cockle shell. The
crew had a terrible experience. Eugene
Nickerson, the first mate, had one of his
legs broken during the hurricane. There
was eight feet of water in the ill-fated
schooner when she was deserted by her
crew. The foundered schooner was owned
by A. C. Newberry and others, of New
York.
A CLOTHING FIRM FAILS.
The Liabilities Between $300,000 and
$400,000.
Rochester, N. Y., March 11.—The assign
ment of the firm of Rothschild, Baum &
Stern, one of the largest wholesale cloth
ing firms In this city, was filed to-day.
The liabilities are between $300,000 and
$400,000, with no preferred creditors. The
failure was a great surprise to business
men, who had regarded the firm as one
of the staunchest in the city.
The firm possessed ample means and en
joyed unquestionable credit until recently.
Last summer they took an Interest in a
large retail incorporated clothing concern
in Chicago, which was their debtor to a
considerable amount The retail busi
ness generally in Chicago was unprofita
ble last year, and their establishment,
"The Sterling,” was among the heavy
losers.
ATKINSON IN THE SENATE.
The Governor Later On Starts for
Port Royal.
Washington, March 11.—Gov. Atkinson
of Georgia was on the floor of the Senate
to-day for a short time. The governor is
here with his young son,who is making his
first visit to Washington. He will leave for
home to-night, going by the way of Port
Royal to witness the docking of the bat
tleship Indiana.
Gov. Atkinson lunched with Senator Ba
con and Senator Vest of Missouri and
afterward listened to Senator Turpies
masterly speech in the Dupont contested
election case. The governor says he likes
the House much better than the Senate
and if he had congressional aspirations he
would prefer the rustle and bustle of the
House.
A NEW BANKING LAW.
The Hoose Committee on Banking tn
Draw It Up.
Washington, March 11.—The House com
mittee on banking and currency to-day
voted to proceed immediately to the for
mulation of a general banking bill to be
presented to the House, and to meet Mon
days and Wednesdays until such a bill is
reported. The general banking bills drawn
by members of the committee will be
first considered and disposed of in order.
CONVENTION OF THE BANKERS.
St. Louis the Place and Sept. 22, 23,
24 the Dates Fixed Upon.
New York, March 11—The executive
council of the American Bankers’ Asso
ciation, at its meeting here to-day, se
lected St. Louis as the place for holding
the annual convention of the association
this year and Sept. 22, 23 and 24 as the
time. Duluth, Springfield, 111., and San
Antonio, Tex., were among the contest
ants for the convention.
MONDAYS
“And
THURSDAYS
HALL COMING TO HELP HOKE.
A NEW TURN IN THE SENATOR-
SHIP FIGHT IN GEORGIA.
The Story Brought Out by Judge
Hall’s Resignation as Assistant At
torney General for the Interior
Department—All the Influence of
the Southern Heretofore Used in
the Interest of ex-Speaker Crisp
Through General Counsel Albert
Howell of Atlanta.
"Washington, March 11. —Judge J. T. Hall,
assistant attorney general for the depart
ment of the interior, ha.s tendered his
resignation to Secretary Hoke -Smith, to
take effect March 15 next. Judge Hall is
a Georgian, and will return to that state
to take the position of general attorney
for the Georgia Southern and Florida
railroad. It is rumored around the de
partment that Judge Hall will use his
influence with the road in behalf of Sec
retary Hoke Smith in the senatorial con
test, in which ex-i Speaker Crisp will be an
active candidate.
Atlanta, Ga., March 11.—There is an In
teresting story back of the resignation of
Mr. Hall. As is w"ell known, a contest is
likely to ensue between ex-Speaker Crisp
and Secretary Smith for senatorial hon
ors. It so happens that the general coun
sel of the Southern "railway system is
Albert Howell, son of Eva.n P. Howell of
the Atlanta Constitution, both of whom
are favorable to Mr. Crisp’s candidacy,
in fact, Secretary Smith has had occa
sion to' complain to the head of the syndi
cate, which owns the Southern railway
system, that the influence of that road
in Georgia Was being devoted entirely to
Mr. Crisp’s advantage. The Georgia
Southern and Florida system has passed,
into the control of the Southern, although .
it is still being operated under its old
name. When Mr. Hall enters it as general
counsel, as he will do on the 15th, the two
divisions of the Southern will represent
both political factions in the slate of
Georgia, and Secretary Smith will have
a railroad friend whose influence will
neutralize and equalize the advantage
hitherto enjoyed by Mir. Crisp’s friends
alone. Thus the secretary is pleased that
the railroad makes itself solid all around
and Mr. Hall gets a good position. There
is, therefore, once more plenty of blue sky
in the Georgia political heavens.
It is stated that information regarding
Judge Hall’s appointment to the position
of general counsel for the Georgia South
ern and Florida has been zealously kept
secret on account of the fact that he had
not yet formally acepted it. The only
people who knew of it were Secretary
Smith and the railroad magnates, who fig
ure in the transaction. On account of the
precautionary measures for keeping the
matter from the public it is believed that
the information upon which,the Wash
ington item was based was sent out from
Atlanta last night and it is intimated that
the “leaking” was done through the of
fice of Dorsey, Brewster & Howell, local
counsel for the Southern here, who had
information of the proposed appointment.
The Southern’s managers are reported as
being very angry at the "leaking,” as well
as at the political significance attached
to' the appointment, and predictions of a
sever shaking up when the responsibility
for th® story ! fixed art* freely .wk- '
The story show’s on the face of K that
it was used for the purpose of injuring
Secretary Smith’s senatorial prospects
and queering the Southern in
a political way with the public. The
southern has been trying to keep out of
politics altogether, and the dragging of
the big system into the senatorial fight by
Senator Crisp’s friends may have very dif
ferent results from what they expected.
CoE W. A. Little of Columbus, it is un
derstood, has been urged for appointment
to succeed Judge Hall in the interior de
partment.
Col. W. C. Glenn of this city, has also
been suggested to Secretary Smith for
the place. Telegrams urging his appoint
ment were sent to Secretary Smith to-day
by the judges of the supreme court, Judge
Newman of the United States court, Unit
ed States Marshal Dunlap, Collector
Tramwell, and all the state house officers
except the governor and attorney general,
who are out of the city.
CONEY AND THE REFORM CRANKS.
Only Fourteen Persons Present at
the Pittsburg; Conference.
Pittsburg, Pa., March 11.—The confer
ence of persons here seeking to form a
new party for all kinds of reforms held
three sessions to-day. The deliberations
resulted in a general understanding that
the movement would be christened the Na
tional reform party, at the concluding
session to-morrow.
When the morning session opened there
were fourteen persons present, the most
talkative of whom was J. 8. Coxey of
Missillon, O. He made an address in which
he kindly invited all the reform parties
to get together and agree upon what
was wanted and then make national nom
inations.
An address by Gideon T. Stewart of
Ohio on prohibition was read, together
with a letter from William Cobb, a Min
nesota prohibitionist. Then the fourteen
got into a discussion on the tariff which
lasted until the fifteenth man, Rev. J. C.
Elliott of Akron, 0., arrived. He advo
cated free silver and was frequently In
terrupted, once having a spirited debate
with Coxey.
Edward Evans, a banker of Towanda,
Pa., took issue with Coxey and Rev. Mr.
Elliott. Mr. Evans wanted the govern
ment to issue more money and spend one
billion dollars in needful public improve
ments.
D. P. McLean of Nova Scotia closed the
afternoon, with a tirade against the
churches and press.
The evening session was attended by
about the same people, and several ad
dresses were made.
CENTRAL’S ATLANTA PROPERTY.
Nine Hundred Acres Bought In at
$40,000 for the Company.
Atlanta, Ga., March 11.—Another batch
of the overflow property of the Central
Railroad Company was sold by Special
Commlsisoner Leakefi before the court
house door to-day. It consisted of about
!»' acres lying between East Point and
West End, and comprising part of the
right-of-way of the road between those
points. The property was bid in by At
torney Alexander for Messrs. Thomas and
Ryan at $40,000.
TRIAL OF THE MONADNOCK.
The Vessel Makes 11% Knots and Be
haves Admirably.
San Francisco, March 11.—The monitor
Monadnock has come in from her sea
trial. She made 11% knots and behaved
admirably. The officers who came on
from the east were pleased. The comman
der is quoted as saying: "The vessel is
a perfect type of its class and deserves
to be called the pride of the navy.” The
machinery worked without a hitch and
the vessel proved to be a good sea boat.
John g. Hoey Dead.
New York, March 11.—John S. Hoey, the
well known sportsman and referee, died at
Long Branch this afternoon of heart trou
ble, following a severe attack of the grip.
Death was sudden and unexpected, as Mr.
Hoey appeared to be rapidly ffecovering.
NO 21.