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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Struggle For Life, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Struggle For Life
+
+Author: Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+
+Release Date: November 6, 2007 [EBook #23356]
+Last Updated: March 3, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.
+
+By Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+
+Boston And New York Houghton Mifflin Company
+
+Copyright, 1873, 1885, and 1901
+
+
+One morning as I was passing through Boston Common, which lies between
+my home and my office, I met a gentleman lounging along The Mall. I
+am generally preoccupied when walking, and often thread my way through
+crowded streets without distinctly observing any one. But this man's
+face forced itself upon me, and a singular face it was. His eyes were
+faded, and his hair, which he wore long, was flecked with gray. His hair
+and eyes, if I may say so, were sixty years old, the rest of him not
+thirty. The youthfulness of his figure, the elasticity of his gait, and
+the venerable appearance of his head were incongruities that drew more
+than one pair of curious eyes towards him, He excited in me the painful
+suspicion that he had got either somebody else's head or somebody else's
+body. He was evidently an American, at least so far as the upper part
+of him was concerned--the New England cut of countenance is
+unmistakable--evidently a man who had seen something of the world, but
+strangely young and old.
+
+Before reaching the Park Street gate, I had taken up the thread of
+thought which he had unconsciously broken; yet throughout the day this
+old young man, with his unwrinkled brow and silvered locks, glided in
+like a phantom between me and my duties.
+
+The next morning I again encountered him on The Mall. He was resting
+lazily on the green rails, watching two little sloops in distress, which
+two ragged ship-owners had consigned to the mimic perils of the Pond.
+The vessels lay becalmed in the middle of the ocean, displaying a
+tantalizing lack of sympathy with the frantic helplessness of the owners
+on shore. As the gentleman observed their dilemma, a light came into his
+faded eyes, then died out leaving them drearier than before. I wondered
+if he, too, in his time, had sent out ships that drifted and drifted and
+never came to port; and if these poor toys were to him types of his own
+losses.
+
+“That man has a story, and I should like to know it,” I said, half
+aloud, halting in one of those winding paths which branch off from
+the pastoral quietness of the Pond, and end in the rush and tumult of
+Tremont Street.
+
+“Would you?” exclaimed a voice at my side. I turned and faced Mr.
+H------, a neighbor of mine, who laughed heartily at finding me talking
+to myself. “Well,” he added, reflectingly, “I can tell you this man's
+story; and if you will match the narrative with anything as curious, I
+shall be glad to hear it.”
+
+“You know him, then?”
+
+“Yes and no. That is to say, I do not know him personally; but I know
+a singular passage in his life. I happened to be in Paris when he was
+buried.”
+
+“Buried!”
+
+“Well, strictly speaking, not buried; but something quite like it. If
+you 've a spare half hour,” continued my friend H------, “we 'll sit on
+this bench, and I will tell you all I know of an affair that made some
+noise in Paris a couple of years ago. The gentleman himself, standing
+yonder, will serve as a sort of frontispiece to the romance--a full-page
+illustration, as it were.”
+
+The following pages contain the story Which Mr. H------ related to
+me. While he was telling it, a gentle wind arose; the miniature sloops
+drifted feebly about the ocean; the wretched owners flew from point
+to point, as the deceptive breeze promised to waft the barks to either
+shore; the early robins trilled now and then from the newly fringed
+elms; and the old young man leaned on the rail in the sunshine, little
+dreaming that two gossips were discussing his affairs within twenty
+yards of him.
+
+*****
+
+Three persons were sitting in a _salon_ whose one large window
+overlooked the Place Vendôme. M. Dorine, with his back half turned on
+the other two occupants of the apartment, was reading the Journal des
+Débats in an alcove, pausing from time to time to wipe his glasses, and
+taking scrupulous pains not to glance towards the lounge at his right,
+on which were seated Mile. Dorine and a young American gentleman, whose
+handsome face rather frankly told his position in the family. There was
+not a happier man in Paris that afternoon than Philip Wentworth. Life
+had become so delicious to him that he shrunk from looking beyond
+to-day. What could the future add to his full heart, what might it not
+take away? The deepest joy has always something of melancholy in it--a
+presentiment, a fleeting sadness, a feeling without a name. Wentworth
+was conscious of this subtile shadow that night, when he rose from the
+lounge and thoughtfully held Julie's hand to his lip for a moment before
+parting. A careless observer would not have thought him, as he was, the
+happiest man in Paris.
+
+M. Dorine laid down his paper, and came forward. “If the house,” he
+said, “is such as M. Cherbonneau describes it, I advise you to close
+with him at once. I would accompany you, Philip, but the truth is, I am
+too sad at losing this little bird to assist you in selecting a cage for
+her. Remember, the last train for town leaves at five. Be sure not to
+miss it; for we have seats for Sardou's new comedy to-morrow night. By
+to-morrow night,” he added laughingly, “little Julie here will be an old
+lady--it is such an age from now until then.”
+
+The next morning the train bore Philip to one of the loveliest spots
+within thirty miles of Paris. An hour's walk through green lanes
+brought him to M. Cherbonueau's estate. In a kind of dream the young man
+wandered from room to room, inspected the conservatory, the stables, the
+lawns, the strip of woodland through which a merry brook sang to itself
+continually, and, after dining with M. Cherbonneau, completed the
+purchase, and turned his steps towards the station just in time to catch
+the express train.
+
+As Paris stretched out before him, with its lights twinkling in the
+early dusk, and its spires and domes melting into the evening air, it
+seemed to Philip as if years had elapsed since he left the city. On
+reaching Paris he drove to his hôtel, where he found several letters
+lying on the table. He did not trouble himself even to glance at their
+superscriptions as he threw aside his travelling surtout for a more
+appropriate dress.
+
+If, in his impatience to return to Mile. Dorine, the cars had appeared
+to walk, the fiacre, which he had secured at the station appeared to
+creep. At last it turned into the Place Vendôme, and drew up before M.
+Dorine's hôtel. The door opened as Philip's foot touched the first step.
+The valet silently took his cloak and hat, with a special deference,
+Philip thought; but was he not now one of the family?
+
+“M. Dorine,” said the servant slowly, “is unable to see Monsieur at
+present. He wishes Monsieur to be shown up to the salon.”
+
+“Is Mademoiselle”--
+
+“Yes, Monsieur.”
+
+“Alone?”
+
+“Alone, Monsieur,” repeated the man, looking curiously at Philip, who
+could scarcely repress an exclamation of pleasure.
+
+It was the first time that such a privilege had been accorded him.
+His interviews with Julie had always taken place in the presence of M.
+Dorine, or some member of the household. A well-bred Parisian girl has
+but a formal acquaintance with her lover.
+
+Philip did not linger on the staircase; with a light heart, he went up
+the steps, two at a time, hastened through the softly lighted hall,
+in which he detected the faint scent of her favorite flowers, and
+stealthily opened the door of the salon.
+
+The room was darkened. Underneath the chandelier stood a slim black
+casket on trestles. A lighted candle, a crucifix, and some white flowers
+were on a table near by. Julie Dorine was dead.
+
+When M. Dorine heard the sudden cry that rang through the silent house,
+he hurried from the library, and found Philip standing like a ghost in
+the middle of the chamber.
+
+It was not until long afterwards that Wentworth learned the details of
+the calamity that had befallen him. On the previous night Mile. Dorine
+had retired to her room in seemingly perfect health, and had dismissed
+her maid with a request to be awakened early the next morning. At the
+appointed hour the girl entered the chamber. Mile. Dorine was sitting in
+an arm-chair, apparently asleep. The candle in the _bougeoir_ had burnt
+down to the socket; a book lay half open on the carpet at her feet. The
+girl started when she saw that the bed had not been occupied, and that
+her mistress still wore an evening dress. She rushed to Mile. Dorine's
+side. It was not slumber; it was death.
+
+Two messages were at once despatched to Philip, one to the station at
+G------, the other to his hôtel. The first missed him on the road, the
+second he had neglected to open. On his arrival at M. Dorine's house,
+the valet, under the supposition that Wentworth had been advised of
+Mile. Dorine's death, broke the intelligence with awkward cruelty, by
+showing him directly to the salon. Mile. Dorine's wealth, her beauty,
+the suddenness of her death, and the romance that had in some way
+attached itself to her love for the young American drew crowds to
+witness the funeral ceremonies, which took place in the church in the
+Rue d'Aguesseau. The body was to be laid in M. Dorine's tomb, in the
+cemetery of Montmartre.
+
+This tomb requires a few words of description. First there was a grating
+of filigraned iron; through this you looked into a small vestibule or
+hall, at the end of which was a massive door of oak opening upon a short
+flight of stone steps descending into the tomb. The vault was fifteen
+or twenty feet square, ingeniously ventilated from the ceiling, but
+unlighted. It contained two sarcophagi: the first held the remains of
+Madame Dorine, long since dead; the other was new, and bore on one side
+the letters J. D., in monogram, interwoven with fleurs-de-lis.
+
+The funeral train stopped at the gate of the small garden that enclosed
+the place of burial, only the immediate relatives follow-ing the
+bearers into the tomb. A slender wax candle, such as is used in Catholic
+churches, burnt at the foot of the uncovered sarcophagus, casting a dim
+glow oyer the centre of the apartment, and deepening the shadows which
+seemed to huddle together in the corners. By this flickering light the
+coffin was placed in its granite shell, the heavy slab laid over it
+reverently, and the oaken door swung on its rusty hinges, shutting
+out the uncertain ray of sunshine that had ventured to peep in on the
+darkness.
+
+M. Dorine, muffled in his cloak, threw himself on the back seat of the
+landau, too abstracted in his grief to observe that he was the only
+occupant of the vehicle. There was a sound of wheels grating on the
+gravelled avenue, and then all was silence again in the cemetery of
+Montmartre. At the main entrance the carriages parted company, dashing
+off into various streets at a pace that seemed to express a sense of
+relief.
+
+The rattle of wheels had died out of the air when Philip opened his
+eyes, bewildered, like a man abruptly roused from slumber. He raised
+himself on one arm and stared into the surrounding blackness. Where
+was he? In a second the truth flashed upon him. He had been left in the
+tomb! While kneeling on the farther side of the stone box, perhaps
+he had fainted, and during the last solemn rites his absence had been
+unnoticed.
+
+His first emotion was one of natural terror. But this passed as quickly
+as it came. Life had ceased to be so very precious to him; and if it
+were his fate to die at Julie's side, was not that the fulfilment of the
+desire which he had expressed to himself a hundred times that morning?
+What did it matter, a few years sooner or later? He must lay down the
+burden at last. Why not then? A pang of self-reproach followed they
+thought. Could he so lightly throw aside the love that had bent over his
+cradle. The sacred name of mother rose involuntarily to his lips. Was
+it not cowardly to yield up without a struggle the life when he should
+guard for her sake? Was it not his duty to the living and the dead to
+face the difficulties of his position, and overcome them if it were
+within human power?
+
+With an organization as delicate as a woman's he had that spirit which,
+however sluggish in repose, leaps with a kind of exultation to measure
+its strength with disaster.
+
+The vague fear of the supernatural, that would affect most men in a
+similar situation, found no room in his heart. He was simply shut in a
+chamber from which it was necessary that he should obtain release within
+a given period. That this chamber contained the body of the woman he
+loved, so far from adding to the terror of the case, was a circumstance
+from which he drew consolation. She was a beautiful white statue now.
+Her soul was far hence; and if that pure spirit could return, would it
+not be to shield him with her love? It was impossible that the place
+should not engender some thought of the kind. He did not put the thought
+entirely from him as he rose to his feet and stretched out his hands in
+the darkness; but his mind was too healthy and practical to indulge long
+in such speculations.
+
+Philip, being a smoker, chanced to have in his pocket a box of
+_allumettes_. After several ineffectual essays, he succeeded in igniting
+one against the dank wall, and by its momentary glare perceived that the
+candle had been left in the tomb. This would serve him in examining the
+fastenings of the vault. If he could force the inner door by any means,
+and reach the grating, of which he had an indistinct recollection, he
+might hope to make himself heard. But the oaken door was immovable, as
+solid as the wall itself, into which it fitted air-tight. Even if he
+had had the requisite tools, there were no fastenings to be removed; the
+hinges were set on the outside.
+
+Having ascertained this, Philip replaced the candle on the floor, and
+leaned against the wall thoughtfully, watching the blue fan of flame
+that wavered to and fro, threatening to detach itself from the wick. “At
+all events,” he thought, “the place is ventilated.” Suddenly he sprang
+forward and extinguished the light.
+
+His existence depended on that candle! He had read somewhere, in some
+account of shipwreck, how the survivors had lived for days upon a
+few candles which one of the passengers had insanely thrown into the
+long-boat. And here he had been burning away his very life!
+
+By the transient illumination of one of the tapers, he looked at his
+watch. It had stopped at eleven--but eleven that day, or the preceding
+night? The funeral, he knew, had left the church at ten. How many hours
+had passed since then? Of what duration had been his swoon? Alas! it
+was no longer possible for him to measure those hours which crawl like
+snails by the wretched, and fly like swallows over the happy.
+
+He picked up the candle, and seated himself on the stone steps. He was
+a sanguine man, but, as he weighed the chances of escape, the prospect
+appalled him. Of course he would be missed. His disappearance under the
+circumstances would surely alarm his friends; they would institute a
+search for him; but who would think of searching for a live man in
+the cemetery of Montmartre? The préfet of police would set a hundred
+intelligences at work to find him; the Seine might be dragged, _les
+misérables_ turned over at the Morgue; a minute description of him would
+be in every detective's pocket; and he--in M. Dorine's family tomb!
+
+Yet, on the other hand, it was here, he was last seen; from this point
+a keen detective would naturally work up the case. Then might not the
+undertaker return for the candlestick, probably not left by design? Or,
+again, might not M. Dorine send fresh wreaths of flowers, to take the
+place of those which now diffused a pungent, aromatic odor throughout
+the chamber? Ah! what unlikely chances! But if one of these things did
+not happen speedily, it had better never happen. How long could he keep
+life in himself?
+
+With his pocket-knife Wentworth cut the half-burned candle into four
+equal parts. “To-night,” he meditated, “I will eat the first of these
+pieces; to-morrow, the second; to-morrow evening, the third; the next
+day, the fourth; and then--then I 'll wait!”
+
+He had taken no breakfast that morning, unless a cup of coffee can
+be called a breakfast. He had never been very hungry before. He was
+ravenously hungry now. But he postponed the meal as long as practicable.
+It must have been near midnight, according to his calculation, when he
+determined to try the first of his four singular repasts. The bit of
+white-wax was tasteless; but it served its purpose.
+
+His appetite for the time appeased, he found a new discomfort. The
+humidity of the walls, and the wind that crept through the unseen
+ventilator, chilled him to the bone. To keep walking was his only
+resource.
+
+A kind of drowsiness, too, occasionally came over him. It took all his
+will to fight it off. To sleep, he felt, was to die, and he had made up
+his mind to live.
+
+The strangest fancies flitted through his head as he groped up and down
+the stone floor of the dungeon, feeling his way along the wall to avoid
+the sepulchres. Voices that had long been silent spoke words that had
+long been forgotten; faces he had known in childhood grew palpable
+against the dark. His whole life in detail was unrolled before him like
+a panorama; the changes of a year, with its burden of love and death,
+its sweets and its bitternesses, were epitomized in a single second. The
+desire to sleep had left him, but the keen hunger came again.
+
+“It must be near morning now,” he mused; “perhaps the sun is just
+gilding the towers of Notre Dame; or, may be, a dull, drizzling rain is
+beating on Paris, sobbing on these mounds above me. Paris! it seems like
+a dream. Did I ever walk in its gay boulevards in the golden air? Oh,
+the delight and pain and passion of that sweet human life!”
+
+Philip became conscious that the gloom, the silence, and the cold were
+gradually conquering him. The feverish activity of his brain brought on
+a reaction. He grew lethargic; he sunk down on the steps, and thought
+of nothing. His hand fell by chance on one of the pieces of candle;
+he grasped it and devoured it mechanically. This revived him. “How
+strange,” he thought, “that I am not thirsty. Is it possible that
+the dampness of the walls, which I must inhale with every breath, has
+supplied the need of water? Not a drop has passed my lips for two days,
+and still I experience no thirst. That drowsiness, thank Heaven, has
+gone. I think I was never wide awake until this hour. It would be an
+anodyne like poison that could weigh down my eyelids. No doubt the dread
+of sleep has something to do with this.”
+
+The minutes were like hours. Now he walked as briskly as he dared up
+and down the tomb; now he rested against the door. More than once he was
+tempted to throw himself upon the stone coffin that held Julie, and make
+no further struggle for his life.
+
+Only one piece of candle remained. He had eaten the third portion, not
+to satisfy hunger, but from a precautionary motive he had taken it as a
+man takes some disagreeable drug upon the result of which hangs safety.
+The time was rapidly approaching when even this poor substitute for
+nourishment would be exhausted. He delayed that moment. He gave himself
+a long fast this time. The half-inch of candle which he held in his hand
+was a sacred thing to him. It was his last defence against death.
+
+Finally, with such a sinking at heart as he had not known before, he
+raised it to his lips. Then he paused, then he hurled the fragment
+across the tomb, then the oaken door was flung open, and Philip, with
+dazzled eyes, saw M. Dorine's form sharply defined against the blue sky.
+
+When they led him out, half blinded, into the broad daylight, M. Dorine
+noticed that Philip's hair, which a short time since was as black as a
+crow's wing, had actually turned gray in places. The man's eyes, too,
+had faded; the darkness had dimmed their lustre.
+
+“And how long was he really confined in the tomb?” I asked, as Mr.
+H------ concluded the story.
+
+“_Just one hour and twenty minutes!_” replied Mr. H------, smiling
+blandly.
+
+As he spoke, the Lilliputian sloops, with their sails all blown out
+like white roses, came floating bravely into port, and Philip Wentworth
+lounged by us, wearily, in the pleasant April sunshine.
+
+Mr. H------'s narrative haunted me. Here was a man who had undergone a
+strange ordeal. Here was a man whose sufferings were unique. His was no
+threadbare experience. Eighty minutes had seemed like two days to him!
+If he had really been immured two days in the tomb, the story, from my
+point of view, would have lost its tragic value.
+
+After this it was natural that I should regard Mr. Wentworth with
+stimulated curiosity. As I met him from day to day, passing through
+the Common with that same introspective air, there was something in his
+loneliness which touched me. I wondered that I had not read before
+in his pale, meditative face some such sad history as Mr. H------ had
+confided to me. I formed the resolution of speaking to him, though
+with no very lucid purpose. One morning we came face to face at the
+intersection of two paths. He halted courteously to allow me the
+precedence.
+
+“Mr. Wentworth,” I began, “I”--
+
+He interrupted me.
+
+“My name, sir,” he said, in an off-hand manner, “is Jones.”
+
+“Jo-Jo-Jones!” I gasped.
+
+“No, not Joseph Jones,” he returned, with a glacial air--“Frederick.”
+
+A dim light, in which the perfidy of my friend H------ was becoming
+discernible, began to break upon my mind.
+
+It will probably be a standing wonder to Mr. Frederick Jones why a
+strange man accosted him one morning on the Common as “Mr. Wentworth,”
+ and then dashed madly down the nearest foot-path and disappeared in the
+crowd.
+
+The fact is, I had been duped by Mr. H------, who is a gentleman
+of literary proclivities, and has, it is whispered, become somewhat
+demented in brooding over the Great American Novel--not yet hatched, He
+had actually tried the effect of one of his chapters on me!
+
+My hero, as I subsequently learned, is a commonplace young person, who
+had some connection, I know not what, with the building of that graceful
+granite bridge which spans the crooked silver lake in the Public Garden.
+
+When I think of the readiness with which Mr. H------ built up his airy
+fabric on my credulity, I feel half inclined to laugh, though I am
+deeply mortified at having been the unresisting victim of his Black Art.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's A Struggle For Life, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Struggle For Life, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Struggle For Life
+
+Author: Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+
+Release Date: November 6, 2007 [EBook #23356]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.
+
+By Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+
+Boston And New York Houghton Mifflin Company
+
+Copyright, 1873, 1885, and 1901
+
+
+One morning as I was passing through Boston Common, which lies between
+my home and my office, I met a gentleman lounging along The Mall. I
+am generally preoccupied when walking, and often thread my way through
+crowded streets without distinctly observing any one. But this man's
+face forced itself upon me, and a singular face it was. His eyes were
+faded, and his hair, which he wore long, was flecked with gray. His hair
+and eyes, if I may say so, were sixty years old, the rest of him not
+thirty. The youthfulness of his figure, the elasticity of his gait, and
+the venerable appearance of his head were incongruities that drew more
+than one pair of curious eyes towards him, He excited in me the painful
+suspicion that he had got either somebody else's head or somebody else's
+body. He was evidently an American, at least so far as the upper part
+of him was concerned--the New England cut of countenance is
+unmistakable--evidently a man who had seen something of the world, but
+strangely young and old.
+
+Before reaching the Park Street gate, I had taken up the thread of
+thought which he had unconsciously broken; yet throughout the day this
+old young man, with his unwrinkled brow and silvered locks, glided in
+like a phantom between me and my duties.
+
+The next morning I again encountered him on The Mall. He was resting
+lazily on the green rails, watching two little sloops in distress, which
+two ragged ship-owners had consigned to the mimic perils of the Pond.
+The vessels lay becalmed in the middle of the ocean, displaying a
+tantalizing lack of sympathy with the frantic helplessness of the owners
+on shore. As the gentleman observed their dilemma, a light came into his
+faded eyes, then died out leaving them drearier than before. I wondered
+if he, too, in his time, had sent out ships that drifted and drifted and
+never came to port; and if these poor toys were to him types of his own
+losses.
+
+"That man has a story, and I should like to know it," I said, half
+aloud, halting in one of those winding paths which branch off from
+the pastoral quietness of the Pond, and end in the rush and tumult of
+Tremont Street.
+
+"Would you?" exclaimed a voice at my side. I turned and faced Mr.
+H------, a neighbor of mine, who laughed heartily at finding me talking
+to myself. "Well," he added, reflectingly, "I can tell you this man's
+story; and if you will match the narrative with anything as curious, I
+shall be glad to hear it."
+
+"You know him, then?"
+
+"Yes and no. That is to say, I do not know him personally; but I know
+a singular passage in his life. I happened to be in Paris when he was
+buried."
+
+"Buried!"
+
+"Well, strictly speaking, not buried; but something quite like it. If
+you 've a spare half hour," continued my friend H------, "we 'll sit on
+this bench, and I will tell you all I know of an affair that made some
+noise in Paris a couple of years ago. The gentleman himself, standing
+yonder, will serve as a sort of frontispiece to the romance--a full-page
+illustration, as it were."
+
+The following pages contain the story Which Mr. H------ related to
+me. While he was telling it, a gentle wind arose; the miniature sloops
+drifted feebly about the ocean; the wretched owners flew from point
+to point, as the deceptive breeze promised to waft the barks to either
+shore; the early robins trilled now and then from the newly fringed
+elms; and the old young man leaned on the rail in the sunshine, little
+dreaming that two gossips were discussing his affairs within twenty
+yards of him.
+
+*****
+
+Three persons were sitting in a _salon_ whose one large window
+overlooked the Place Vend�me. M. Dorine, with his back half turned on
+the other two occupants of the apartment, was reading the Journal des
+D�bats in an alcove, pausing from time to time to wipe his glasses, and
+taking scrupulous pains not to glance towards the lounge at his right,
+on which were seated Mile. Dorine and a young American gentleman, whose
+handsome face rather frankly told his position in the family. There was
+not a happier man in Paris that afternoon than Philip Wentworth. Life
+had become so delicious to him that he shrunk from looking beyond
+to-day. What could the future add to his full heart, what might it not
+take away? The deepest joy has always something of melancholy in it--a
+presentiment, a fleeting sadness, a feeling without a name. Wentworth
+was conscious of this subtile shadow that night, when he rose from the
+lounge and thoughtfully held Julie's hand to his lip for a moment before
+parting. A careless observer would not have thought him, as he was, the
+happiest man in Paris.
+
+M. Dorine laid down his paper, and came forward. "If the house," he
+said, "is such as M. Cherbonneau describes it, I advise you to close
+with him at once. I would accompany you, Philip, but the truth is, I am
+too sad at losing this little bird to assist you in selecting a cage for
+her. Remember, the last train for town leaves at five. Be sure not to
+miss it; for we have seats for Sardou's new comedy to-morrow night. By
+to-morrow night," he added laughingly, "little Julie here will be an old
+lady--it is such an age from now until then."
+
+The next morning the train bore Philip to one of the loveliest spots
+within thirty miles of Paris. An hour's walk through green lanes
+brought him to M. Cherbonueau's estate. In a kind of dream the young man
+wandered from room to room, inspected the conservatory, the stables, the
+lawns, the strip of woodland through which a merry brook sang to itself
+continually, and, after dining with M. Cherbonneau, completed the
+purchase, and turned his steps towards the station just in time to catch
+the express train.
+
+As Paris stretched out before him, with its lights twinkling in the
+early dusk, and its spires and domes melting into the evening air, it
+seemed to Philip as if years had elapsed since he left the city. On
+reaching Paris he drove to his h�tel, where he found several letters
+lying on the table. He did not trouble himself even to glance at their
+superscriptions as he threw aside his travelling surtout for a more
+appropriate dress.
+
+If, in his impatience to return to Mile. Dorine, the cars had appeared
+to walk, the fiacre, which he had secured at the station appeared to
+creep. At last it turned into the Place Vend�me, and drew up before M.
+Dorine's h�tel. The door opened as Philip's foot touched the first step.
+The valet silently took his cloak and hat, with a special deference,
+Philip thought; but was he not now one of the family?
+
+"M. Dorine," said the servant slowly, "is unable to see Monsieur at
+present. He wishes Monsieur to be shown up to the salon."
+
+"Is Mademoiselle"--
+
+"Yes, Monsieur."
+
+"Alone?"
+
+"Alone, Monsieur," repeated the man, looking curiously at Philip, who
+could scarcely repress an exclamation of pleasure.
+
+It was the first time that such a privilege had been accorded him.
+His interviews with Julie had always taken place in the presence of M.
+Dorine, or some member of the household. A well-bred Parisian girl has
+but a formal acquaintance with her lover.
+
+Philip did not linger on the staircase; with a light heart, he went up
+the steps, two at a time, hastened through the softly lighted hall,
+in which he detected the faint scent of her favorite flowers, and
+stealthily opened the door of the salon.
+
+The room was darkened. Underneath the chandelier stood a slim black
+casket on trestles. A lighted candle, a crucifix, and some white flowers
+were on a table near by. Julie Dorine was dead.
+
+When M. Dorine heard the sudden cry that rang through the silent house,
+he hurried from the library, and found Philip standing like a ghost in
+the middle of the chamber.
+
+It was not until long afterwards that Wentworth learned the details of
+the calamity that had befallen him. On the previous night Mile. Dorine
+had retired to her room in seemingly perfect health, and had dismissed
+her maid with a request to be awakened early the next morning. At the
+appointed hour the girl entered the chamber. Mile. Dorine was sitting in
+an arm-chair, apparently asleep. The candle in the _bougeoir_ had burnt
+down to the socket; a book lay half open on the carpet at her feet. The
+girl started when she saw that the bed had not been occupied, and that
+her mistress still wore an evening dress. She rushed to Mile. Dorine's
+side. It was not slumber; it was death.
+
+Two messages were at once despatched to Philip, one to the station at
+G------, the other to his h�tel. The first missed him on the road, the
+second he had neglected to open. On his arrival at M. Dorine's house,
+the valet, under the supposition that Wentworth had been advised of
+Mile. Dorine's death, broke the intelligence with awkward cruelty, by
+showing him directly to the salon. Mile. Dorine's wealth, her beauty,
+the suddenness of her death, and the romance that had in some way
+attached itself to her love for the young American drew crowds to
+witness the funeral ceremonies, which took place in the church in the
+Rue d'Aguesseau. The body was to be laid in M. Dorine's tomb, in the
+cemetery of Montmartre.
+
+This tomb requires a few words of description. First there was a grating
+of filigraned iron; through this you looked into a small vestibule or
+hall, at the end of which was a massive door of oak opening upon a short
+flight of stone steps descending into the tomb. The vault was fifteen
+or twenty feet square, ingeniously ventilated from the ceiling, but
+unlighted. It contained two sarcophagi: the first held the remains of
+Madame Dorine, long since dead; the other was new, and bore on one side
+the letters J. D., in monogram, interwoven with fleurs-de-lis.
+
+The funeral train stopped at the gate of the small garden that enclosed
+the place of burial, only the immediate relatives follow-ing the
+bearers into the tomb. A slender wax candle, such as is used in Catholic
+churches, burnt at the foot of the uncovered sarcophagus, casting a dim
+glow oyer the centre of the apartment, and deepening the shadows which
+seemed to huddle together in the corners. By this flickering light the
+coffin was placed in its granite shell, the heavy slab laid over it
+reverently, and the oaken door swung on its rusty hinges, shutting
+out the uncertain ray of sunshine that had ventured to peep in on the
+darkness.
+
+M. Dorine, muffled in his cloak, threw himself on the back seat of the
+landau, too abstracted in his grief to observe that he was the only
+occupant of the vehicle. There was a sound of wheels grating on the
+gravelled avenue, and then all was silence again in the cemetery of
+Montmartre. At the main entrance the carriages parted company, dashing
+off into various streets at a pace that seemed to express a sense of
+relief.
+
+The rattle of wheels had died out of the air when Philip opened his
+eyes, bewildered, like a man abruptly roused from slumber. He raised
+himself on one arm and stared into the surrounding blackness. Where
+was he? In a second the truth flashed upon him. He had been left in the
+tomb! While kneeling on the farther side of the stone box, perhaps
+he had fainted, and during the last solemn rites his absence had been
+unnoticed.
+
+His first emotion was one of natural terror. But this passed as quickly
+as it came. Life had ceased to be so very precious to him; and if it
+were his fate to die at Julie's side, was not that the fulfilment of the
+desire which he had expressed to himself a hundred times that morning?
+What did it matter, a few years sooner or later? He must lay down the
+burden at last. Why not then? A pang of self-reproach followed they
+thought. Could he so lightly throw aside the love that had bent over his
+cradle. The sacred name of mother rose involuntarily to his lips. Was
+it not cowardly to yield up without a struggle the life when he should
+guard for her sake? Was it not his duty to the living and the dead to
+face the difficulties of his position, and overcome them if it were
+within human power?
+
+With an organization as delicate as a woman's he had that spirit which,
+however sluggish in repose, leaps with a kind of exultation to measure
+its strength with disaster.
+
+The vague fear of the supernatural, that would affect most men in a
+similar situation, found no room in his heart. He was simply shut in a
+chamber from which it was necessary that he should obtain release within
+a given period. That this chamber contained the body of the woman he
+loved, so far from adding to the terror of the case, was a circumstance
+from which he drew consolation. She was a beautiful white statue now.
+Her soul was far hence; and if that pure spirit could return, would it
+not be to shield him with her love? It was impossible that the place
+should not engender some thought of the kind. He did not put the thought
+entirely from him as he rose to his feet and stretched out his hands in
+the darkness; but his mind was too healthy and practical to indulge long
+in such speculations.
+
+Philip, being a smoker, chanced to have in his pocket a box of
+_allumettes_. After several ineffectual essays, he succeeded in igniting
+one against the dank wall, and by its momentary glare perceived that the
+candle had been left in the tomb. This would serve him in examining the
+fastenings of the vault. If he could force the inner door by any means,
+and reach the grating, of which he had an indistinct recollection, he
+might hope to make himself heard. But the oaken door was immovable, as
+solid as the wall itself, into which it fitted air-tight. Even if he
+had had the requisite tools, there were no fastenings to be removed; the
+hinges were set on the outside.
+
+Having ascertained this, Philip replaced the candle on the floor, and
+leaned against the wall thoughtfully, watching the blue fan of flame
+that wavered to and fro, threatening to detach itself from the wick. "At
+all events," he thought, "the place is ventilated." Suddenly he sprang
+forward and extinguished the light.
+
+His existence depended on that candle! He had read somewhere, in some
+account of shipwreck, how the survivors had lived for days upon a
+few candles which one of the passengers had insanely thrown into the
+long-boat. And here he had been burning away his very life!
+
+By the transient illumination of one of the tapers, he looked at his
+watch. It had stopped at eleven--but eleven that day, or the preceding
+night? The funeral, he knew, had left the church at ten. How many hours
+had passed since then? Of what duration had been his swoon? Alas! it
+was no longer possible for him to measure those hours which crawl like
+snails by the wretched, and fly like swallows over the happy.
+
+He picked up the candle, and seated himself on the stone steps. He was
+a sanguine man, but, as he weighed the chances of escape, the prospect
+appalled him. Of course he would be missed. His disappearance under the
+circumstances would surely alarm his friends; they would institute a
+search for him; but who would think of searching for a live man in
+the cemetery of Montmartre? The pr�fet of police would set a hundred
+intelligences at work to find him; the Seine might be dragged, _les
+mis�rables_ turned over at the Morgue; a minute description of him would
+be in every detective's pocket; and he--in M. Dorine's family tomb!
+
+Yet, on the other hand, it was here, he was last seen; from this point
+a keen detective would naturally work up the case. Then might not the
+undertaker return for the candlestick, probably not left by design? Or,
+again, might not M. Dorine send fresh wreaths of flowers, to take the
+place of those which now diffused a pungent, aromatic odor throughout
+the chamber? Ah! what unlikely chances! But if one of these things did
+not happen speedily, it had better never happen. How long could he keep
+life in himself?
+
+With his pocket-knife Wentworth cut the half-burned candle into four
+equal parts. "To-night," he meditated, "I will eat the first of these
+pieces; to-morrow, the second; to-morrow evening, the third; the next
+day, the fourth; and then--then I 'll wait!"
+
+He had taken no breakfast that morning, unless a cup of coffee can
+be called a breakfast. He had never been very hungry before. He was
+ravenously hungry now. But he postponed the meal as long as practicable.
+It must have been near midnight, according to his calculation, when he
+determined to try the first of his four singular repasts. The bit of
+white-wax was tasteless; but it served its purpose.
+
+His appetite for the time appeased, he found a new discomfort. The
+humidity of the walls, and the wind that crept through the unseen
+ventilator, chilled him to the bone. To keep walking was his only
+resource.
+
+A kind of drowsiness, too, occasionally came over him. It took all his
+will to fight it off. To sleep, he felt, was to die, and he had made up
+his mind to live.
+
+The strangest fancies flitted through his head as he groped up and down
+the stone floor of the dungeon, feeling his way along the wall to avoid
+the sepulchres. Voices that had long been silent spoke words that had
+long been forgotten; faces he had known in childhood grew palpable
+against the dark. His whole life in detail was unrolled before him like
+a panorama; the changes of a year, with its burden of love and death,
+its sweets and its bitternesses, were epitomized in a single second. The
+desire to sleep had left him, but the keen hunger came again.
+
+"It must be near morning now," he mused; "perhaps the sun is just
+gilding the towers of Notre Dame; or, may be, a dull, drizzling rain is
+beating on Paris, sobbing on these mounds above me. Paris! it seems like
+a dream. Did I ever walk in its gay boulevards in the golden air? Oh,
+the delight and pain and passion of that sweet human life!"
+
+Philip became conscious that the gloom, the silence, and the cold were
+gradually conquering him. The feverish activity of his brain brought on
+a reaction. He grew lethargic; he sunk down on the steps, and thought
+of nothing. His hand fell by chance on one of the pieces of candle;
+he grasped it and devoured it mechanically. This revived him. "How
+strange," he thought, "that I am not thirsty. Is it possible that
+the dampness of the walls, which I must inhale with every breath, has
+supplied the need of water? Not a drop has passed my lips for two days,
+and still I experience no thirst. That drowsiness, thank Heaven, has
+gone. I think I was never wide awake until this hour. It would be an
+anodyne like poison that could weigh down my eyelids. No doubt the dread
+of sleep has something to do with this."
+
+The minutes were like hours. Now he walked as briskly as he dared up
+and down the tomb; now he rested against the door. More than once he was
+tempted to throw himself upon the stone coffin that held Julie, and make
+no further struggle for his life.
+
+Only one piece of candle remained. He had eaten the third portion, not
+to satisfy hunger, but from a precautionary motive he had taken it as a
+man takes some disagreeable drug upon the result of which hangs safety.
+The time was rapidly approaching when even this poor substitute for
+nourishment would be exhausted. He delayed that moment. He gave himself
+a long fast this time. The half-inch of candle which he held in his hand
+was a sacred thing to him. It was his last defence against death.
+
+Finally, with such a sinking at heart as he had not known before, he
+raised it to his lips. Then he paused, then he hurled the fragment
+across the tomb, then the oaken door was flung open, and Philip, with
+dazzled eyes, saw M. Dorine's form sharply defined against the blue sky.
+
+When they led him out, half blinded, into the broad daylight, M. Dorine
+noticed that Philip's hair, which a short time since was as black as a
+crow's wing, had actually turned gray in places. The man's eyes, too,
+had faded; the darkness had dimmed their lustre.
+
+"And how long was he really confined in the tomb?" I asked, as Mr.
+H------ concluded the story.
+
+"_Just one hour and twenty minutes!_" replied Mr. H------, smiling
+blandly.
+
+As he spoke, the Lilliputian sloops, with their sails all blown out
+like white roses, came floating bravely into port, and Philip Wentworth
+lounged by us, wearily, in the pleasant April sunshine.
+
+Mr. H------'s narrative haunted me. Here was a man who had undergone a
+strange ordeal. Here was a man whose sufferings were unique. His was no
+threadbare experience. Eighty minutes had seemed like two days to him!
+If he had really been immured two days in the tomb, the story, from my
+point of view, would have lost its tragic value.
+
+After this it was natural that I should regard Mr. Wentworth with
+stimulated curiosity. As I met him from day to day, passing through
+the Common with that same introspective air, there was something in his
+loneliness which touched me. I wondered that I had not read before
+in his pale, meditative face some such sad history as Mr. H------ had
+confided to me. I formed the resolution of speaking to him, though
+with no very lucid purpose. One morning we came face to face at the
+intersection of two paths. He halted courteously to allow me the
+precedence.
+
+"Mr. Wentworth," I began, "I"--
+
+He interrupted me.
+
+"My name, sir," he said, in an off-hand manner, "is Jones."
+
+"Jo-Jo-Jones!" I gasped.
+
+"No, not Joseph Jones," he returned, with a glacial air--"Frederick."
+
+A dim light, in which the perfidy of my friend H------ was becoming
+discernible, began to break upon my mind.
+
+It will probably be a standing wonder to Mr. Frederick Jones why a
+strange man accosted him one morning on the Common as "Mr. Wentworth,"
+and then dashed madly down the nearest foot-path and disappeared in the
+crowd.
+
+The fact is, I had been duped by Mr. H------, who is a gentleman
+of literary proclivities, and has, it is whispered, become somewhat
+demented in brooding over the Great American Novel--not yet hatched, He
+had actually tried the effect of one of his chapters on me!
+
+My hero, as I subsequently learned, is a commonplace young person, who
+had some connection, I know not what, with the building of that graceful
+granite bridge which spans the crooked silver lake in the Public Garden.
+
+When I think of the readiness with which Mr. H------ built up his airy
+fabric on my credulity, I feel half inclined to laugh, though I am
+deeply mortified at having been the unresisting victim of his Black Art.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's A Struggle For Life, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Struggle For Life, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Struggle For Life
+
+Author: Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+
+Release Date: November 6, 2007 [EBook #23356]
+Last Updated: March 3, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <div style="height: 8em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h1>
+      A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <b> By Thomas Bailey Aldrich </b>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Boston And New York Houghton Mifflin Company
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Copyright, 1873, 1885, and 1901
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One morning as I was passing through Boston Common, which lies between my
+      home and my office, I met a gentleman lounging along The Mall. I am
+      generally preoccupied when walking, and often thread my way through
+      crowded streets without distinctly observing any one. But this man's face
+      forced itself upon me, and a singular face it was. His eyes were faded,
+      and his hair, which he wore long, was flecked with gray. His hair and
+      eyes, if I may say so, were sixty years old, the rest of him not thirty.
+      The youthfulness of his figure, the elasticity of his gait, and the
+      venerable appearance of his head were incongruities that drew more than
+      one pair of curious eyes towards him, He excited in me the painful
+      suspicion that he had got either somebody else's head or somebody else's
+      body. He was evidently an American, at least so far as the upper part of
+      him was concerned&mdash;the New England cut of countenance is unmistakable&mdash;evidently
+      a man who had seen something of the world, but strangely young and old.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before reaching the Park Street gate, I had taken up the thread of thought
+      which he had unconsciously broken; yet throughout the day this old young
+      man, with his unwrinkled brow and silvered locks, glided in like a phantom
+      between me and my duties.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next morning I again encountered him on The Mall. He was resting
+      lazily on the green rails, watching two little sloops in distress, which
+      two ragged ship-owners had consigned to the mimic perils of the Pond. The
+      vessels lay becalmed in the middle of the ocean, displaying a tantalizing
+      lack of sympathy with the frantic helplessness of the owners on shore. As
+      the gentleman observed their dilemma, a light came into his faded eyes,
+      then died out leaving them drearier than before. I wondered if he, too, in
+      his time, had sent out ships that drifted and drifted and never came to
+      port; and if these poor toys were to him types of his own losses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That man has a story, and I should like to know it,&rdquo; I said, half aloud,
+      halting in one of those winding paths which branch off from the pastoral
+      quietness of the Pond, and end in the rush and tumult of Tremont Street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you?&rdquo; exclaimed a voice at my side. I turned and faced Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;,
+      a neighbor of mine, who laughed heartily at finding me talking to myself.
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he added, reflectingly, &ldquo;I can tell you this man's story; and if
+      you will match the narrative with anything as curious, I shall be glad to
+      hear it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know him, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes and no. That is to say, I do not know him personally; but I know a
+      singular passage in his life. I happened to be in Paris when he was
+      buried.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buried!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, strictly speaking, not buried; but something quite like it. If you
+      've a spare half hour,&rdquo; continued my friend H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;, &ldquo;we
+      'll sit on this bench, and I will tell you all I know of an affair that
+      made some noise in Paris a couple of years ago. The gentleman himself,
+      standing yonder, will serve as a sort of frontispiece to the romance&mdash;a
+      full-page illustration, as it were.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The following pages contain the story Which Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;
+      related to me. While he was telling it, a gentle wind arose; the miniature
+      sloops drifted feebly about the ocean; the wretched owners flew from point
+      to point, as the deceptive breeze promised to waft the barks to either
+      shore; the early robins trilled now and then from the newly fringed elms;
+      and the old young man leaned on the rail in the sunshine, little dreaming
+      that two gossips were discussing his affairs within twenty yards of him.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Three persons were sitting in a <i>salon</i> whose one large window
+      overlooked the Place Vendôme. M. Dorine, with his back half turned on the
+      other two occupants of the apartment, was reading the Journal des Débats
+      in an alcove, pausing from time to time to wipe his glasses, and taking
+      scrupulous pains not to glance towards the lounge at his right, on which
+      were seated Mile. Dorine and a young American gentleman, whose handsome
+      face rather frankly told his position in the family. There was not a
+      happier man in Paris that afternoon than Philip Wentworth. Life had become
+      so delicious to him that he shrunk from looking beyond to-day. What could
+      the future add to his full heart, what might it not take away? The deepest
+      joy has always something of melancholy in it&mdash;a presentiment, a
+      fleeting sadness, a feeling without a name. Wentworth was conscious of
+      this subtile shadow that night, when he rose from the lounge and
+      thoughtfully held Julie's hand to his lip for a moment before parting. A
+      careless observer would not have thought him, as he was, the happiest man
+      in Paris.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M. Dorine laid down his paper, and came forward. &ldquo;If the house,&rdquo; he said,
+      &ldquo;is such as M. Cherbonneau describes it, I advise you to close with him at
+      once. I would accompany you, Philip, but the truth is, I am too sad at
+      losing this little bird to assist you in selecting a cage for her.
+      Remember, the last train for town leaves at five. Be sure not to miss it;
+      for we have seats for Sardou's new comedy to-morrow night. By to-morrow
+      night,&rdquo; he added laughingly, &ldquo;little Julie here will be an old lady&mdash;it
+      is such an age from now until then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The next morning the train bore Philip to one of the loveliest spots
+      within thirty miles of Paris. An hour's walk through green lanes brought
+      him to M. Cherbonueau's estate. In a kind of dream the young man wandered
+      from room to room, inspected the conservatory, the stables, the lawns, the
+      strip of woodland through which a merry brook sang to itself continually,
+      and, after dining with M. Cherbonneau, completed the purchase, and turned
+      his steps towards the station just in time to catch the express train.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Paris stretched out before him, with its lights twinkling in the early
+      dusk, and its spires and domes melting into the evening air, it seemed to
+      Philip as if years had elapsed since he left the city. On reaching Paris
+      he drove to his hôtel, where he found several letters lying on the table.
+      He did not trouble himself even to glance at their superscriptions as he
+      threw aside his travelling surtout for a more appropriate dress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If, in his impatience to return to Mile. Dorine, the cars had appeared to
+      walk, the fiacre, which he had secured at the station appeared to creep.
+      At last it turned into the Place Vendôme, and drew up before M. Dorine's
+      hôtel. The door opened as Philip's foot touched the first step. The valet
+      silently took his cloak and hat, with a special deference, Philip thought;
+      but was he not now one of the family?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M. Dorine,&rdquo; said the servant slowly, &ldquo;is unable to see Monsieur at
+      present. He wishes Monsieur to be shown up to the salon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is Mademoiselle&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Monsieur.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alone, Monsieur,&rdquo; repeated the man, looking curiously at Philip, who
+      could scarcely repress an exclamation of pleasure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the first time that such a privilege had been accorded him. His
+      interviews with Julie had always taken place in the presence of M. Dorine,
+      or some member of the household. A well-bred Parisian girl has but a
+      formal acquaintance with her lover.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Philip did not linger on the staircase; with a light heart, he went up the
+      steps, two at a time, hastened through the softly lighted hall, in which
+      he detected the faint scent of her favorite flowers, and stealthily opened
+      the door of the salon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room was darkened. Underneath the chandelier stood a slim black casket
+      on trestles. A lighted candle, a crucifix, and some white flowers were on
+      a table near by. Julie Dorine was dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When M. Dorine heard the sudden cry that rang through the silent house, he
+      hurried from the library, and found Philip standing like a ghost in the
+      middle of the chamber.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not until long afterwards that Wentworth learned the details of the
+      calamity that had befallen him. On the previous night Mile. Dorine had
+      retired to her room in seemingly perfect health, and had dismissed her
+      maid with a request to be awakened early the next morning. At the
+      appointed hour the girl entered the chamber. Mile. Dorine was sitting in
+      an arm-chair, apparently asleep. The candle in the <i>bougeoir</i> had
+      burnt down to the socket; a book lay half open on the carpet at her feet.
+      The girl started when she saw that the bed had not been occupied, and that
+      her mistress still wore an evening dress. She rushed to Mile. Dorine's
+      side. It was not slumber; it was death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two messages were at once despatched to Philip, one to the station at G&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;,
+      the other to his hôtel. The first missed him on the road, the second he
+      had neglected to open. On his arrival at M. Dorine's house, the valet,
+      under the supposition that Wentworth had been advised of Mile. Dorine's
+      death, broke the intelligence with awkward cruelty, by showing him
+      directly to the salon. Mile. Dorine's wealth, her beauty, the suddenness
+      of her death, and the romance that had in some way attached itself to her
+      love for the young American drew crowds to witness the funeral ceremonies,
+      which took place in the church in the Rue d'Aguesseau. The body was to be
+      laid in M. Dorine's tomb, in the cemetery of Montmartre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This tomb requires a few words of description. First there was a grating
+      of filigraned iron; through this you looked into a small vestibule or
+      hall, at the end of which was a massive door of oak opening upon a short
+      flight of stone steps descending into the tomb. The vault was fifteen or
+      twenty feet square, ingeniously ventilated from the ceiling, but
+      unlighted. It contained two sarcophagi: the first held the remains of
+      Madame Dorine, long since dead; the other was new, and bore on one side
+      the letters J. D., in monogram, interwoven with fleurs-de-lis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The funeral train stopped at the gate of the small garden that enclosed
+      the place of burial, only the immediate relatives follow-ing the bearers
+      into the tomb. A slender wax candle, such as is used in Catholic churches,
+      burnt at the foot of the uncovered sarcophagus, casting a dim glow oyer
+      the centre of the apartment, and deepening the shadows which seemed to
+      huddle together in the corners. By this flickering light the coffin was
+      placed in its granite shell, the heavy slab laid over it reverently, and
+      the oaken door swung on its rusty hinges, shutting out the uncertain ray
+      of sunshine that had ventured to peep in on the darkness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M. Dorine, muffled in his cloak, threw himself on the back seat of the
+      landau, too abstracted in his grief to observe that he was the only
+      occupant of the vehicle. There was a sound of wheels grating on the
+      gravelled avenue, and then all was silence again in the cemetery of
+      Montmartre. At the main entrance the carriages parted company, dashing off
+      into various streets at a pace that seemed to express a sense of relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rattle of wheels had died out of the air when Philip opened his eyes,
+      bewildered, like a man abruptly roused from slumber. He raised himself on
+      one arm and stared into the surrounding blackness. Where was he? In a
+      second the truth flashed upon him. He had been left in the tomb! While
+      kneeling on the farther side of the stone box, perhaps he had fainted, and
+      during the last solemn rites his absence had been unnoticed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His first emotion was one of natural terror. But this passed as quickly as
+      it came. Life had ceased to be so very precious to him; and if it were his
+      fate to die at Julie's side, was not that the fulfilment of the desire
+      which he had expressed to himself a hundred times that morning? What did
+      it matter, a few years sooner or later? He must lay down the burden at
+      last. Why not then? A pang of self-reproach followed they thought. Could
+      he so lightly throw aside the love that had bent over his cradle. The
+      sacred name of mother rose involuntarily to his lips. Was it not cowardly
+      to yield up without a struggle the life when he should guard for her sake?
+      Was it not his duty to the living and the dead to face the difficulties of
+      his position, and overcome them if it were within human power?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With an organization as delicate as a woman's he had that spirit which,
+      however sluggish in repose, leaps with a kind of exultation to measure its
+      strength with disaster.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The vague fear of the supernatural, that would affect most men in a
+      similar situation, found no room in his heart. He was simply shut in a
+      chamber from which it was necessary that he should obtain release within a
+      given period. That this chamber contained the body of the woman he loved,
+      so far from adding to the terror of the case, was a circumstance from
+      which he drew consolation. She was a beautiful white statue now. Her soul
+      was far hence; and if that pure spirit could return, would it not be to
+      shield him with her love? It was impossible that the place should not
+      engender some thought of the kind. He did not put the thought entirely
+      from him as he rose to his feet and stretched out his hands in the
+      darkness; but his mind was too healthy and practical to indulge long in
+      such speculations.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Philip, being a smoker, chanced to have in his pocket a box of <i>allumettes</i>.
+      After several ineffectual essays, he succeeded in igniting one against the
+      dank wall, and by its momentary glare perceived that the candle had been
+      left in the tomb. This would serve him in examining the fastenings of the
+      vault. If he could force the inner door by any means, and reach the
+      grating, of which he had an indistinct recollection, he might hope to make
+      himself heard. But the oaken door was immovable, as solid as the wall
+      itself, into which it fitted air-tight. Even if he had had the requisite
+      tools, there were no fastenings to be removed; the hinges were set on the
+      outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having ascertained this, Philip replaced the candle on the floor, and
+      leaned against the wall thoughtfully, watching the blue fan of flame that
+      wavered to and fro, threatening to detach itself from the wick. &ldquo;At all
+      events,&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;the place is ventilated.&rdquo; Suddenly he sprang forward
+      and extinguished the light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His existence depended on that candle! He had read somewhere, in some
+      account of shipwreck, how the survivors had lived for days upon a few
+      candles which one of the passengers had insanely thrown into the
+      long-boat. And here he had been burning away his very life!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the transient illumination of one of the tapers, he looked at his
+      watch. It had stopped at eleven&mdash;but eleven that day, or the
+      preceding night? The funeral, he knew, had left the church at ten. How
+      many hours had passed since then? Of what duration had been his swoon?
+      Alas! it was no longer possible for him to measure those hours which crawl
+      like snails by the wretched, and fly like swallows over the happy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He picked up the candle, and seated himself on the stone steps. He was a
+      sanguine man, but, as he weighed the chances of escape, the prospect
+      appalled him. Of course he would be missed. His disappearance under the
+      circumstances would surely alarm his friends; they would institute a
+      search for him; but who would think of searching for a live man in the
+      cemetery of Montmartre? The préfet of police would set a hundred
+      intelligences at work to find him; the Seine might be dragged, <i>les
+      misérables</i> turned over at the Morgue; a minute description of him
+      would be in every detective's pocket; and he&mdash;in M. Dorine's family
+      tomb!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet, on the other hand, it was here, he was last seen; from this point a
+      keen detective would naturally work up the case. Then might not the
+      undertaker return for the candlestick, probably not left by design? Or,
+      again, might not M. Dorine send fresh wreaths of flowers, to take the
+      place of those which now diffused a pungent, aromatic odor throughout the
+      chamber? Ah! what unlikely chances! But if one of these things did not
+      happen speedily, it had better never happen. How long could he keep life
+      in himself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With his pocket-knife Wentworth cut the half-burned candle into four equal
+      parts. &ldquo;To-night,&rdquo; he meditated, &ldquo;I will eat the first of these pieces;
+      to-morrow, the second; to-morrow evening, the third; the next day, the
+      fourth; and then&mdash;then I 'll wait!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had taken no breakfast that morning, unless a cup of coffee can be
+      called a breakfast. He had never been very hungry before. He was
+      ravenously hungry now. But he postponed the meal as long as practicable.
+      It must have been near midnight, according to his calculation, when he
+      determined to try the first of his four singular repasts. The bit of
+      white-wax was tasteless; but it served its purpose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His appetite for the time appeased, he found a new discomfort. The
+      humidity of the walls, and the wind that crept through the unseen
+      ventilator, chilled him to the bone. To keep walking was his only
+      resource.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A kind of drowsiness, too, occasionally came over him. It took all his
+      will to fight it off. To sleep, he felt, was to die, and he had made up
+      his mind to live.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The strangest fancies flitted through his head as he groped up and down
+      the stone floor of the dungeon, feeling his way along the wall to avoid
+      the sepulchres. Voices that had long been silent spoke words that had long
+      been forgotten; faces he had known in childhood grew palpable against the
+      dark. His whole life in detail was unrolled before him like a panorama;
+      the changes of a year, with its burden of love and death, its sweets and
+      its bitternesses, were epitomized in a single second. The desire to sleep
+      had left him, but the keen hunger came again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It must be near morning now,&rdquo; he mused; &ldquo;perhaps the sun is just gilding
+      the towers of Notre Dame; or, may be, a dull, drizzling rain is beating on
+      Paris, sobbing on these mounds above me. Paris! it seems like a dream. Did
+      I ever walk in its gay boulevards in the golden air? Oh, the delight and
+      pain and passion of that sweet human life!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Philip became conscious that the gloom, the silence, and the cold were
+      gradually conquering him. The feverish activity of his brain brought on a
+      reaction. He grew lethargic; he sunk down on the steps, and thought of
+      nothing. His hand fell by chance on one of the pieces of candle; he
+      grasped it and devoured it mechanically. This revived him. &ldquo;How strange,&rdquo;
+       he thought, &ldquo;that I am not thirsty. Is it possible that the dampness of
+      the walls, which I must inhale with every breath, has supplied the need of
+      water? Not a drop has passed my lips for two days, and still I experience
+      no thirst. That drowsiness, thank Heaven, has gone. I think I was never
+      wide awake until this hour. It would be an anodyne like poison that could
+      weigh down my eyelids. No doubt the dread of sleep has something to do
+      with this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The minutes were like hours. Now he walked as briskly as he dared up and
+      down the tomb; now he rested against the door. More than once he was
+      tempted to throw himself upon the stone coffin that held Julie, and make
+      no further struggle for his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only one piece of candle remained. He had eaten the third portion, not to
+      satisfy hunger, but from a precautionary motive he had taken it as a man
+      takes some disagreeable drug upon the result of which hangs safety. The
+      time was rapidly approaching when even this poor substitute for
+      nourishment would be exhausted. He delayed that moment. He gave himself a
+      long fast this time. The half-inch of candle which he held in his hand was
+      a sacred thing to him. It was his last defence against death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Finally, with such a sinking at heart as he had not known before, he
+      raised it to his lips. Then he paused, then he hurled the fragment across
+      the tomb, then the oaken door was flung open, and Philip, with dazzled
+      eyes, saw M. Dorine's form sharply defined against the blue sky.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When they led him out, half blinded, into the broad daylight, M. Dorine
+      noticed that Philip's hair, which a short time since was as black as a
+      crow's wing, had actually turned gray in places. The man's eyes, too, had
+      faded; the darkness had dimmed their lustre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how long was he really confined in the tomb?&rdquo; I asked, as Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;
+      concluded the story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Just one hour and twenty minutes!</i>&rdquo; replied Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;,
+      smiling blandly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he spoke, the Lilliputian sloops, with their sails all blown out like
+      white roses, came floating bravely into port, and Philip Wentworth lounged
+      by us, wearily, in the pleasant April sunshine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;'s narrative haunted me. Here was a man who had
+      undergone a strange ordeal. Here was a man whose sufferings were unique.
+      His was no threadbare experience. Eighty minutes had seemed like two days
+      to him! If he had really been immured two days in the tomb, the story,
+      from my point of view, would have lost its tragic value.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After this it was natural that I should regard Mr. Wentworth with
+      stimulated curiosity. As I met him from day to day, passing through the
+      Common with that same introspective air, there was something in his
+      loneliness which touched me. I wondered that I had not read before in his
+      pale, meditative face some such sad history as Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;
+      had confided to me. I formed the resolution of speaking to him, though
+      with no very lucid purpose. One morning we came face to face at the
+      intersection of two paths. He halted courteously to allow me the
+      precedence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Wentworth,&rdquo; I began, &ldquo;I&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He interrupted me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My name, sir,&rdquo; he said, in an off-hand manner, &ldquo;is Jones.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jo-Jo-Jones!&rdquo; I gasped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not Joseph Jones,&rdquo; he returned, with a glacial air&mdash;&ldquo;Frederick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A dim light, in which the perfidy of my friend H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash; was
+      becoming discernible, began to break upon my mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It will probably be a standing wonder to Mr. Frederick Jones why a strange
+      man accosted him one morning on the Common as &ldquo;Mr. Wentworth,&rdquo; and then
+      dashed madly down the nearest foot-path and disappeared in the crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fact is, I had been duped by Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;, who is a
+      gentleman of literary proclivities, and has, it is whispered, become
+      somewhat demented in brooding over the Great American Novel&mdash;not yet
+      hatched, He had actually tried the effect of one of his chapters on me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My hero, as I subsequently learned, is a commonplace young person, who had
+      some connection, I know not what, with the building of that graceful
+      granite bridge which spans the crooked silver lake in the Public Garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When I think of the readiness with which Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash; built
+      up his airy fabric on my credulity, I feel half inclined to laugh, though
+      I am deeply mortified at having been the unresisting victim of his Black
+      Art.
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 6em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
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+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Struggle For Life, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Struggle For Life
+
+Author: Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+
+Release Date: November 6, 2007 [EBook #23356]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.
+
+By Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+
+Boston And New York Houghton Mifflin Company
+
+Copyright, 1873, 1885, and 1901
+
+
+One morning as I was passing through Boston Common, which lies between
+my home and my office, I met a gentleman lounging along The Mall. I
+am generally preoccupied when walking, and often thread my way through
+crowded streets without distinctly observing any one. But this man's
+face forced itself upon me, and a singular face it was. His eyes were
+faded, and his hair, which he wore long, was flecked with gray. His hair
+and eyes, if I may say so, were sixty years old, the rest of him not
+thirty. The youthfulness of his figure, the elasticity of his gait, and
+the venerable appearance of his head were incongruities that drew more
+than one pair of curious eyes towards him, He excited in me the painful
+suspicion that he had got either somebody else's head or somebody else's
+body. He was evidently an American, at least so far as the upper part
+of him was concerned--the New England cut of countenance is
+unmistakable--evidently a man who had seen something of the world, but
+strangely young and old.
+
+Before reaching the Park Street gate, I had taken up the thread of
+thought which he had unconsciously broken; yet throughout the day this
+old young man, with his unwrinkled brow and silvered locks, glided in
+like a phantom between me and my duties.
+
+The next morning I again encountered him on The Mall. He was resting
+lazily on the green rails, watching two little sloops in distress, which
+two ragged ship-owners had consigned to the mimic perils of the Pond.
+The vessels lay becalmed in the middle of the ocean, displaying a
+tantalizing lack of sympathy with the frantic helplessness of the owners
+on shore. As the gentleman observed their dilemma, a light came into his
+faded eyes, then died out leaving them drearier than before. I wondered
+if he, too, in his time, had sent out ships that drifted and drifted and
+never came to port; and if these poor toys were to him types of his own
+losses.
+
+"That man has a story, and I should like to know it," I said, half
+aloud, halting in one of those winding paths which branch off from
+the pastoral quietness of the Pond, and end in the rush and tumult of
+Tremont Street.
+
+"Would you?" exclaimed a voice at my side. I turned and faced Mr.
+H------, a neighbor of mine, who laughed heartily at finding me talking
+to myself. "Well," he added, reflectingly, "I can tell you this man's
+story; and if you will match the narrative with anything as curious, I
+shall be glad to hear it."
+
+"You know him, then?"
+
+"Yes and no. That is to say, I do not know him personally; but I know
+a singular passage in his life. I happened to be in Paris when he was
+buried."
+
+"Buried!"
+
+"Well, strictly speaking, not buried; but something quite like it. If
+you 've a spare half hour," continued my friend H------, "we 'll sit on
+this bench, and I will tell you all I know of an affair that made some
+noise in Paris a couple of years ago. The gentleman himself, standing
+yonder, will serve as a sort of frontispiece to the romance--a full-page
+illustration, as it were."
+
+The following pages contain the story Which Mr. H------ related to
+me. While he was telling it, a gentle wind arose; the miniature sloops
+drifted feebly about the ocean; the wretched owners flew from point
+to point, as the deceptive breeze promised to waft the barks to either
+shore; the early robins trilled now and then from the newly fringed
+elms; and the old young man leaned on the rail in the sunshine, little
+dreaming that two gossips were discussing his affairs within twenty
+yards of him.
+
+*****
+
+Three persons were sitting in a _salon_ whose one large window
+overlooked the Place Vendome. M. Dorine, with his back half turned on
+the other two occupants of the apartment, was reading the Journal des
+Debats in an alcove, pausing from time to time to wipe his glasses, and
+taking scrupulous pains not to glance towards the lounge at his right,
+on which were seated Mile. Dorine and a young American gentleman, whose
+handsome face rather frankly told his position in the family. There was
+not a happier man in Paris that afternoon than Philip Wentworth. Life
+had become so delicious to him that he shrunk from looking beyond
+to-day. What could the future add to his full heart, what might it not
+take away? The deepest joy has always something of melancholy in it--a
+presentiment, a fleeting sadness, a feeling without a name. Wentworth
+was conscious of this subtile shadow that night, when he rose from the
+lounge and thoughtfully held Julie's hand to his lip for a moment before
+parting. A careless observer would not have thought him, as he was, the
+happiest man in Paris.
+
+M. Dorine laid down his paper, and came forward. "If the house," he
+said, "is such as M. Cherbonneau describes it, I advise you to close
+with him at once. I would accompany you, Philip, but the truth is, I am
+too sad at losing this little bird to assist you in selecting a cage for
+her. Remember, the last train for town leaves at five. Be sure not to
+miss it; for we have seats for Sardou's new comedy to-morrow night. By
+to-morrow night," he added laughingly, "little Julie here will be an old
+lady--it is such an age from now until then."
+
+The next morning the train bore Philip to one of the loveliest spots
+within thirty miles of Paris. An hour's walk through green lanes
+brought him to M. Cherbonueau's estate. In a kind of dream the young man
+wandered from room to room, inspected the conservatory, the stables, the
+lawns, the strip of woodland through which a merry brook sang to itself
+continually, and, after dining with M. Cherbonneau, completed the
+purchase, and turned his steps towards the station just in time to catch
+the express train.
+
+As Paris stretched out before him, with its lights twinkling in the
+early dusk, and its spires and domes melting into the evening air, it
+seemed to Philip as if years had elapsed since he left the city. On
+reaching Paris he drove to his hotel, where he found several letters
+lying on the table. He did not trouble himself even to glance at their
+superscriptions as he threw aside his travelling surtout for a more
+appropriate dress.
+
+If, in his impatience to return to Mile. Dorine, the cars had appeared
+to walk, the fiacre, which he had secured at the station appeared to
+creep. At last it turned into the Place Vendome, and drew up before M.
+Dorine's hotel. The door opened as Philip's foot touched the first step.
+The valet silently took his cloak and hat, with a special deference,
+Philip thought; but was he not now one of the family?
+
+"M. Dorine," said the servant slowly, "is unable to see Monsieur at
+present. He wishes Monsieur to be shown up to the salon."
+
+"Is Mademoiselle"--
+
+"Yes, Monsieur."
+
+"Alone?"
+
+"Alone, Monsieur," repeated the man, looking curiously at Philip, who
+could scarcely repress an exclamation of pleasure.
+
+It was the first time that such a privilege had been accorded him.
+His interviews with Julie had always taken place in the presence of M.
+Dorine, or some member of the household. A well-bred Parisian girl has
+but a formal acquaintance with her lover.
+
+Philip did not linger on the staircase; with a light heart, he went up
+the steps, two at a time, hastened through the softly lighted hall,
+in which he detected the faint scent of her favorite flowers, and
+stealthily opened the door of the salon.
+
+The room was darkened. Underneath the chandelier stood a slim black
+casket on trestles. A lighted candle, a crucifix, and some white flowers
+were on a table near by. Julie Dorine was dead.
+
+When M. Dorine heard the sudden cry that rang through the silent house,
+he hurried from the library, and found Philip standing like a ghost in
+the middle of the chamber.
+
+It was not until long afterwards that Wentworth learned the details of
+the calamity that had befallen him. On the previous night Mile. Dorine
+had retired to her room in seemingly perfect health, and had dismissed
+her maid with a request to be awakened early the next morning. At the
+appointed hour the girl entered the chamber. Mile. Dorine was sitting in
+an arm-chair, apparently asleep. The candle in the _bougeoir_ had burnt
+down to the socket; a book lay half open on the carpet at her feet. The
+girl started when she saw that the bed had not been occupied, and that
+her mistress still wore an evening dress. She rushed to Mile. Dorine's
+side. It was not slumber; it was death.
+
+Two messages were at once despatched to Philip, one to the station at
+G------, the other to his hotel. The first missed him on the road, the
+second he had neglected to open. On his arrival at M. Dorine's house,
+the valet, under the supposition that Wentworth had been advised of
+Mile. Dorine's death, broke the intelligence with awkward cruelty, by
+showing him directly to the salon. Mile. Dorine's wealth, her beauty,
+the suddenness of her death, and the romance that had in some way
+attached itself to her love for the young American drew crowds to
+witness the funeral ceremonies, which took place in the church in the
+Rue d'Aguesseau. The body was to be laid in M. Dorine's tomb, in the
+cemetery of Montmartre.
+
+This tomb requires a few words of description. First there was a grating
+of filigraned iron; through this you looked into a small vestibule or
+hall, at the end of which was a massive door of oak opening upon a short
+flight of stone steps descending into the tomb. The vault was fifteen
+or twenty feet square, ingeniously ventilated from the ceiling, but
+unlighted. It contained two sarcophagi: the first held the remains of
+Madame Dorine, long since dead; the other was new, and bore on one side
+the letters J. D., in monogram, interwoven with fleurs-de-lis.
+
+The funeral train stopped at the gate of the small garden that enclosed
+the place of burial, only the immediate relatives follow-ing the
+bearers into the tomb. A slender wax candle, such as is used in Catholic
+churches, burnt at the foot of the uncovered sarcophagus, casting a dim
+glow oyer the centre of the apartment, and deepening the shadows which
+seemed to huddle together in the corners. By this flickering light the
+coffin was placed in its granite shell, the heavy slab laid over it
+reverently, and the oaken door swung on its rusty hinges, shutting
+out the uncertain ray of sunshine that had ventured to peep in on the
+darkness.
+
+M. Dorine, muffled in his cloak, threw himself on the back seat of the
+landau, too abstracted in his grief to observe that he was the only
+occupant of the vehicle. There was a sound of wheels grating on the
+gravelled avenue, and then all was silence again in the cemetery of
+Montmartre. At the main entrance the carriages parted company, dashing
+off into various streets at a pace that seemed to express a sense of
+relief.
+
+The rattle of wheels had died out of the air when Philip opened his
+eyes, bewildered, like a man abruptly roused from slumber. He raised
+himself on one arm and stared into the surrounding blackness. Where
+was he? In a second the truth flashed upon him. He had been left in the
+tomb! While kneeling on the farther side of the stone box, perhaps
+he had fainted, and during the last solemn rites his absence had been
+unnoticed.
+
+His first emotion was one of natural terror. But this passed as quickly
+as it came. Life had ceased to be so very precious to him; and if it
+were his fate to die at Julie's side, was not that the fulfilment of the
+desire which he had expressed to himself a hundred times that morning?
+What did it matter, a few years sooner or later? He must lay down the
+burden at last. Why not then? A pang of self-reproach followed they
+thought. Could he so lightly throw aside the love that had bent over his
+cradle. The sacred name of mother rose involuntarily to his lips. Was
+it not cowardly to yield up without a struggle the life when he should
+guard for her sake? Was it not his duty to the living and the dead to
+face the difficulties of his position, and overcome them if it were
+within human power?
+
+With an organization as delicate as a woman's he had that spirit which,
+however sluggish in repose, leaps with a kind of exultation to measure
+its strength with disaster.
+
+The vague fear of the supernatural, that would affect most men in a
+similar situation, found no room in his heart. He was simply shut in a
+chamber from which it was necessary that he should obtain release within
+a given period. That this chamber contained the body of the woman he
+loved, so far from adding to the terror of the case, was a circumstance
+from which he drew consolation. She was a beautiful white statue now.
+Her soul was far hence; and if that pure spirit could return, would it
+not be to shield him with her love? It was impossible that the place
+should not engender some thought of the kind. He did not put the thought
+entirely from him as he rose to his feet and stretched out his hands in
+the darkness; but his mind was too healthy and practical to indulge long
+in such speculations.
+
+Philip, being a smoker, chanced to have in his pocket a box of
+_allumettes_. After several ineffectual essays, he succeeded in igniting
+one against the dank wall, and by its momentary glare perceived that the
+candle had been left in the tomb. This would serve him in examining the
+fastenings of the vault. If he could force the inner door by any means,
+and reach the grating, of which he had an indistinct recollection, he
+might hope to make himself heard. But the oaken door was immovable, as
+solid as the wall itself, into which it fitted air-tight. Even if he
+had had the requisite tools, there were no fastenings to be removed; the
+hinges were set on the outside.
+
+Having ascertained this, Philip replaced the candle on the floor, and
+leaned against the wall thoughtfully, watching the blue fan of flame
+that wavered to and fro, threatening to detach itself from the wick. "At
+all events," he thought, "the place is ventilated." Suddenly he sprang
+forward and extinguished the light.
+
+His existence depended on that candle! He had read somewhere, in some
+account of shipwreck, how the survivors had lived for days upon a
+few candles which one of the passengers had insanely thrown into the
+long-boat. And here he had been burning away his very life!
+
+By the transient illumination of one of the tapers, he looked at his
+watch. It had stopped at eleven--but eleven that day, or the preceding
+night? The funeral, he knew, had left the church at ten. How many hours
+had passed since then? Of what duration had been his swoon? Alas! it
+was no longer possible for him to measure those hours which crawl like
+snails by the wretched, and fly like swallows over the happy.
+
+He picked up the candle, and seated himself on the stone steps. He was
+a sanguine man, but, as he weighed the chances of escape, the prospect
+appalled him. Of course he would be missed. His disappearance under the
+circumstances would surely alarm his friends; they would institute a
+search for him; but who would think of searching for a live man in
+the cemetery of Montmartre? The prefet of police would set a hundred
+intelligences at work to find him; the Seine might be dragged, _les
+miserables_ turned over at the Morgue; a minute description of him would
+be in every detective's pocket; and he--in M. Dorine's family tomb!
+
+Yet, on the other hand, it was here, he was last seen; from this point
+a keen detective would naturally work up the case. Then might not the
+undertaker return for the candlestick, probably not left by design? Or,
+again, might not M. Dorine send fresh wreaths of flowers, to take the
+place of those which now diffused a pungent, aromatic odor throughout
+the chamber? Ah! what unlikely chances! But if one of these things did
+not happen speedily, it had better never happen. How long could he keep
+life in himself?
+
+With his pocket-knife Wentworth cut the half-burned candle into four
+equal parts. "To-night," he meditated, "I will eat the first of these
+pieces; to-morrow, the second; to-morrow evening, the third; the next
+day, the fourth; and then--then I 'll wait!"
+
+He had taken no breakfast that morning, unless a cup of coffee can
+be called a breakfast. He had never been very hungry before. He was
+ravenously hungry now. But he postponed the meal as long as practicable.
+It must have been near midnight, according to his calculation, when he
+determined to try the first of his four singular repasts. The bit of
+white-wax was tasteless; but it served its purpose.
+
+His appetite for the time appeased, he found a new discomfort. The
+humidity of the walls, and the wind that crept through the unseen
+ventilator, chilled him to the bone. To keep walking was his only
+resource.
+
+A kind of drowsiness, too, occasionally came over him. It took all his
+will to fight it off. To sleep, he felt, was to die, and he had made up
+his mind to live.
+
+The strangest fancies flitted through his head as he groped up and down
+the stone floor of the dungeon, feeling his way along the wall to avoid
+the sepulchres. Voices that had long been silent spoke words that had
+long been forgotten; faces he had known in childhood grew palpable
+against the dark. His whole life in detail was unrolled before him like
+a panorama; the changes of a year, with its burden of love and death,
+its sweets and its bitternesses, were epitomized in a single second. The
+desire to sleep had left him, but the keen hunger came again.
+
+"It must be near morning now," he mused; "perhaps the sun is just
+gilding the towers of Notre Dame; or, may be, a dull, drizzling rain is
+beating on Paris, sobbing on these mounds above me. Paris! it seems like
+a dream. Did I ever walk in its gay boulevards in the golden air? Oh,
+the delight and pain and passion of that sweet human life!"
+
+Philip became conscious that the gloom, the silence, and the cold were
+gradually conquering him. The feverish activity of his brain brought on
+a reaction. He grew lethargic; he sunk down on the steps, and thought
+of nothing. His hand fell by chance on one of the pieces of candle;
+he grasped it and devoured it mechanically. This revived him. "How
+strange," he thought, "that I am not thirsty. Is it possible that
+the dampness of the walls, which I must inhale with every breath, has
+supplied the need of water? Not a drop has passed my lips for two days,
+and still I experience no thirst. That drowsiness, thank Heaven, has
+gone. I think I was never wide awake until this hour. It would be an
+anodyne like poison that could weigh down my eyelids. No doubt the dread
+of sleep has something to do with this."
+
+The minutes were like hours. Now he walked as briskly as he dared up
+and down the tomb; now he rested against the door. More than once he was
+tempted to throw himself upon the stone coffin that held Julie, and make
+no further struggle for his life.
+
+Only one piece of candle remained. He had eaten the third portion, not
+to satisfy hunger, but from a precautionary motive he had taken it as a
+man takes some disagreeable drug upon the result of which hangs safety.
+The time was rapidly approaching when even this poor substitute for
+nourishment would be exhausted. He delayed that moment. He gave himself
+a long fast this time. The half-inch of candle which he held in his hand
+was a sacred thing to him. It was his last defence against death.
+
+Finally, with such a sinking at heart as he had not known before, he
+raised it to his lips. Then he paused, then he hurled the fragment
+across the tomb, then the oaken door was flung open, and Philip, with
+dazzled eyes, saw M. Dorine's form sharply defined against the blue sky.
+
+When they led him out, half blinded, into the broad daylight, M. Dorine
+noticed that Philip's hair, which a short time since was as black as a
+crow's wing, had actually turned gray in places. The man's eyes, too,
+had faded; the darkness had dimmed their lustre.
+
+"And how long was he really confined in the tomb?" I asked, as Mr.
+H------ concluded the story.
+
+"_Just one hour and twenty minutes!_" replied Mr. H------, smiling
+blandly.
+
+As he spoke, the Lilliputian sloops, with their sails all blown out
+like white roses, came floating bravely into port, and Philip Wentworth
+lounged by us, wearily, in the pleasant April sunshine.
+
+Mr. H------'s narrative haunted me. Here was a man who had undergone a
+strange ordeal. Here was a man whose sufferings were unique. His was no
+threadbare experience. Eighty minutes had seemed like two days to him!
+If he had really been immured two days in the tomb, the story, from my
+point of view, would have lost its tragic value.
+
+After this it was natural that I should regard Mr. Wentworth with
+stimulated curiosity. As I met him from day to day, passing through
+the Common with that same introspective air, there was something in his
+loneliness which touched me. I wondered that I had not read before
+in his pale, meditative face some such sad history as Mr. H------ had
+confided to me. I formed the resolution of speaking to him, though
+with no very lucid purpose. One morning we came face to face at the
+intersection of two paths. He halted courteously to allow me the
+precedence.
+
+"Mr. Wentworth," I began, "I"--
+
+He interrupted me.
+
+"My name, sir," he said, in an off-hand manner, "is Jones."
+
+"Jo-Jo-Jones!" I gasped.
+
+"No, not Joseph Jones," he returned, with a glacial air--"Frederick."
+
+A dim light, in which the perfidy of my friend H------ was becoming
+discernible, began to break upon my mind.
+
+It will probably be a standing wonder to Mr. Frederick Jones why a
+strange man accosted him one morning on the Common as "Mr. Wentworth,"
+and then dashed madly down the nearest foot-path and disappeared in the
+crowd.
+
+The fact is, I had been duped by Mr. H------, who is a gentleman
+of literary proclivities, and has, it is whispered, become somewhat
+demented in brooding over the Great American Novel--not yet hatched, He
+had actually tried the effect of one of his chapters on me!
+
+My hero, as I subsequently learned, is a commonplace young person, who
+had some connection, I know not what, with the building of that graceful
+granite bridge which spans the crooked silver lake in the Public Garden.
+
+When I think of the readiness with which Mr. H------ built up his airy
+fabric on my credulity, I feel half inclined to laugh, though I am
+deeply mortified at having been the unresisting victim of his Black Art.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's A Struggle For Life, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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+      A Struggle for Life, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+    </title>
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Struggle For Life, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: A Struggle For Life
+
+Author: Thomas Bailey Aldrich
+
+Release Date: November 6, 2007 [EBook #23356]
+Last Updated: March 3, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <div style="height: 8em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h1>
+      A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <b> By Thomas Bailey Aldrich </b>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Boston And New York Houghton Mifflin Company
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Copyright, 1873, 1885, and 1901
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One morning as I was passing through Boston Common, which lies between my
+      home and my office, I met a gentleman lounging along The Mall. I am
+      generally preoccupied when walking, and often thread my way through
+      crowded streets without distinctly observing any one. But this man's face
+      forced itself upon me, and a singular face it was. His eyes were faded,
+      and his hair, which he wore long, was flecked with gray. His hair and
+      eyes, if I may say so, were sixty years old, the rest of him not thirty.
+      The youthfulness of his figure, the elasticity of his gait, and the
+      venerable appearance of his head were incongruities that drew more than
+      one pair of curious eyes towards him, He excited in me the painful
+      suspicion that he had got either somebody else's head or somebody else's
+      body. He was evidently an American, at least so far as the upper part of
+      him was concerned&mdash;the New England cut of countenance is unmistakable&mdash;evidently
+      a man who had seen something of the world, but strangely young and old.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before reaching the Park Street gate, I had taken up the thread of thought
+      which he had unconsciously broken; yet throughout the day this old young
+      man, with his unwrinkled brow and silvered locks, glided in like a phantom
+      between me and my duties.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next morning I again encountered him on The Mall. He was resting
+      lazily on the green rails, watching two little sloops in distress, which
+      two ragged ship-owners had consigned to the mimic perils of the Pond. The
+      vessels lay becalmed in the middle of the ocean, displaying a tantalizing
+      lack of sympathy with the frantic helplessness of the owners on shore. As
+      the gentleman observed their dilemma, a light came into his faded eyes,
+      then died out leaving them drearier than before. I wondered if he, too, in
+      his time, had sent out ships that drifted and drifted and never came to
+      port; and if these poor toys were to him types of his own losses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That man has a story, and I should like to know it,&rdquo; I said, half aloud,
+      halting in one of those winding paths which branch off from the pastoral
+      quietness of the Pond, and end in the rush and tumult of Tremont Street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you?&rdquo; exclaimed a voice at my side. I turned and faced Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;,
+      a neighbor of mine, who laughed heartily at finding me talking to myself.
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he added, reflectingly, &ldquo;I can tell you this man's story; and if
+      you will match the narrative with anything as curious, I shall be glad to
+      hear it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know him, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes and no. That is to say, I do not know him personally; but I know a
+      singular passage in his life. I happened to be in Paris when he was
+      buried.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buried!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, strictly speaking, not buried; but something quite like it. If you
+      've a spare half hour,&rdquo; continued my friend H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;, &ldquo;we
+      'll sit on this bench, and I will tell you all I know of an affair that
+      made some noise in Paris a couple of years ago. The gentleman himself,
+      standing yonder, will serve as a sort of frontispiece to the romance&mdash;a
+      full-page illustration, as it were.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The following pages contain the story Which Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;
+      related to me. While he was telling it, a gentle wind arose; the miniature
+      sloops drifted feebly about the ocean; the wretched owners flew from point
+      to point, as the deceptive breeze promised to waft the barks to either
+      shore; the early robins trilled now and then from the newly fringed elms;
+      and the old young man leaned on the rail in the sunshine, little dreaming
+      that two gossips were discussing his affairs within twenty yards of him.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Three persons were sitting in a <i>salon</i> whose one large window
+      overlooked the Place Vendôme. M. Dorine, with his back half turned on the
+      other two occupants of the apartment, was reading the Journal des Débats
+      in an alcove, pausing from time to time to wipe his glasses, and taking
+      scrupulous pains not to glance towards the lounge at his right, on which
+      were seated Mile. Dorine and a young American gentleman, whose handsome
+      face rather frankly told his position in the family. There was not a
+      happier man in Paris that afternoon than Philip Wentworth. Life had become
+      so delicious to him that he shrunk from looking beyond to-day. What could
+      the future add to his full heart, what might it not take away? The deepest
+      joy has always something of melancholy in it&mdash;a presentiment, a
+      fleeting sadness, a feeling without a name. Wentworth was conscious of
+      this subtile shadow that night, when he rose from the lounge and
+      thoughtfully held Julie's hand to his lip for a moment before parting. A
+      careless observer would not have thought him, as he was, the happiest man
+      in Paris.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M. Dorine laid down his paper, and came forward. &ldquo;If the house,&rdquo; he said,
+      &ldquo;is such as M. Cherbonneau describes it, I advise you to close with him at
+      once. I would accompany you, Philip, but the truth is, I am too sad at
+      losing this little bird to assist you in selecting a cage for her.
+      Remember, the last train for town leaves at five. Be sure not to miss it;
+      for we have seats for Sardou's new comedy to-morrow night. By to-morrow
+      night,&rdquo; he added laughingly, &ldquo;little Julie here will be an old lady&mdash;it
+      is such an age from now until then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The next morning the train bore Philip to one of the loveliest spots
+      within thirty miles of Paris. An hour's walk through green lanes brought
+      him to M. Cherbonueau's estate. In a kind of dream the young man wandered
+      from room to room, inspected the conservatory, the stables, the lawns, the
+      strip of woodland through which a merry brook sang to itself continually,
+      and, after dining with M. Cherbonneau, completed the purchase, and turned
+      his steps towards the station just in time to catch the express train.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Paris stretched out before him, with its lights twinkling in the early
+      dusk, and its spires and domes melting into the evening air, it seemed to
+      Philip as if years had elapsed since he left the city. On reaching Paris
+      he drove to his hôtel, where he found several letters lying on the table.
+      He did not trouble himself even to glance at their superscriptions as he
+      threw aside his travelling surtout for a more appropriate dress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If, in his impatience to return to Mile. Dorine, the cars had appeared to
+      walk, the fiacre, which he had secured at the station appeared to creep.
+      At last it turned into the Place Vendôme, and drew up before M. Dorine's
+      hôtel. The door opened as Philip's foot touched the first step. The valet
+      silently took his cloak and hat, with a special deference, Philip thought;
+      but was he not now one of the family?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M. Dorine,&rdquo; said the servant slowly, &ldquo;is unable to see Monsieur at
+      present. He wishes Monsieur to be shown up to the salon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is Mademoiselle&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Monsieur.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alone, Monsieur,&rdquo; repeated the man, looking curiously at Philip, who
+      could scarcely repress an exclamation of pleasure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the first time that such a privilege had been accorded him. His
+      interviews with Julie had always taken place in the presence of M. Dorine,
+      or some member of the household. A well-bred Parisian girl has but a
+      formal acquaintance with her lover.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Philip did not linger on the staircase; with a light heart, he went up the
+      steps, two at a time, hastened through the softly lighted hall, in which
+      he detected the faint scent of her favorite flowers, and stealthily opened
+      the door of the salon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room was darkened. Underneath the chandelier stood a slim black casket
+      on trestles. A lighted candle, a crucifix, and some white flowers were on
+      a table near by. Julie Dorine was dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When M. Dorine heard the sudden cry that rang through the silent house, he
+      hurried from the library, and found Philip standing like a ghost in the
+      middle of the chamber.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not until long afterwards that Wentworth learned the details of the
+      calamity that had befallen him. On the previous night Mile. Dorine had
+      retired to her room in seemingly perfect health, and had dismissed her
+      maid with a request to be awakened early the next morning. At the
+      appointed hour the girl entered the chamber. Mile. Dorine was sitting in
+      an arm-chair, apparently asleep. The candle in the <i>bougeoir</i> had
+      burnt down to the socket; a book lay half open on the carpet at her feet.
+      The girl started when she saw that the bed had not been occupied, and that
+      her mistress still wore an evening dress. She rushed to Mile. Dorine's
+      side. It was not slumber; it was death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two messages were at once despatched to Philip, one to the station at G&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;,
+      the other to his hôtel. The first missed him on the road, the second he
+      had neglected to open. On his arrival at M. Dorine's house, the valet,
+      under the supposition that Wentworth had been advised of Mile. Dorine's
+      death, broke the intelligence with awkward cruelty, by showing him
+      directly to the salon. Mile. Dorine's wealth, her beauty, the suddenness
+      of her death, and the romance that had in some way attached itself to her
+      love for the young American drew crowds to witness the funeral ceremonies,
+      which took place in the church in the Rue d'Aguesseau. The body was to be
+      laid in M. Dorine's tomb, in the cemetery of Montmartre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This tomb requires a few words of description. First there was a grating
+      of filigraned iron; through this you looked into a small vestibule or
+      hall, at the end of which was a massive door of oak opening upon a short
+      flight of stone steps descending into the tomb. The vault was fifteen or
+      twenty feet square, ingeniously ventilated from the ceiling, but
+      unlighted. It contained two sarcophagi: the first held the remains of
+      Madame Dorine, long since dead; the other was new, and bore on one side
+      the letters J. D., in monogram, interwoven with fleurs-de-lis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The funeral train stopped at the gate of the small garden that enclosed
+      the place of burial, only the immediate relatives follow-ing the bearers
+      into the tomb. A slender wax candle, such as is used in Catholic churches,
+      burnt at the foot of the uncovered sarcophagus, casting a dim glow oyer
+      the centre of the apartment, and deepening the shadows which seemed to
+      huddle together in the corners. By this flickering light the coffin was
+      placed in its granite shell, the heavy slab laid over it reverently, and
+      the oaken door swung on its rusty hinges, shutting out the uncertain ray
+      of sunshine that had ventured to peep in on the darkness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M. Dorine, muffled in his cloak, threw himself on the back seat of the
+      landau, too abstracted in his grief to observe that he was the only
+      occupant of the vehicle. There was a sound of wheels grating on the
+      gravelled avenue, and then all was silence again in the cemetery of
+      Montmartre. At the main entrance the carriages parted company, dashing off
+      into various streets at a pace that seemed to express a sense of relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rattle of wheels had died out of the air when Philip opened his eyes,
+      bewildered, like a man abruptly roused from slumber. He raised himself on
+      one arm and stared into the surrounding blackness. Where was he? In a
+      second the truth flashed upon him. He had been left in the tomb! While
+      kneeling on the farther side of the stone box, perhaps he had fainted, and
+      during the last solemn rites his absence had been unnoticed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His first emotion was one of natural terror. But this passed as quickly as
+      it came. Life had ceased to be so very precious to him; and if it were his
+      fate to die at Julie's side, was not that the fulfilment of the desire
+      which he had expressed to himself a hundred times that morning? What did
+      it matter, a few years sooner or later? He must lay down the burden at
+      last. Why not then? A pang of self-reproach followed they thought. Could
+      he so lightly throw aside the love that had bent over his cradle. The
+      sacred name of mother rose involuntarily to his lips. Was it not cowardly
+      to yield up without a struggle the life when he should guard for her sake?
+      Was it not his duty to the living and the dead to face the difficulties of
+      his position, and overcome them if it were within human power?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With an organization as delicate as a woman's he had that spirit which,
+      however sluggish in repose, leaps with a kind of exultation to measure its
+      strength with disaster.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The vague fear of the supernatural, that would affect most men in a
+      similar situation, found no room in his heart. He was simply shut in a
+      chamber from which it was necessary that he should obtain release within a
+      given period. That this chamber contained the body of the woman he loved,
+      so far from adding to the terror of the case, was a circumstance from
+      which he drew consolation. She was a beautiful white statue now. Her soul
+      was far hence; and if that pure spirit could return, would it not be to
+      shield him with her love? It was impossible that the place should not
+      engender some thought of the kind. He did not put the thought entirely
+      from him as he rose to his feet and stretched out his hands in the
+      darkness; but his mind was too healthy and practical to indulge long in
+      such speculations.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Philip, being a smoker, chanced to have in his pocket a box of <i>allumettes</i>.
+      After several ineffectual essays, he succeeded in igniting one against the
+      dank wall, and by its momentary glare perceived that the candle had been
+      left in the tomb. This would serve him in examining the fastenings of the
+      vault. If he could force the inner door by any means, and reach the
+      grating, of which he had an indistinct recollection, he might hope to make
+      himself heard. But the oaken door was immovable, as solid as the wall
+      itself, into which it fitted air-tight. Even if he had had the requisite
+      tools, there were no fastenings to be removed; the hinges were set on the
+      outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having ascertained this, Philip replaced the candle on the floor, and
+      leaned against the wall thoughtfully, watching the blue fan of flame that
+      wavered to and fro, threatening to detach itself from the wick. &ldquo;At all
+      events,&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;the place is ventilated.&rdquo; Suddenly he sprang forward
+      and extinguished the light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His existence depended on that candle! He had read somewhere, in some
+      account of shipwreck, how the survivors had lived for days upon a few
+      candles which one of the passengers had insanely thrown into the
+      long-boat. And here he had been burning away his very life!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the transient illumination of one of the tapers, he looked at his
+      watch. It had stopped at eleven&mdash;but eleven that day, or the
+      preceding night? The funeral, he knew, had left the church at ten. How
+      many hours had passed since then? Of what duration had been his swoon?
+      Alas! it was no longer possible for him to measure those hours which crawl
+      like snails by the wretched, and fly like swallows over the happy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He picked up the candle, and seated himself on the stone steps. He was a
+      sanguine man, but, as he weighed the chances of escape, the prospect
+      appalled him. Of course he would be missed. His disappearance under the
+      circumstances would surely alarm his friends; they would institute a
+      search for him; but who would think of searching for a live man in the
+      cemetery of Montmartre? The préfet of police would set a hundred
+      intelligences at work to find him; the Seine might be dragged, <i>les
+      misérables</i> turned over at the Morgue; a minute description of him
+      would be in every detective's pocket; and he&mdash;in M. Dorine's family
+      tomb!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet, on the other hand, it was here, he was last seen; from this point a
+      keen detective would naturally work up the case. Then might not the
+      undertaker return for the candlestick, probably not left by design? Or,
+      again, might not M. Dorine send fresh wreaths of flowers, to take the
+      place of those which now diffused a pungent, aromatic odor throughout the
+      chamber? Ah! what unlikely chances! But if one of these things did not
+      happen speedily, it had better never happen. How long could he keep life
+      in himself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With his pocket-knife Wentworth cut the half-burned candle into four equal
+      parts. &ldquo;To-night,&rdquo; he meditated, &ldquo;I will eat the first of these pieces;
+      to-morrow, the second; to-morrow evening, the third; the next day, the
+      fourth; and then&mdash;then I 'll wait!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had taken no breakfast that morning, unless a cup of coffee can be
+      called a breakfast. He had never been very hungry before. He was
+      ravenously hungry now. But he postponed the meal as long as practicable.
+      It must have been near midnight, according to his calculation, when he
+      determined to try the first of his four singular repasts. The bit of
+      white-wax was tasteless; but it served its purpose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His appetite for the time appeased, he found a new discomfort. The
+      humidity of the walls, and the wind that crept through the unseen
+      ventilator, chilled him to the bone. To keep walking was his only
+      resource.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A kind of drowsiness, too, occasionally came over him. It took all his
+      will to fight it off. To sleep, he felt, was to die, and he had made up
+      his mind to live.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The strangest fancies flitted through his head as he groped up and down
+      the stone floor of the dungeon, feeling his way along the wall to avoid
+      the sepulchres. Voices that had long been silent spoke words that had long
+      been forgotten; faces he had known in childhood grew palpable against the
+      dark. His whole life in detail was unrolled before him like a panorama;
+      the changes of a year, with its burden of love and death, its sweets and
+      its bitternesses, were epitomized in a single second. The desire to sleep
+      had left him, but the keen hunger came again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It must be near morning now,&rdquo; he mused; &ldquo;perhaps the sun is just gilding
+      the towers of Notre Dame; or, may be, a dull, drizzling rain is beating on
+      Paris, sobbing on these mounds above me. Paris! it seems like a dream. Did
+      I ever walk in its gay boulevards in the golden air? Oh, the delight and
+      pain and passion of that sweet human life!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Philip became conscious that the gloom, the silence, and the cold were
+      gradually conquering him. The feverish activity of his brain brought on a
+      reaction. He grew lethargic; he sunk down on the steps, and thought of
+      nothing. His hand fell by chance on one of the pieces of candle; he
+      grasped it and devoured it mechanically. This revived him. &ldquo;How strange,&rdquo;
+       he thought, &ldquo;that I am not thirsty. Is it possible that the dampness of
+      the walls, which I must inhale with every breath, has supplied the need of
+      water? Not a drop has passed my lips for two days, and still I experience
+      no thirst. That drowsiness, thank Heaven, has gone. I think I was never
+      wide awake until this hour. It would be an anodyne like poison that could
+      weigh down my eyelids. No doubt the dread of sleep has something to do
+      with this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The minutes were like hours. Now he walked as briskly as he dared up and
+      down the tomb; now he rested against the door. More than once he was
+      tempted to throw himself upon the stone coffin that held Julie, and make
+      no further struggle for his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only one piece of candle remained. He had eaten the third portion, not to
+      satisfy hunger, but from a precautionary motive he had taken it as a man
+      takes some disagreeable drug upon the result of which hangs safety. The
+      time was rapidly approaching when even this poor substitute for
+      nourishment would be exhausted. He delayed that moment. He gave himself a
+      long fast this time. The half-inch of candle which he held in his hand was
+      a sacred thing to him. It was his last defence against death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Finally, with such a sinking at heart as he had not known before, he
+      raised it to his lips. Then he paused, then he hurled the fragment across
+      the tomb, then the oaken door was flung open, and Philip, with dazzled
+      eyes, saw M. Dorine's form sharply defined against the blue sky.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When they led him out, half blinded, into the broad daylight, M. Dorine
+      noticed that Philip's hair, which a short time since was as black as a
+      crow's wing, had actually turned gray in places. The man's eyes, too, had
+      faded; the darkness had dimmed their lustre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how long was he really confined in the tomb?&rdquo; I asked, as Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;
+      concluded the story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Just one hour and twenty minutes!</i>&rdquo; replied Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;,
+      smiling blandly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he spoke, the Lilliputian sloops, with their sails all blown out like
+      white roses, came floating bravely into port, and Philip Wentworth lounged
+      by us, wearily, in the pleasant April sunshine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;'s narrative haunted me. Here was a man who had
+      undergone a strange ordeal. Here was a man whose sufferings were unique.
+      His was no threadbare experience. Eighty minutes had seemed like two days
+      to him! If he had really been immured two days in the tomb, the story,
+      from my point of view, would have lost its tragic value.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After this it was natural that I should regard Mr. Wentworth with
+      stimulated curiosity. As I met him from day to day, passing through the
+      Common with that same introspective air, there was something in his
+      loneliness which touched me. I wondered that I had not read before in his
+      pale, meditative face some such sad history as Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;
+      had confided to me. I formed the resolution of speaking to him, though
+      with no very lucid purpose. One morning we came face to face at the
+      intersection of two paths. He halted courteously to allow me the
+      precedence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Wentworth,&rdquo; I began, &ldquo;I&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He interrupted me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My name, sir,&rdquo; he said, in an off-hand manner, &ldquo;is Jones.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jo-Jo-Jones!&rdquo; I gasped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not Joseph Jones,&rdquo; he returned, with a glacial air&mdash;&ldquo;Frederick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A dim light, in which the perfidy of my friend H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash; was
+      becoming discernible, began to break upon my mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It will probably be a standing wonder to Mr. Frederick Jones why a strange
+      man accosted him one morning on the Common as &ldquo;Mr. Wentworth,&rdquo; and then
+      dashed madly down the nearest foot-path and disappeared in the crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fact is, I had been duped by Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;, who is a
+      gentleman of literary proclivities, and has, it is whispered, become
+      somewhat demented in brooding over the Great American Novel&mdash;not yet
+      hatched, He had actually tried the effect of one of his chapters on me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My hero, as I subsequently learned, is a commonplace young person, who had
+      some connection, I know not what, with the building of that graceful
+      granite bridge which spans the crooked silver lake in the Public Garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When I think of the readiness with which Mr. H&mdash;&mdash;&mdash; built
+      up his airy fabric on my credulity, I feel half inclined to laugh, though
+      I am deeply mortified at having been the unresisting victim of his Black
+      Art.
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 6em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
+
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