Meissonier, his life and his art . aw a group of men. driving a struggling prisonerbefore them, come out of astreet which has now beenpulled down, near the H6telde Ville. He was a tall, fineyoung man, a splendid fellow,full of strength and life. Thegroup was close to us, whensuddenly the prisoner wasstruck by a bullet which laidhim low. I can still see thatswift, terrible passage out oflife into death. For one mo-ment his hands twitched athis sides, then all was over,and he was carried away a limp body, a mere human rag that flut-tered as it was borne along. What a fuss have we here about alov


Meissonier, his life and his art . aw a group of men. driving a struggling prisonerbefore them, come out of astreet which has now beenpulled down, near the H6telde Ville. He was a tall, fineyoung man, a splendid fellow,full of strength and life. Thegroup was close to us, whensuddenly the prisoner wasstruck by a bullet which laidhim low. I can still see thatswift, terrible passage out oflife into death. For one mo-ment his hands twitched athis sides, then all was over,and he was carried away a limp body, a mere human rag that flut-tered as it was borne along. What a fuss have we here about alove story and a suicide! That iswhat we have come to ! Two pistolshots constitute an event! Formerlypeople died more easily. Nowadayshuman life has come to be lookedupon as sacred, and that idea en-genders cowardice and stifles selfsacrifice. It is curious to note how littlehuman death affects the face of Nature, how squalid a note it strikes even. Corpses in the open airseem no more than dirty rags, of no importance whatever. . .. ^Kl?;^CH MAHE AT THE INSTITlTE. COUDEK. MEMORIES 281 It is when a man dies in his own famihar surroundings, in his ownhouse, surrounded by his own people, that Death towers in its trueproportions, its majesty, its touching sadness. The death struggle


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