The Adventures of François

by S. Weir Mitchell

  *III*

  _Of the misfortunes caused by loss of a voice, and of how a cat and adamsel got Francois into trouble--whereupon, preferring the world to amonastery, he ran away from the choristers of Notre Dame._

  It was in the month of June, in the year 1784, that a female got himinto trouble, and aided to bring about a decision as to his future.This was, however, only one of the distressing incidents which at thetime affected his career, and was not his final experience of the perilsto which attention to the other sex may expose the unwary. A few daysbefore the sad event which brought about a change in Francois's life, hewas engaged in singing one of the noble Gregorian chants. Never had heused his voice with greater satisfaction. He was always pleased andeagerly ambitious when in the choir, and was then at his best. This dayit seemed to him, as he sang, that his clear tones rose like a bird, andthat something of him was soaring high among the resonant archesoverhead. Of a sudden his voice broke into a shrill squeak. Thechoir-master shook a finger at him, and he fell into a dead silence, andsang no more that morning. The little white-robed procession marchedout, and when it reached the gray old house there was wrath andconsternation over the broken treble. He was blamed and beaten; but,after all, it was a too likely misfortune. If it chanced again he mustgo to the Dominican convent at Auteuil, and perhaps in a year or twowould be lucky enough to get back his voice. Meanwhile let him takecare. Poor Francois did his best; but a week later, amid the solemnityof a mass for the dead, came once more that fatal break in the voice.He knew that his fate was sealed.

  Little was said this time, but he overheard the head of the choirarranging with Tomas the steward that the boy should go to Auteuil.Until then he was no longer to serve in the choir.

  Francois had seen all this occur before, when, as was common, somelittle singer lost control of his changing voice. His case washopeless. Yet here was an idle time and no more singing-lessons. But apart of the small joys of a life not rich in happy moments was gone, tocome back no more, as he knew too well. Of late his fine quality ofsong had won him some indulgence, and he had learned how much a finevoice might mean. Dim visions began to open before him, as he heard ofhow choir-boys had conquered fame and wealth in France or elsewhere.One day the leader of the choir had praised him and his diligence, andhoped he would never leave them. He was told what a great possessionwas a voice like his, and had even been envied by the less gifted. Nowthis possession was taken from him, and he was at once made sadly awareof his loss. His vanity, always great, was wounded to the quick. Alittle kindness would have led him to go to the convent and hopefullybide his time; but nobody cared, or seemed to care, for him, or to pitywhat to his active imagination was a fatal wreck of goodly chances.

  For a day or two he went about disconsolate, and was set to serve in thekitchen or to wait on the man Tomas, who jeered at his squeaky voice,and called him "little pig," with additions of some coarser amenities oflanguage, and certain information as to the convent life of a layservant ill calculated to make Auteuil appear desirable.

  In his leisure hours, which now were many, Francois took refuge from thejests of his fellows in the lonely garret. The people across the way intheir rooms amused him. The cats were never long absent. He watchedtheir cunning search for the nests of the sparrows, and very soon beganto feel again the invincible lifting power of his comic nature. Someremembrance of the alarm in the choir-master's face when his voice brokecame upon Francois, and he began to laugh. Just then he saw Solomon onthe roof opposite. The master of a populous harem was in the company ofthe two naughty elders. Susannah, behind a chimney, was making hermodest toilet with a skilful tongue. He called her, and held up atempting bone. The shy maiden hesitated. He called, "Suzanne, Suzanne!"to bring her to the edge of the tiled roof and near enough to make surethat the elders would not capture her desired prize.

  As he called, a little grisette who was hanging out clothes to drykissed her hand to the boy. Francois had seen her before. She was notattractive. He liked his cats better. "Suzanne, Suzanne!" he called,as the virgin, looking about her, daintily picked her way to the edge.High on the roof-top, Solomon exhorted the elders, and in a moment backswere humped, and claws out, and there was bad language used, which mayhave been Hebrew, but at all events appeared to be sufficientlyexpressive; for the elders and Solomon, of a sudden rolling over in awild scuffle, disappeared on the farther side of the roof. This was themaid's opportunity, and gratefully licking her anticipative chops, shecrawled to the gutter.

  "_Bonne Suzanne_! _Viens donc_! Come, come, Suzanne!" cried the boy.

  Of a sudden a smart box on the ear broke up this pretty love-affair.There stood Tomas.

  "A nice choir-boy! Talking with that beast of a grisette!" Then therewere more liberal whacks as the boy, in a rage, was dragged away, andbidden to come down-stairs and carry to market the nets used in place ofbaskets. Tomas usually went alone to buy provisions, but now thechoir-boy was free and could be made of use.

  Francois uttered no complaint. It was literally the only time he hadhad a chance to be in the streets, except as part of the procession toand from the church. He was sore, angry, and resentful of the ill usagewhich in the last few days had taken the place of the growing respecthis talent had created. He took the nets and his cap, and followedTomas. "What a chance!" he thought to himself.

  The boy concealed the delight he felt, and followed the steward, whowent down to the river and across it to the open market on the fartherbank. He stopped here and there to buy provisions and to chat with themarket-women. When one of them, pleased with the odd-looking lad, gavehim an apple, Tomas took it from him. Francois laughed, which seemedalways to offend the saturnine steward. He could not destroy thepleasure of the gay market for Francois, who made queer faces at themistresses of the stalls, teased the dogs and cats for sale in cages,and generally made himself happy until they came home again.

  But from this time onward, except for these excursions, his life wasmade miserable enough. He was the slave of Tomas, and was cruellyreminded day after day of the misery of him who has a servant for hismaster.

  At last he learned that the time was near when he must go to Auteuil.His voice had been tested again, and he had been told that there wassmall hope of its return. He began to think of escape. Once he wassent alone on an errand to a shop near by. He lingered to see somestreet-jugglers, and paid for it with a day in a damp cellar. Withinthis sad home he now found only reproaches and unthanked labor. Thechoristers laughed at him, and the happier boys mocked his changedvoice. On the day after his last experience of the cellar, he was toldby Tomas to be ready to go to Auteuil, and was ordered once again tofollow the steward to market. He took up the nets and went after him.The lad looked back at the choir-house. He meant to see it no more. Hewas now seventeen, and in the three years of his stay had learned manythings, some good and some bad.

  They went past Notre Dame to the quai, and through rows of stalls alongthe shores of the Seine. Tomas soon filled the nets, which were hungover Francois's shoulders. Meanwhile the chattering women, the birdsand cages, the flowers, the moving, many-colored crowd, amused orpleased the boy, but by no means turned him from his purpose.

  "Come!" cried Tomas, and began to elbow his way through the noisy peopleon the river-bank. Presently Francois got behind him, and noting hischances with a ready eye, slipped through between the booths and dartedup the Seine.