Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 January 1876 — Snicide in Paris. [ARTICLE]

Snicide in Paris.

“ Grace Greenwood” writes from Faris to the New York Times: “ A week or two ago there was in good society a singular double suicide, caused by a little family unpleasantness. A gentleman whose wife had left him some months previous, on account of his proclivity for rttmous speculations, called at her lodgings, accompanied by her son, a youth of eighteen or nineteen, hoping, with the good news of a lucrative Government appointment, to effect a reconciliation. But toe lady was inexorable, and persistently refused to admit eitjipr.pf.her visitors, whereupon th® heart-broken husband drew a revolver and blew out his desperate brains. It seems to have been a family liberally provided with the means of self-destruction, for immediately the son, with a filial piety essentially Parisian, drew another revolver and shot himself through the heart, falling dead on the body of his father. Even then the wife and toother, who had held a parley and witnessed the tragedy from an upper window, and who had literally the death of .husband and son at her door, refused to open that door until 'summoned by the police—more powerful than nature, humanity or womanly pity. Gendarmes rushed in where angels could not tread. “ The Column Vendome is again a favorite point for the leap into eternity. The present guardfian of the column is humane, for a soldier, and never allows a suspicious, melodramatic-looking person to mount to the Summit alone. One’afternoon, lately, a young gentleman having a somewhat wild and melancholy aspect, hair rumpled and cravat awry, presented himself to the Sergeant, who, after having vainly attempted'to dissuade'him from ascending the column, on the ground that it was late and the weather not favorable, slyly sent after him two soldiers, with strict injunctions to keep within grasping distance of the unhappy young Monsieur’s coat-tails. The stranger seemed not to notice them, but stood sadly looking out over the world of roofs, spires and towers, most of the time through a veil of dreary drizzle, for an hour' and a half. It was then time sor 0 the poor' fellows .to return to their barrack/; they hurried ,dow r n and the Sergeant hurried up, hardly expecting to be in. lime to avert the suicide. Near the top of the stairs, however, he met the young man, safe and sound, and, profound mystery of human nature, was a little disappointed. When they were both fairly down, he laid his hand on the shoulder of his charge and said: “Now, confess, mon ami, when you first came you had the intention to throw yourself off the monument.’ ‘Ah, yes,’ replied the melancholy gentleman, giving the inevitable shrug, • but you see, on looking down, I noticed those ugly, sharp spikes of the railing, and reflected that in falling on them I might hurt myself. Bon, jour, Monsieur.’ “ There is really no need for toiling up. all those steps in order to push on bloody death. One has only to attempt to walk slowly across any one of the narrow business streets or broad boulevards of -the city, and a furiously-driven witure or gigantic omnibus will do the business tor him. Pedestrians have no rights which French cochere are bound to respect. Neidier does toe law protect or avenge them, for if one is run over on the street he is actually .liable to be fined for causinga sensation, collecting a crowd and obstructing the sidewalk. Some months agoa poor man whose child escaped from his shop, ran into toe street and tell in the way 'bf an omnibus, arresting it and travel for a while in a very disagreeable way, was obliged to pay a fine of twenty francs. The child was killed. At the crossing of the streets, where there is an open space, there are certain round, slightly-raised _ places called ‘ where one is safe from the chariots and the horsemen. They are like islands-in the midst of the rapids of Niagara. Having reached one we ‘ linger on the brink and fear to launch away,’ thinking with.a home-sick longing of the sturdy, gallant policeman of Broadway, our modern Santo Christofero. The most noble promenader is at the mercy of the most vulgar charrelier. In the times of the Bourbons it was the aristocracy who tore through the streets of Paris at full speed, without even shouting '■gars!' driving over the people. Now it is the people who drive over the aristocracy. So toe world advances. * Marchons!'"