--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Young Men's Mutual Improvement Associations collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 1 number: 5 published: 1898-03 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Young Men's Mutual Improvement Associations, \"Donzelot, the Heroic Reporter,\" *Improvement Era* 1, no. 5 (March 1898): 369–370." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera15unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera15unse start_page: 369 end_page: 370 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1898-03) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera15unse publication_year: 1898 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1898, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Donzelot, the Heroic Reporter DONZELOT—THE HEROIC REPORTER. 869 spouse, with something of a martial swagger, armed with a scimitar. The unsuspecting cat came forward, as usual, to welcome the husband of her mistress, but in an instant her head was divided from her body by a blow from the hand which had so often caressed her. Merdek, having proceeded so far courageously, stooped to take up the dissevered mem- bers of the cat, but before he could effect this, a blow upon the side of the head from his incensed lady, laid him sprawl- ing on the floor. The tattle and scandal of the day spreads from zenaneh to zenaneh with surprising rapidity, and the wife of Merdek saw in a moment whose example it was that he imitated. "Take that," said she, as she gave him another cuff, "take that, you paltry wretch. You should," she added, laughing him to scorn, "have killed the cat on the wedding day." DONZELOT—THE HEROIC REPORTER. Your hero is not confined to any one class men, or of particular occupation of life. He is found not always mounted on a beautifully caparisoned charger, clad in com- plete armor, with plume flying, and weapons flashing in the sunlight, and riding out in search of conquest — to defend the right, to succor the oppressed and protect the weak and the innocent. That may be the ideal picture of the hero the — boy's hero; but experience has taught our race that the hero may suddenly appear from the most unexpected quarters, and from any one of the numerous occupations which men follow. He is as likely to make his appearance from the ranks of the tradesman or even more humble laborers, as among those following the professions. You are as likely to stumble upon him among the street-gammins as in the palaces of the rich and great. Like the genius your hero knows no law of here- dity and no favored class. God in furnishing the world with heroic souls to be an inspiration and a help to humanity has had respect for the humble as well as for those in high places, and has set his seal of approval upon all the honor- able callings followed by men, by sending his heroes to all equally, to dignify and adorn them. An English magazine thus relates the story of a heroic newspaper reporter, which, for devotion to duty in the hour of peril, stands unsurpassed: "Mathieu Donzelot is still remembered in Paris as one of the most faithful and courageous of reporters. One day a riot was apprehended, and Donzelot was sent to the Pantheon to report the events. Already the stones were flying, and the lawless mob had begun to tear up the streets and barricade them. One of Donzelot's friends saw him as he was running by, and said to him, "What are you doing here? Run and save yourself!" Donzelot made no reply, and again his friend urged him to leave so dangerous a spot. "I am not going to move," he said; "but, as you are going, kindly take this copy — along with you to the paper you will save me time. " An hour passed, and the disorder was at its height. The mob had already begun to clash seriously with the authorities. Suddenly the National Guard fired a volley, and Donzelot fell, his breast pierced by a bullet. A surgeon rushed up to him. "You are hurt?" he asked. — "Yes," replied Donzelot "seriously, I think; I cannot use my pencil." "Never mind your pencil,'' returned the surgeon sharply. "The question is to save your life." "Don't be in a hurry," returned Donzelot quietly. "To each man his own duty. Mine is to get the story, and you must help me. Here, write at the foot of this page this postscrip— '3:20 p.m. At the fire of the troops three men fell wounded, and one was killed.' " "Why, which one was killed?" asked the doctor. "I am," replied the reporter, and he fell back dead."