Like the swift shadows of Noon, like the dreams of the Blind, Vanish the glories and pomps of earth in the wind. Man! canst thou build upon aught in the pride of thy mind? Though there be thousand bright actions embalmed and enshrined, Solomon! where is thy throne? It is gone in the wind. Say, what is Pleasure? a phantom, a mask undefined; Solomon! where is thy throne? It is gone in the wind. Mortal! be careful with what thy best hopes are entwined; They and their trust shall be scattered like leaves on the wind. Solomon! where is thy throne? It is gone in the wind. Pity, thou, reader! the madness of poor Humankind, Solomon! where is thy throne? It is gone in the wind. A CORSICAN VENDETTA.1 BY PROSPER MÉRIMÉE. (From "Colomba": by courtesy of T. Y. Crowell & Co.) [PROSPER MÉRIMÉE: A French writer; born in Paris, September 28, 1803; died at Cannes, September 23, 1870. His father and mother were both artists, his father being for a long time secretary of the École des Beaux Arts. The son was given a college education, and studied law, but abandoned it for literary work. He was inspector general of the historical monuments of France, and in 1852 was appointed senator for life in the reconstructed French government. Among his notable writings are: "Colomba," a novel (1830); "Carmen," the novel which furnished the plot for Bizet's opera (1840); "Historic Monuments" (1843); “Arsène Guillot,” (1845); “Studies in the History of Rome"; "Historic and Literary Medleys" (1855); "Social War" and "Letters to an Unknown" (1873). He was elected to the French Academy in 1844.] THE following day passed without hostilities. Both sides. held themselves on the defensive. Orso did not go out of his house, and the door of the Barricinis' remained constantly closed. Five policemen who had been left as garrison at Pietranera were to be seen walking in the square or in the outskirts of the village, accompanied by the rural constable, the only representative of the town force. The deputy mayor did not take off his scarf; but with the exception of the loopholes at the windows of the hostile houses, nothing indicated war. No one but a Corsican would have noticed that in the square around the green oak only women were to be seen. At supper time Colomba joyfully showed her brother the following letter, which she had just received from Miss Nevil: I was very glad to learn from your brother's letter that your enmities are over. Let me congratulate you. My father cannot endure Ajaccio now that your brother is not here to talk war and to hunt with him. We leave to-day; and we shall spend the night with your relative, for whom we have a letter. Day after to-morrow, at about eleven o'clock, I shall come to ask you for that bruccio of the mountains, which you say is so superior to that of the town. Good-by, dear Colomba, Your friend, LYDIA NEvil. 1 Copyright, 1898, by T. Y. Crowell & Co. "Then she has not received my second letter!" exclaimed Orso. "You see by the date of hers that Miss Lydia must have been on the way when your letter arrived at Ajaccio. Did you tell her not to come?" "I told her that we were in a state of siege. This is not, it seems to me, a situation in which to receive company.' "Bah! Those English are queer people. She told me the last night I spent in her room that she should be sorry to leave Corsica without having seen a fine vendetta. If you are willing, Orso, we can show her an assault upon the house of our enemies." "Do you know, Colomba," said Orso, "that nature was wrong to make a woman of you? You would have made an excellent soldier." "Perhaps. At all events I am going to prepare my bruccio." "It is useless. We must send some one to inform them, and to stop them before they start." "What? Would you send out a messenger in such weather, when a torrent might sweep him away with your letter? How I pity the poor bandits in this storm! Fortunately they have good cloaks. Let me tell you what you ought to do, Orso. If the storm ceases, go very early to-morrow morning and reach our kinsman's house before our friends have started. That will be easy for you, because Miss Lydia always rises late. You can tell them what has happened here; and if they insist upon coming, we shall be very glad to receive them." Orso readily gave his consent to this scheme; and Colomba, after a few moments of silence, went on: "Perhaps you think, Orso, that I was joking when I spoke of an assault upon the Barricini house. Do you know that we are stronger than they are, two against one, at least? Since the prefect suspended the mayor, all the men here are on our side. We can cut them to pieces. It would be easy to begin the affair. If you were willing, I would go to the fountain and make fun of their women; they would come out or perhaps, they are so cowardly, they would shoot upon me from their loopholes; they would miss me. Then the amount of it all is that they made the attack. So much the worse for the vanquished. In a quarrel, who holds the victorious responsible? Rely upon your sister, Orso; the black-robed lawyers who are going to come will waste some paper, and will say many useless words. Nothing will result from it. The old fox would find way to make them see stars at high noon. Ah, if the prefect had not put himself in front of Vincentello, there would have been one less!" All this was said with the same coolness with which she had spoken a few moments before about the preparation of the bruccio. Orso, stupefied, stared at his sister with admiration mingled with fear. 66 My dear Colomba," he said, as he rose from the table, "you are, I fear, the Devil personified. But be at rest; if I do not succeed in getting the Barricinis hanged, I shall find means to have my revenge on them in another way. Hot ball or cold steel! You see that I have not forgotten Corsican." "The sooner the better," said Colomba, with a sigh. "What horse shall you ride to-morrow, Ors' Anton'?" "The black. Why do you ask?" "So that barley may be given him." When Orso had retired to his room, Colomba sent Saveria and the shepherds to bed, and remained alone in the kitchen, where she prepared her bruccio. From time to time she listened, and seemed to be waiting impatiently for her brother to get to bed. When she thought he was at last asleep, she took a knife, made sure that it was sharp, put her little feet into big shoes, and without making the slightest noise slipped out into the garden. The garden, inclosed with walls, bordered on a large piece of land surrounded with hedges, where they kept the horses; for Corsican horses do not know the stable. Generally people let them loose in a field, and leave it to their intelligence to find food, and to shelter themselves against the cold and the rain. Colomba opened the garden gate with the same precaution, and entered the inclosure; and by whistling softly she drew around her the horses, to whom she often brought bread and salt. As soon as the black horse was within her reach, she seized him firmly by the mane, and slit his ear with her knife. The horse made a wild bound and ran away, making a sharp cry, such as acute pain sometimes draws from animals of that kind. Colomba, quite satisfied, was returning to the garden, when Orso opened his window and cried, "Who goes there?" At the same time she heard him loading his gun. Fortunately for her the garden gate was in complete darkness, and a large fig tree partially covered it. Soon, from the intermittent lights that shone in her brother's room, she concluded that he was trying to light his lamp. Then she hastily closed the gate; and by gliding along the walls in such a way that her black dress blended with the dark foliage of the fruit trees trained against them, she succeeded in reaching the kitchen a few moments before Orso appeared. "What is the matter?" she asked. "It seemed to me," replied Orso, "that some one was opening the garden gate.' "Impossible! The dog would have barked. However, let us go and see." Orso went around the garden; and when he had ascertained that the outer door was well locked, he felt a little ashamed of his false alarm, and prepared to return to his room. "I like to see, brother," said Colomba, "that you are becoming prudent, as one in your position ought to be." "You are training me," responded Orso. "Good night." At the dawn of day Orso was up and ready to start. His dress indicated at the same time the pretension to elegance of a man who is going to present himself before a woman whom he wishes to please, and the prudence of a Corsican engaged in a vendetta. Over a tight-fitting coat he wore, slung over his shoulder, a little tin box containing cartridges, suspended by a green silk cord; his stiletto was placed in a side pocket; and he carried in his hand the beautiful Manton gun, loaded with bullets. While he was hurriedly drinking a cup of coffee which Colomba had poured out for him, a shepherd went out to saddle and bridle the horse. Orso and his sister followed close behind him, and entered the inclosure. The shepherd had caught the horse, but he had let saddle and bridle fall, and appeared to be horror-stricken; while the horse, who remembered the wound of the preceding night and feared for his other ear, was rearing, kicking, neighing, and playing a thousand pranks. "Here, hurry up!" Orso shouted. "O Ors' Anton'! O Ors' Anton'!" cried the shepherd; "by the blood of our Lady!" And he made imprecations without number, the greater part of which are untranslatable. "What has happened?" demanded Colomba. Every one approached the horse; and when they saw that |