OUR LADY'S JUGGLER

by Anatole France

"Our Lady's Juggler" is the story of Barnaby, who gave up his juggling trade to

become a monk but was saddened by his inability to contribute to the artistic and

literary life of the monastery. Barnaby decided to offer his juggling talent to Our

Lady, the Virgin Mary, and her statue came to life for him. The story is a short

parable recommending the virtues of humble simplicity.

Life as a juggler was difficult for Barnaby, as he traveled from town to town in

France. Barnaby is described as a humble man of God, who suffers cold weather

and other problems with patience and gratitude for what he has.

One day, Barnaby met a monk, who explained to him that the monastic life was

devoted entirely to praise of God and Our Lady. Barnaby told the monk that he

would gladly forsake his juggling trade for this life of devotion. The monk was

touched by Barnaby's simple faith and allowed him to join the monastery.

Barnaby was soon discouraged, however, feeling he had very little to offer

compared to the other monks. They had so many gifts and used these to glorify

their God. Barnaby did not know what he could do until he heard a monk relate a

tale of a man who knew no prayers but the Ave Maria, or Hail Mary. Upon the

man's death, roses came out of his mouth, a miraculous sign of heavenly

approval of his humble devotion.

Some time later, the other monks went to the chapel and found Barnaby

performing his juggling act in front of Our Lady's statue. They were angry, until

they saw Our Lady's statue come to life and wipe the sweat from Barnaby's brow.

The monks at once recognized that the simple-hearted were blessed with a

unique gift, allowing them to come close to God.

 "The Lottery Ticket"

By: Anton Chekhov

Anton Chekhov's short story "The Lottery Ticket" is about the eternal human

quest to have something different, instead of being satisfied with the life that one

has. It is not just the love of money that causes problems in this story; rather, it is

the notion that when change is possible, it often makes the life that one has

incapable of providing satisfaction anymore.

In the story, Ivan and his wife, Masha, are happy with each other. They are a

middle-class family and are satisfied with their lot in life. However, one day

Masha comes home with a lottery ticket, and she asks Ivan to take a look at the

recent list of drawings. He has the newspaper in front of him, and both the series

and ticket number have to match for the ticket to be a winner. At first, he sees

that the series number is a match.

Before he looks at the ticket number, though, he talks with his wife about the

possibilities that would become realities with a winning ticket. The two of them

dream about what they would do with all of that money. However, when they stop

fantasizing, they turn and gaze at each other — and do not like what they see.

When the second number does not match, their whole life has changed. Both

saw a future without the other, and now they are suffocated by a reality that, just

a few minutes before, had been happy.

 Creole Democracy
Rufino Blanco Fombona
The hamlet of Camoruco stands at one of the gateways to the plains. The wagon road cuts the
little settlement squarely and neatly in two, like the parting of a dandy’s hair. Stretched out upon
the savanna, the village consists of two rows of houses which stand in a file along the edge of the
road and seem to peer furtively upon the passerby. They look like a double row of sparrows upon
two parallel telegraph wires. Close by flows the Guarico, an abundant stream that irrigates the
pampas; in its sand slumbers the skatefish and on its banks, with half open jaws the lazy
alligators take their noonday rest.

It was election time; a governor of the Department was to be chosen. For certain political
reasons, the interest of an appreciable part of the Republic was centered upon the contest. El faro
(the lighthouse), a backwoods sheet which had been established for the occasion, declared in its
opening number: “Perhaps for the first time in Camoruco, the elections will cease to be work of a
group of petty politicians; perhaps for the first time in Camoruco the elective fabric will be
woven by the unsullied hands of the people.”

The number of candidates had dwindled to two. On the eve of the election the local bosses,
wealthy cattle breeders of the district, brought into the neighboring town, which served as a
business center for the shacks of the outlying settlement, herd of peons, submissive farm hands,
good, simple plainsmen ignorant of everything, even on what they were to do in the next day’s
election; for these peons, rounded up like cattle, were the citizens; that is to say, the voters. The
apparel of most of them consisted of drill trousers, striped shirts; on their feet, hempen sandals;
on their heads the high crowned, wide-brimmed sombrero or the saffron-colored pelo de guma
around their waist, slung diagonally like a baldric, the red and blue sash; in their right hands, like
a cane, they carried the peasant weapon- the ever-present machete. A goodly number of these
citizens were of medium height, muscular, bronzed by the sun and by their mixed blood and
recalled the classic plainsmen of Apure and Ahauca- those terrible centaurs of General Paez, in
the armies of Bolivar, those mighty warriors who captured the Spanish war vessels on horseback,
at the point of the lance, and of whom a hundred and fifty attacked six thousand of Morillo’s
soldiers as in the Quesars del Medio- those heroes of the pampas who live in history, on canvas,
in ballads, in epic and, above all, in the popular imagination.

The parties concerned in the election, like the candidates, were two. The efforts of the party
leaders were directed toward herding the largest possible number of men. Each faction in
Camuruco was quartered in its own district- one to the north, the other to the south of the village.
As new groups of peons continued to arrive, the bosses of each side would spy on the other to
see how many voters were being added in their rival forces. “See here,” they would say to some
trusted farmhands, “ go and take a look at those dunderheads.” Meanwhile, party hacks were
going from group to group explaining the procedures of tomorrow’s election. But despite all
explanations, the simple rustics displayed certain suspiciousness. Many believed that plans for an
armed uprising were afoot. In one of the groups particularly, a feeling of mistrust grew apace.
Wild talk arose. “Elections!” scoffed one vaquero, as chubby and as brown as sausage. “Before
long we’ll be hearing Pum! Pum! Then ho, for stubbing hides!”

To this bit of grim humor in the face of possible tragedy, another vaquero added, “Yes. Soon
we’ll be hearing two shots, boys, then out with your machetes!”
This was the slogan familiar to everybody, and many smiles bitterly at the memories it awoke.
“Two shots, boys, then out with your machetes.” This was the cry of the revolutionary officers in
time of battle, for lacking ammunition as they...