Reading for Everybody.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2407, 23 January 1909, Page 10 (Supplement)

Reading for Everybody.

I \ THE Tl RED SOrtDJER. A TRAGED Y OR LAKE BAIKAL. Here ia a tragic story of a Russian soldier s life. Ihe incident takes place by LjVjyo -Baikal, "that wonderful piece of water which is joined to • Europe and the Pacific by the■ .Trans--Siberian railway. AVe take the story from the “Anglo-Russian,”" an inter'frfstmg papery which seeks to spread v“an accurate knowledge of internal affairs and events in Russia and their bearing upon international policy.” Tbc story is translated by i lolena Frank, and was first published by the ‘‘Land and Freedom” Society *■ THE SOLITARY SENTINEL. “A dark winter’s night! Angry--I<wknig waves, driven by fierce gusts of wind, career across the might v lake tumble headlong over each other, and raise a cloud of icy spray... .' The raging of the storm sounds far and wide. The wind howls, Lako Baikal is working itself into a fury, into a fury—because certain miserable pigmies called men have come and disturbed the peace that reigned around its waters for ages. „ “They came with dynamite, lovers, and pickaxes, tore up the shorn- hills a tic', crumbled them up, tunnelled long roads in them, disfigured its beautiful, wild shores. They changed everything. Fiery monsters paddled hissing through its clear, cold waves, bearing thousands and tens of thousands of tired-out, unhappy, uncomplaining men. -•Whither, why, and what for? wondered idle hoary Baikal. ..AVliat is all this commotion and vanity? _ AV'd its fury rises, whistles, and •as though it would pour tho f . hole of its wrath and hatred on theso covetous, senseless men. . . “al ; d night. Terror and darkness. . nothing to .be seen, and the howling and roaring fill With dismay the heart of the* .solitary sentinel just placed V the re. - sjP’. 1 'Sncctre-like he stalks, backward rf and forwaYdsiOn the high land-stage, his musket over his shoulder, in a great sheep-skin overcoat, felt footgear. and a huge fur cap. HEAVENS, HOW COLD. "He has to keep,guard there until three in the morning, x. It is not an hour since ho wi& on duty, and lie. is already half frozen. “Heavens, libw cold it is, and what u storm ! Neither the sheepskin nor the felt boots can keen out the cold—it creeps in everywhere, and cuts like a knife, lev shivers run down his

spine and into every part of his ~r body. His eves smart, ' cheeks i liugle.-v the cold sea-spray t-oyers him ■ from liVjul to foot. If he stoodtyf A-h Jiis to the sea and his face to the town fit wouldn’t be so bad, but that is- 5 forbidden. there are stsict orders to p-atrol the landingthe sea side of it. . . . “He walks up and down, and looks our from the two ends of the stage, trying to distinguish something or other, but there is nothing to bo seen ; the few quaint- lamps make no impression on the surrounding darkness. His eyes ache and water with Jfc staring into the night and the wind. '' "Backwards and forwards he goes . . . the sea and tho wind rise liigher. “This is thd third day of the gale, the third day there has been no crossijk the lane. The weather will have played itself out before long; it may calm down towards morning, only, ‘God preserve us, how cold it is!’ thinks the sentinel. Hands and feet are benumbed, and vet the cold is not really so very terrible! what he must do is to walk faster. * THE GALE’S FURY. "Still the gale is dreadful, and so are the icy showers of spray that seem To drench'him from every side. They have already covered him with a thin crust like glass, and with every wave this frozen crust gets bit by bit thicker. He already begins to. feel the weight of it, and it makes walking difficult, for his steps lrow slower instead of faster, and every now and then he is obliged to pause and draw breath. “Tiny, fantastic icicles hang fro-m Jiis fur cap, and makes it still more impossible to see. He tries pushing tbc cap to the back of bis head, but j. this leaves hisc brow uncovered, and the cold strikes it fit to split his skull. . . .

•'.tie pulls it down again to Ids eyes. "What a visitation ! How on earth is he to patrol the landing-stage if this goes on? It will soon be impossible to see at ally and oven walking gets harder and harder. .... “Anguish coils round his heart like a snake; a creepy horror comes over him. “But he pulls liimself together jiteain and drives it away. They will relieve him before his watch has expired, or at least send to know how he is getting on, he thinks'to comfort himself. They know what tho weather is like* what a wind is blowing, how cold it is. . . ‘ A SOLDIER’S ANGUISH. “A minute later tho anguish has

him again. r ... “ ‘Who should come i Nobody will come 1 "Who wants to go out on such a night? They have got together in the warmth, lain down, and gone to sleeo My four hours will pass, and then I shall be relieved . . “ ‘But I.can’t possibly hold out till three o’clock!’ flashes, through him, • and a. keen ipain .pierces his ‘heartlike a sink. • • He gee* Worn hope to despair, from terror to hope, .hut this crust, .his dreadful crust will undo llU “The sheepskin coat weighs him down; lie cannot move his limb* Heelv He walks a tew steps, stops, a deep breath, stares out Hom . under his icy Hinge, takes anotliu f ew steps, and stops again. . • “ ‘What shall I do? , he wonders. ‘Throw off the fehoepskm. lho idea terrifies him. In half an horn 1 11 lj c IroieV, like a Jog, and nobody would ‘‘tut takes two wore turns, and then lmns nowerless, against the avail. ‘I shall stand here till they oom.c Standing still is lorbidden—but it I can’t walk, what am I to • the icy sura V. ‘ ‘And lie stands—-and the icy spray , flies higher around him With a of frantic, capering and drenches him over and over again, a tKi, it wanted to oncirdo and oarrv olf tins miserable being, vl 4ared to stand and face the ang 3 ■' Suffers son such a fearful night. -q-he spray showers are How should they know that tho unfortunate, battered human berng • is not there of Ins own taHri , . other stronger, haid-heaitu 1 - I have put him there, nud, icgauUestf ol

the weather, have more or less forgot ton him, just as they will forget tlie one who will take his place, as they forget thousands and tons of thousands .more who perish uselessly before, their time? . . . ' 1 How-should they know, that these same other people took him by force from Ins family, his home, and everytiling near and dear to him, drove ium thousands‘of versts, and put him to guard this, piece of shore against tlie toe, put him there alone, so 'abBu ™ly helpless with hi® musket. . .. ■ “They don’t know or care to know. M liat .they want is to get hold of him and strangle him for his audacity in their icy embrace. 'They fly into his oafs and nose and eyes, and wlijsper derisively: ‘You had better go before it’s too late. . Drop your sheepskin and go. What do you expect to do here by yourself, you stupid, senseless man ? Of what use can you be? A.ou will perish, and your'death will have been no good- to anyone—go away, go awav!’ THE FEAR OF PUNISHMENT.

“But the. fear of punishment is proof against -all reasoning, and lie stands and keeps a look-out. Only, tho sheepskin is now so heavy that presently he will not be able to stand. His brain works tensely. ‘AVhat shall I do?’ he thinks. ‘Surely I haven’t got to perish bore, forgotten by God and man? O GOD, God, help me!’ “And suddenly it occurs to him that lie ought to fire off his gun ! That’s the thing! He will fire and someone will come to his help. . . “He manages to fire. . . But. oh, what ,a poor, faint sound it made against the howling and roaring of tho storm! Ho himself heard it, and it was doubtless audible at the further end of the landing-stage, but it can never have reached, beyond, and nobody, nobody else will have heard! “And yet he hopes and waits. . . . A long time of torturing suspense goes by. . . and nobody comes. “He fires a second shot, and waits again. But time drags on, and hope grows fainter and fainter till it is altogether extinguished. A tempest rises within him. He does not want to die here -alone and forgotten, flung far away from his home and family. He does not y-ant to die, and his anguished soul pours itself out in praver. ' A SOLDIER’S PRAYER. - ,

“ ‘Lord, save and be merciful to me a sinner ; do not let me die. let mo see my children again, my wife, my mother! Thou knoivest, and I’m the only one >at home who can work, their only breadwinner! AVliat is to become of the children if I die? Fancy them wandering about tbc world, poor little ignorant things—who is to help -them and protect them? Lord, Thou art my. defender, my hope is in Thee, do not let me perish here for nothing and nobody!’

“His lips move, his' eyes with tears. But time passes and the icy shell grows heavier and weighs him down. His prayerful mood vanishes, and is succeeded by one of anger and hate. He wants to live, to live! His life is so much needed there, at home! But here? of what good is he here? None at all. He will die and another will take his place. Again bis lips move, but tins time they whisper curses. A SOLDIER’S CURSE... “He courses the escort, that brought him and left him here on this awful night; lie curses the officer who gave the order, the captain., the general, and all those who set a soldier’s life at naught, who drive him like cattle, and let him perish in his thousands from skiknes-s, hunger, and cold. . . He curses all those who brought on the savage, senseless, useless war., poured out whole rivers of soldiers’ blood, left hundreds of thousands of families without -a bread winner, filled the world with defenceless widows and orphans. “ ‘Be ye cursed, you Judases, traitors, drinkers of blood !’—he mutters—‘you are'warm and full-fed. and drunk, and I have to die like a dog—what for?’ A suffocating sob interrupts him, and he weeps hot, helpless tears. A SOLDIER’S DREAM.

“Time passes. . .ho is weighed down, down to the ground; he can hardly keep his feet. He grows gidcly, his oyes darken, and .something leaden oppresses his brain. “He.stares in front of him, but ho. "no longer sees the waves or hears the. roar of the storm; . “He sees instead liis wife and family—his wife and children. He is at home with them again; they .are all sitting at table in the large, clear, warm room. The light burns before the ikon as though it were a holiday. All is bright and cheerful. His wire is saying something to him and sinning. The children are making merry, and the youngest, the baby hoy. has. crawled up to him, and pull# him about, and looks at him, and kisses him, while the old mother stands leaning on the store, and she, too, looks lov-: ingly at him, while tear after tear;, rolls from her eyes. .. “He feels happy. . • only what has. got hold of his feet? They seem rooted to the floor. He wants to ge , ii)) from the bench, and cannot. Amt; wiio iia puWliug him down to. the. ground? Whose claws have fastened on him, and will not let him go? ; A FINAL SLEEP. “Yes, of course, he. must fire ~ off; his musket as quick, as possible! • • ■ “He tries, but his fingers are power-. less, and the musket slips front them 1 . and falls. And those accursed claws, •pull him down and down. His ankles, give way. . . . He makes one desperate effort to bold himself erect,, and then—he . 100, falls with a groan? <m to. the ice-covered stage. “The spray showers, victorious, whirl and caper triumphantly and’ madlv around him, look into his eyes and whisper derisively:. £ Go to sleep, got to sleep, you are tired, tired. . . . “They are matsers now of the motionless body; swiftly they throw themselves upon it, layer upon layer, but ho no longer feels them ; he makes no complaint.” ' - ■-

“FAKING” BIOGRAFH PICTURES. AN EXPENSIVE PROCESS. THE TRICKS OF THE TRADE. It is doubtful if the great majority of those who attend “living picture” displays are aware of the tremendous amount of labor required to make ia successful film, it all seems .delightfully simple. AVe are taken round the world. AVe see Quebec Pageants and Indian Durbars, and for variety we have comic pictures which are so ridiculous that we wonder how such things can be. As a- matter of fact, all the -marvellous and improbable films are carefully and elaborately faked, and their production is quite a profession, embracing as it does crowds of actors and actresses who pose for the cinematograph. To- produce certain lengthy scenes, with wondrous fairies performing in them, the biograph man must have the interior of a theatre at, his disposal. AVith the exception of the Opera and Chatolet, no theatre in Paris is as well equipped as a biograpli establishment. The Gainnonts have one 140 ft long, with a stage GOfjt deep and 105 ft high. Tho stage flooring is strong enough to uphold a troupe of elephants, and has two approaches for teams. The problem of lighting, here of prime importance, is solved by a skylight of 1800 square yards. Twelve powerful arc lights afford additional illumination . So powerful are they that they will blister your hands and face. • Notices in the wings warn tlie artists against rcjnainiug too long within their glare. * IN THE THEATRE. Let us visit this theatre when all is in full swing. It is 7in the morning ; the entire staff is already on hand; not a minute of the day is to be lost. The’ artiots emerge from their dressing-rooms costumed and made up. Make-up is as essential for a play in the street as for a play on the stage, so that the expression of the faces, here of capital importance, shall lose none of its emphasis. AVe join the actors as they climb into the theatre omnibus, and, as we ihurry into the appointed place, the best stage manager in Paris—-AJ. Ettienno Arnaut —gives the artists a last reading of the scenario. The hero, is played by a comedian from the Olympic. In the first act he has received from his wife a tremendous cuff in tho face, and now with a swollen cheek he is to ramble through Paris. AVoe to them that laugh at him! A troupe of clowns in long coats ,and high hats, a comedienne, and an actor dressed up as a vendor of newspapers havo come along to play the parts of these luckless citizens.

The afflicted husband must dash into a drug store for unguents to eootlie his burning cheek—here is a well-lighted one that just suits our purpose. AVe alight, surrounded by oO- people, who have run after our omnibus, attracted by the strange appearance of our troupe. AVith tlie consent of the proprietor one of the clowns goes behind the.counter while the biograph apparatus is being set up on the sidewalk. At. a whistle from the stage manager the in-in with the swollen cheek rushes into the shop and the clown roars with laughter. Zip ! A blow sends him headlong. Exchange of cards. First duel in prospect. In route now for the next scene. At the corner of the street, in full sunshine, a fountain. Perfect! The omnibus stops, and the maltreated husband sets about dashing water on his cheek. A second clown goes by, arm-in-arm with the actress. Thc.v giggle. A blow hurls the clown into tho gutter. The clown has executed his “cascade” with such hurry that he has burst his coat. -More than 200 people in windows take the whole thing seriously, and roar with laughter.

THE POSSIBILITY OF DANGER. An hour later, Hinder the trees of a park, where wo get afhilarious welcome, the hero of this burlesque epic, refusing weapons for his duels, knocks down the entire troupe of clowns—adversaries and seconds indiscriminately—and leaves them in a ■heap, brandishing their arms and legs in tho maddest confusion. The play is completed. To record ■it 600 ft of transparent ribbon have barely sufficed. On each yard of that ribbon 1 more than 50 photographs have been taken. When “The Duel” is presented upon the biograph screen, 10,400 pictures will be shown within the space of a few moments. Not a day passes but one of these street “rehearsals” is the occasion of an aidusing drama, in which the crowd plays a not unimportant part. But real danger sometimes attends this outdoor acting. Near London, several months ago, a manager of biograph pH' , ' c ‘ got up a drama involving an attempt to derail the London 'and Brighton express. The villains, according to scenario, were discovered by an actor dressed as an employee of the railway, and tied him down between tho rails. So far all. went well. . But when the train — which had been specially hired for the occasion—came ulong the engine could not be stopped in time, and the unfortunate actor was seriously injured. ’ As a result of this trains in the old country will no longer be available for such purposes. THE-EXPERIENCE OF A NURSE. One of the most successful films, “The Nurse’s Voyage,” is an example of how tho “faker” works. A nurse —i.e., a clown dressed up as a nurse —in order to recapture baby's, balloon, which is lodged in. the branch ox a tree, 'puts" The infant on a bench and climbs into the perambulator. Tho ground is sloping; the baby carriage starts away, nurse and all. It darts through Paris, charges 'along the banks of the Seine, reaches Rouen, then Havre and the sea. There s no stopping it. It darts across the ocean, carrying nurse to the imaginary land of Papouesia, where the natives make her their queen. To dress up a score of people as Papouesians and to erect a little bamboo village in a wood near Paris was mere child’s play. But how to arraugo the trip across the ocean? At Havre ia second baby -carriage was built without wheels, and perfectly seaworthy. Tho clown got aboard, and a tug towed tho extraordinary craft out to sea while the biograph apparatus followed and pictured;, the dancing baby-carriage traversing the water..

By touching out tho tow-rope in tho photographs the trick was completed. The cinematographer’s zeal sometimes gets him into serious trouble. At Boulogne the authorities arc just now prosecuting a man for cruelty to ia horse. In order to obtain a realistic film this individual bought an old cab horse, harnessed it to an equally aged carriage, and drove the equipage over the cliffs. He has a splendid film entitled “Tlie Runaway,” but he will probably have to- pay u handsome fine. THE COST.

. All - these films cost money. The film alone costs tenpeneo a yard, and we must take into account the actors who do not perform for money. The “Passion Play” holds tho record for expense. Its splendid staging was copied from Tissot’s paintings. It had 200 performers. All told it cost £ISOO.

Every day thousands of miles of film are shipped abroad b.v the biograph establishments of Paris. France leads the world in the production, but Britain is gradually making way. And the biograph has a future. It is capable of far-reaching developments, and it is sure to reach a stage of perfection, compared with which pre-sent-day pictures will seem trivial and disappointing.

TRIPLE TRAGEDY IN LONDON. FATHER’S AWFUL CRIME. Early on the morning of November 22, George Nadin,. living at Bethel 1 avenue, Canning Town, killed three of his children by-cutting their .throats with a razor , attacked his two other children in the same manner, injured his wife when she endeavored to restrain him, and then attempted to end his own. life with the weapon with which lie had murdered the children. The wife and the two surviving children were removed to St. Margaret’s hospital. Pla i stow, and the man was taken to Poplar hospital, apparently in a dying condition, with a deep gash in Jiis throat. Nadin is a seafaring man. and has been employed on cargo boats plying between' Southampton -and_ the Thames, tie came home on November 13th, and was to have left again on the 24th. On Saturday morning he and his wife bad breakfast together. and after ho had left the kitchen his wile heard screams and -scuffling in the passage. Airs. Nadin went Micro, and found the husband attacking tlie elder children with a razor. Sim struggled with him, and pushed him into tlie sitting-room, and then turned the key .and locked him in. Catching hold of her son Angus, about eight years, who bad only a shirt on, ami was bleeding profusely from a cut in the throat, she rushed out into the street. The boy fell in _ the gutter exhausted from loss of b'ood. Neighbors picked up the lad, and carried him into Mie kitchen, where, to their horror,. they saw the eldest son, George (12) r , sitting m a chair with a wound in his throat, and a girl. Al-ag-gie (10). lying on the hearthrug, suffering from a -similar injury. Airs. Nadin, who was bleeding from a cut in the arm received in the struggle wilb her husband, ran to the bedroom door, exclaiming. “1 must look in here.” She opened the door, and looking in. cried; “Ob. God, be s murdered the babies!” The neighbors who followed her.beheld an appalling -nec.tacle. On the bod lav the dead body of Freddie, aged abontysix. and by bis side was bis sister. Joan., about four, who was in a dying state. Both children’s throats had been cut. Joan did not long survive. Next the front room door was unlocked, and the father was found lving on the floor, 'deeding from the throat, and anpar-