Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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You are fond of freakish stories, quite entranced by outward show. Firm believers in a future for the muddled world we know, You indulge ideals and sentiment, the passing whim and fad. But — like any healthy youngster — you believe you ' re bold and bad. Such unabashed hypocrisy! It surely would be wise To face the facts and cultivate truth when you advertise? If the goods aren ' t up to sample you ' ll have trouble soon or late You are hampered by tradition — Bring your posters up to date! Irene M. Scott, Second Form Mistress. THE AVENGERS Prize Story MADAME sat alone in her salon, her long, bony, amazingly claw-like fingers clasped tightly in her lap. Madame was a startling woman, her eyes, the most striking feature of her face, were an unusual green, wide open, almost as if in fear. Her face was white, corpse-like, and from it her staring eyes gleamed as those of a hunted animal. She sat quite stiff and upright in her chair, occasionally turning and passing her hand uncertainly over the outline of an unyielding yellow wax tulip. Her never changing glance was fixed on a large bronze door. Madame was blind, quite blind. The door opened and was closed again softly. Madame arose quickly and spoke, Monsieur de Devre, he has come, Valois? He has come, Madame. Valois ' voice was curiously soft and childlike. Madame spoke again, The eleven await? They await, Madame. Madame nodded, You will take Monsieur de Devre to the council chamber. Valois bowed, unnecessarily, and closed the door softly behind him. Madame, her sightless eyes gleaming, crossed the room, opened a narrow ivory door and passed through. The door led to the council chamber. As Madame entered, twelve men, seated at a table, rose. Madame bowed slightly, crossed to the remaining vacant chair, and sat down, her staring eyes wide open. Eleven men seated themvelves. The twelfth. Monsieur de Devre, remained standing, his handsome face set, his hands gripping his chair under the strain. Madame spoke, almost casually, but with a world of hate behind her voice, You, Alexandre de Devre are a wise man. Twice before you ignored my command to be present at the meeting of the Organization of the Yellow Tulip, perhap you now realize that it is futile to disregard the commands of the society . Madame ' s voice rose in excitement. Alexandre de Devre, four years ago, in the Cafe de la Main Blanche in Paris, you pledged yourself to the service of the Yellow Tulip. You must fulfil your oath. The sole purpose of the society, you must understand, my young friend, is to crush, to [30]

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BRIDGES Cities that we have buih, you crown your harbours With flying steel, a heaven sweeping span — Bridges that gods might build to some Valhalla Beyond the life of man. City that built us, your dark surge of water Swirls close around stone arches, old and low; Your crown of circling wings sweeps high and watches The whole world come and go. THE AMERICAN LEGEND You have trumpeted your hustle from New England to the Old; You have advertised efficiency, your trade-mark Time is Gold ; All across the skies of Europe you have trailed flamboyant smoke And branded your progenitor a slow, unworldly moke. You admit that you are carnal — this world ' s treasure is your aim. Education is no object but a means to win the game. Rather proudly you inform us that your hands are slightly soiled. That you may wear a tuxedo, but are certainly hard-boiled! So the trusting European stands on Broadway, mystified. For without a moment ' s flurry he has crossed from side to side. And the people on the Avenue — are they all tourists too? They ' d surely walk much faster if they ' d any work to do. As he travels through the country every station concourse shows That it has to be palatial — for the people wait, in rows. And those busy, curt officials? he is quite relieved to find Them as helpful (and as chatty) as the ones he left behind. So in time he ' s crossed the continent, and, seated at the Bowl, Sees a further efflorescence of repressed romantic soul — For, admitting that plutocracy is trying to the eyes. You create new Stars in clusters to redecorate the skies. [29]

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stamp out the life of Count Malieux, the lives of his wife, his children, his whole ac- cursed family. Nothing must stand in our way. Madame paused, her eyes livid with hate and fury. A shudder passed through the young Monsieur de Devre. Madame continued. I cannot rest while that Malieux family still live. You, Monsieur, swore to avenge the cruel death of your parents at the hands of Malieux, swore to crush the life of that whole family. Surely Monsieur is not to be prevented by the pretty face of Madeline Malieux, the devil ' s own daughter. Have you nothing to say? Alexandre ' s face was pallid. Madame, four years ago, I knew nothing of the purpose of the society. I was lured to the Cafe de la Main Blanche. I was tricked into my oath. Madame, in the face of the Organization of the Yellow Tulip I renounce that oath! I swear this, though, Madame, by all I hold sacred, Madeline Malieux is as good as she is beautiful. You cannot deny that. She has done no harm. She was twenty only yesterday. I cannot defend Malieux, but I do defend his child. Madame, I beg of you! Madame frowned slightly as though thinking, Twenty, yesterday, the letter, Madeline, she murmured brokenly, as though an idea had suddenly taken root. She clapped her hands. Valois entered silently. Valois, a letter came this morning. I did not read it. You have it? Valois produced it. Monsieur Dupont said Madame, turning to a tall gentleman on her left. You will read it to me. Madame; Dupont bowed, tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter. It is from the Convent of Notre Dame. Yes, yes, go on ! said the woman in a curiously strained voice. Madame Bourget, read Monsieur Dupont, In accordance with your wishes I write to you on this the twentieth birthday of your little sister, Madeline, whom you placed in my care eighteen years ago, upon the death of your parents. It was your wish that at the age of six, your sister be adopted by a noble family and brought up as their own child. I complied with that wish. Fourteen years ago, your sister, Madeline, was placed with the family of Count Malieux, where she is, I believe, happy and contented. In all sincerity, I am. Mother Ste Angelo. For a moment there was dead silence. All eyes were focused upon Madame. She seemed paralysed, her breath came in short gasps. After what seemed an eternity, she rose, and stumbled towards the door. When she reached it she paused, a curious smile playing about her white, corpse-like face. When she spoke her voice was strained. I was wrong, Messieurs. I, too, must forgive. In the face of the Organization of the Yellow Tulip, I renounce my oath and the achievement of my great ambition. Madame passed through the narrow ivory door, a tired broken woman and behind her the heavy silken drapes swished ominously as they closed together. Anne Thom, Matriculation I. [31]