A Clock Wonder

During the summer of 18— there might have been observed loitering about the Tuileries a spare, shabbily-dressed man, past the prime of life, restless and disconcerted in his movements, but wearing, in spite of humble garb, an air of faded respectability and character. He was a decayed Spanish nobleman, Don Monsen Chavarri by name, and one thing noticeable about him was his persistency in endeavoring to obtain an audience of the Emperor. Foiled in every attempt, either through accident or the suspicions of the attendants, he invariable received the rebuffs in silence and withdrew—merely to renew his importunities. Repulsed today, tomorrow found him at his post. He haunted the palace like a spectre. Even the gamins soon grew familiar with the story of his homeless guest, and he began in time to be treated with that sort of pitiful consideration which is usually accorded to those in unsound mind.

At length, however, there came a day, when, in the Rue de Rivoli, as the Emperor was returning from a review, a pistol-shot rang out from the corner of the court, and the bullet, whistling through the line of outsiders, buried itself in the panel of the imperial carniage. The police at once charged the crowd, and among the number arrested was our friend the Spaniard.

At the trial, there being no evidence against him, he was acquitted, but warned to instantly leave Paris. Acting upon the warning he disappeared, and from the time all traces of him were lost.

It was some two years after this occurrence that there began to circulate among the quidnuncs of… Read More