The Adventures of François

by S. Weir Mitchell

  *IV*

  _Of how the world used Francois, and of the reward of virtue. He makeshis first friend._

  When Tomas, having won his way out of the press about a fortune-teller,looked for Francois, there was a lost choir-boy and two days' diet gonenone knew whither--least of all the fugitive. He moved away with thespeed of fear, and was soon in the somber network of narrow streetswhich in those days made a part of the Ile de la Cite the refuge of thefinest assortment of thieves, bravos, gypsies, and low women to be foundin any capital of Europe.

  His scared looks and decent black suit betrayed him. An old fellowissued from a doorway like a spider. "Ha, ha, little thief!" he said;"I will buy thy plunder."

  Francois was well pleased. He took eagerly the ten sous offered, andsaw the spider poke a long red beak into the loaded nets as he passedout of sight in the dark doorway. Francois looked at the money. It wasthe first he had ever owned. He walked away in haste, happy to be free,and so over a bridge to the Ile St. Louis, with its pretty gardens andthe palaces of the great nobles. At the far end of the isle he sat downin the sun and watched the red barges go by, and took no more care forto-morrow than does a moth just out of its cocoon. He caught up thesong of a man near by who was mending a bateau. He whistled as he caststones into the water. It was June, and warm, and before him the riverplaying with the sunset gold, and behind him the dull roar of Paris.Ah, the pleasure to do as he would! Why had he waited so long?

  Toward night he wandered back into the Cite, and saw an old womanselling fried potatoes, and crying, "Two sous, two sous!" He asked forthus much, and received them in the top of his cap. The hag took histen-sou piece, and told him to begone. Amazed at this bit of villainy,poor Francois entreated her to give him his change. She called him athief, and when a dreadful man sallied out of a wine-shop and mademurderous threats, the boy ran as fast as he could go, and never ceaseduntil he got to the river again. There, like Suzanne, he kept watch forthe foes of property, and at last ate his potatoes, and began to reflecton this last lesson in morality. He had stolen many morsels, manydinners, and his fair share of wine; but to be himself robbed of hisentire means was calculated to enlarge his views of what is possible inlife, and also undesirable. The night was warm; he slept well in anabandoned barge, but woke up early to feel that liberty had itsdrawbacks, and that emptiness of stomach was one of the large family ofneeds which stimulate the ingenuity of man or boy.

  Quite at a loss, he wandered once more through the slums of the Cite,and soon lost himself in the network of narrow streets to the north ofthe cathedral, hearing, as he went, strange slang, which his namesakeFrancois Villon would have better understood than he. The filth of theroadways and that of the tongue were here comparable. Some boys, seeinghis sober suit of the dark cloth worn by the choir, pelted him withstones. He ran for his life, and falling over a man who was sawingwood, received a kick for remembrance. Far away he paused breathless ina dark lane which seemed unpeopled, and where the houses leaned overlike palsied old scoundrels who whisper to one another of ancient crime.Even to a boy the place was of a sudden terrible. There was murder inthe air.

  He felt, without knowing why, the danger of the place. A paintedcreature, half clad, came out of a house--a base animal whom theaccident of sex had made a woman. She called to him to come in. Heturned and went by her in haste and horror. A man in a red shirt rantoward him, crying out some ordures of speech. As he fled there was asudden peopling of window and doorway with half-naked drunken men andwomen. He had never before seen such faces. He was in that pit ofcrime and bestiality which before long was to overflow and riot in alimitless debauch of blood. The boy's long legs served him well. Hedodged and ran this way and that. At the mouth of the _cul-de-sac_ alank boy caught him by the arm. Francois struck him fiercely, and witha sense of joy in the competence of the first blow he had ever given oneof his own years, he fled again; nor did he pause until, free from foes,he stood panting in the open sunshine below the great buttresses ofNotre Dame.

  He saw here that no one took notice of him, and, once more at ease,crossed from the Cite to the right bank of the Seine. Thus wandering hecame at last to one of the low bridges which spanned the broad ditchesthen bounding the Place Louis XV, where now is the Place de la Concorde.The ducks and swans in these canals delighted him. He lingered, likingthe gaiety and careless joy of the children with their nurses. Thedogs, acrobats, musketeers, and the pomp of heavy, painted carriagesrolling by with servants in liveries, the Swiss guards, the magnificenceof the king's palace, were all to him as a new world might have been.

  He went on, and at last along the Rue St. Honore and to the PalaisRoyal, where, amid its splendid shops, cafes, jugglers, fortune-tellers,and richly clad people, he forgot for an hour his poor little stomachand its claims. By and by he took note of the success of a blindbeggar. He watched him for an hour, and knew that he had in this timegathered in sous at least a franc. The shrunken stomach of the boybegan to convert its claims into demands, and with this hint he put on asad face and began to beg. It was not a very prosperous business; buthe stated his emptiness so pitifully, and his voice had such sweet,pleading notes, that at last he thus acquired six or eight sous, andretired to the outer gate to count them.

  The imprudence of estimating wealth in public was soon made clear tohim. He was seated back of the open grille, his cap on his lap, when aquick, clawlike hand, thrust between the railings, darted over hisshoulder, and seized two thirds of his gains. He started up in time tosee that the thief was the blind beggar, who was away and lost in thecrowd and among the horses and carriages, to all appearances inexcellent possession of the sense of sight. Pursuit was vain.Francois's education was progressing. Most lads thus tormented by fatewould have given way to rage or tears. Francois cried out,"_Sathanas!_" not knowing as yet any worse expletive, and burst into aroar of laughter. At least there were three sous left, and these he putinto his pocket. His lessons were not over. The crowd thinned at noon,and he rose to go in search of food. At this moment a gentleman in verygorgeous dress, with ruffles, sword, and a variety of dazzlingsplendors, went by, and at the boy's feet let fall a lace handkerchief.Francois seized it, and stood still a moment. Then he put it in hisbreast, and again stood still. To take food is one thing; to steal ahandkerchief is quite another. He was weak with hunger, but he had threesous. He ran after the gentleman, and cried:

  "Here is your handkerchief!"

  "A very honest lad," said its owner; "you will do well in the world ";and so went his way, leaving to virtue the proverbial reward of virtue.This time Francois did not laugh. In the Rue St. Honore he bought someboiled beans for two sous, and retired to eat them in peace on the stepsof St. Roch. Soon he saw a woman with a tin pan come out of a littleshop and after her a half-grown black poodle. She set down the pan, andleft the dog to his meal. Francois reconnoitered cautiously, and givingthe dog a little kick, fled with the pan, and was shortly safe in anunfrequented passage behind the church. Here he found that he was masterof a chop and a half-eaten leg of chicken. He had eaten the chop andsome crusts, as well as the beans, when he became aware of the blackpoodle, which, being young, still had confidence in human nature, andnow, with sense of ownership, thrust his black nose in the pan oflessening viands.

  Francois laughed gaily. The touch of friendly trust gave the lonely boya thrill of joy, and, with some reluctance doubtless, he gave the dogwhat was left, feeding him in bits, and talking as a comrade to acomrade. The poodle was clearly satisfied. This was very delightfulsociety, and he was receiving such attention as flatters a decent dog'ssense of his social position. The diet was less than usual, but thecompany was of the best, and inspired the extreme of confidence. Thereis a charm of equality as between dog and boy. Both are of Bohemia.The poodle stood up when asked to beg. He was invited to reveal hisname. He received with the sympathetic sadness of the motionless tailthe legend of Francois's woes.

  When a
t last Francois rose, the dog followed him a little way, sayingplainly, "Where thou goest I will go." But the unlicked pan neededattention; he turned back to the fleshpots. Seeing himself deserted, avague sadness came upon Francois. It was the shadow of anuncomprehended emotion. He said, "Adieu, _mon ami!_" and left thelittle black fellow with his nose in the pan.

  An hour of wandering here and there brought Francois to the palisadesaround the strong foundations of the new church of the Madeleine.Beyond were scattered country houses, the Pepinieres of the king, andthe great English garden of Monceaux belonging to the Duc d'Orleans.This fascinating stretch of trees and green and boundless country waslike a heavenly land to the boy. No dream could be more strange. Heset out by the Rue de la Pologne, and at last went with timid doubtthrough the _barriere_, and was soon in the open country. To hissurprise, he heard a yap at his side, and there was the little blackpoodle, apparently as well pleased as he. Francois had no scruples asto ownership. _Mon Dieu!_ had he stolen the dog, or had the dog stolenhim? They ran along happy, the boy as little troubled as the dog byquestions of conscience. The country was not productive of easily wonfood, but a few stolen plums were to be had. A girl coming from milkinggave a jug of milk, which Francois, despite keen hunger, shared with hisfriend. When a couple of miles from Paris, he sat down to rest by theroadside. The dog leaped on to his lap, and the boy, as he lay in thesun, began to think of a name for this new friend. He tried merrily allthe dog-names he could think of; but when at last he called, "Toto!" thepoodle barked so cordially that Francois sagaciously inclined to thebelief that he must have hit upon the poodle's name. "Toto it shallbe," he cried. All that day they wandered joyfully, begged a crust, andat night slept in an orchard, the poodle clasped to the boy's bosom--apair of happy vagabonds.

  When, next day, the pair of them, half starved, were disconsolatelyreturning toward Paris, an old woman bade Francois earn a few sous bypicking strawberries. But the dog must not range the garden; he shouldbe tied in the kitchen. Francois worked hard at the matter in hand,taking good toll of the berries, and at noon went back with the old dameto her cottage.

  "It is five sous, _mon garcon_, and a bowl of milk thou shalt have, anda bit of meat; and how merry thou art!"

  Alas! as she opened the door the poodle fled past her with a whole steakin his mouth. Hot it was, but of such delicate savor that it gave himcourage to hold on. The old woman threw a stool after him, and criedout in wrath that they were both thieves. Then she turned on poorFrancois with fury and a broom, so that he had scarce time to leap thefence and follow the dog. He found him at last with his rather dustyprize; and seeing no better thing to do, he went deep into a wood, andthere filled himself as he had not done for days. The brigand Toto hadhis share, and thus reinforced, they set out again to return to Paris.