The Adventures of François

by S. Weir Mitchell

  *IX*

  _In which Francois tells the fortune of the Marquis de Ste. Luce and ofRobespierre, and has his own fortune told, and of how Despard saw a manof whom he was afraid._

  Francois was soon to be further amazed by Pierre Despard. To the lastof his life, Francois remembered that day. A cool October had strippedthe king's chestnut-trees of their glory as clean as the king himselfwas soon to be shorn. The leaves were rustling at evening across thePlace Louis XV, and covering the water of the canals. Here, of late,the tent-booth had been set up for the benefit of the better society,which still wore the white cockade of the Bourbons. A merry group ofthe actors of the Comedie was waiting to see Francois, the maker offaces. There were Chenard of the Opera Comique; Fleury and Saint-Prix,whose gaiety no prison in after days could lessen, and no fear of deathabate. "Behold, there is the great Talma," said Pierre, peeping out;"and the aristos are many to-day. Art ready, Francois?"

  Francois was delighted. The great Talma here, and actually to seehim--Francois! He had of late been acquiring stage ambitions, andtaking great pains to improve the natural advantages of a face quitematchless in Paris.

  Despard peeped in again. "Yes, Francois; they talk of thee, and thereare many in the crowd. They gather to see Talma. There are Jacobins,and thy friends the aristocrats. Make thou haste. Art ready?"

  "Yes, yes," said Francois. He felt it to be a great, an unusualoccasion. He had a bright idea. He struck with a stick three times onthe floor of the booth, the traditional signal at the Theatre Francaisfor the curtain to rise. A roar of applause outside rewarded his shrewdsense of what was due to this audience.

  "_Tiens_! That is good," said La Rive.

  The slit in the curtain opened, and, framed in the black drapery,appeared a face which seemed to have come out of the canvas of Holbein.It was solemn, and yet grotesque, strong of feature, the face, beard,and hair white with powder; the eyes were shut.

  "_Mon Dieu_," said Talma, "what a mask! 'T is stern as fate." Thecrowd stayed motionless and silent.

  "Look! look!" said Fleury. "'T is a study. To smile with closed eyes!Didst thou ever see a man smile in sleep, Talma?"

  It was pretty and odd. Little curves of mirthful change crawleddownward from the eyes over the large, grave features; the ears moved;the eyes opened; and a storm of liberal laughter broke up the quietlines of cheek and mouth.

  "Bravo! bravo!" cried Talma and the other actors, while the crowd burstinto a roar of applause and responsive mirth.

  "Angels of fun!" cried Saint-Prix, "what a face! 'T is a gargoyle comedown from the roof of St. Jacques de la Boucherie. Does it go back ofnights? I wonder what next will he do?"

  "''T IS A GARGOYLE COME DOWN FROM THE ROOF OF ST.JACQUES.'"]

  "_Tiens_! Wait," said La Rive.

  The white face seen above in the slit of the black curtain becamesuddenly serious, with moveless eyes looking past the audience as ifinto futurity. Below appeared two large hands, scrupulously clean,while the man's figure remained hidden. There was something impressivein this artful pose.

  "Fortunes, fortunes, _messieurs et dames_!" cried Pierre. "Who willhave his hand read? _Avancez_--come!"

  A shrill voice on the outskirts of the crowd cried, "Read LouisCapet's!" The white cockades turned to look. "It were easy to read,"said a tall Jacobin. A gentleman in the black garments of theunprogressive noblesse turned: "Your card, citizen, or monsieur, as youlike." The crowd was scarcely stirred by this politely manageddifference. It was the year of duels.

  Two lads pushed forward their tutor, an abbe, as was plain to see,although few clerics still ventured to wear their old costume. Helaughed awkwardly, and timidly laid a fat, well-fed hand on that ofFrancois's. The grave face of the reader of palms fell forward to seethe fateful lines. For a moment Francois was silent; then the voicewhich came from his stolid visage was monotonously solemn, and the wordsdropped from it one by one, as if they were the mechanical product ofsome machine without interest in the results of its own action. Onelong, lean forefinger traversed the abbe's palm, and paused. "An easylife thou hast had. A woman has troubled it." The two pupils weredelighted; the crowd laughed. "The line of life isbroken--broken"--Francois's hands went through the pantomime of thesnapping of a thread--"like that." The abbe drew back, and could not bepersuaded to hear further. Again there was a pause. A grisette advancedsmiling, and was sent away charmed with the gifts a pleasant future heldin store. Pierre exhorted for a time in vain. Presently the crowd madeway. A slight man in breeches and silk stockings came forward; he wasotherwise dressed in the extreme of the fashion still favored by thecourt party, but wore no cockade, and carried two watches, the heavyseals of which Francois greatly desired to appropriate. His uneasy eyeswere covered with spectacles, and around them his sallow complexiondeepened to a dusky, dull green. Altogether this was a singular and nota pleasant face, or so, at least, thought the palm-reader, a part ofwhose cunning was to study the expressions of those who asked his skill.The man who laid his hand on Francois's looked up at the motionlessvisage of the ex-thief. Francois said: "Is it for the citizen alone tohear, or for all?"

  "For me--for me."

  Francois's voice fell to a low whisper.

  "Let the past go," said the listener; "what of the future?"

  "It is dark. The lines are many. They are--citizen, thou wilt be aruler, powerful, dreaded. Thou wilt have admiration, fame, and at lastthe hatred of man."

  "I--I--what nonsense! Then?"--and he waited,--"then? What then? Whatcomes after!"'

  "I will tell thee"; and Francois whispered.

  "No more--no more; enough of such foolishness!" He was clearly enoughdisturbed by what he had heard. "Thou must think men fools."

  "Fate is always a fool, citizen; but the fools all win, soon or late."

  "That, at least, is true, Master Palmister." Then a pair of sinistereyes, set deep behind spectacles, sought those of Francois. "Thou hasta strange face, Master Palm-reader. Dost thou believe what thou dostmake believe to read on men's palms?"

  "Sometimes."

  "Now--now?--this time?"

  "Yes; I believe."

  "I shall not forget thee."

  Francois felt something like a chill between his shoulders. The Jacobinstepped aside after depositing an ample fee in the basket which Totopresented.

  There was a murmur in the crowd. Several persons looked with curiouseyes after the retreating man, and the conjurer heard some one say:"_Tiens! C'est drole_. It is Robespierre." His was at this time notmore than a well-known name. For a minute no one else came forward.Francois saw Pierre slip hastily into the tent; he knew not why. Agentleman came up gaily. He was dressed splendidly, with no regard forthe leveling tastes of the day.

  "The deuce!" he said quickly; "you are my thief!"

  "_De grace_, monsieur!" exclaimed Francois; "you will get me intotrouble."

  "Not I. Happy to meet you. I am myself fond of palmistry. Come, readme my hand."

  Francois bent over the palm. He began aloud: "Ah, here have been manyloves." Then his voice fell. "Monsieur is a good swordsman."

  "So-so," said the gentleman.

  "Monsieur has been unfortunate in his duels."

  "_Mon Dieu_! Yes; I always kill people."

  "Monsieur has one remorse."

  "_Sapristi_! Thou art clever, and I lucky to have but one. Go on; 'tis vastly amusing. Shall I live to be old? My people do."

  "Monsieur will have troubles, but he will live to be old--very old."

  "Will he, indeed? I hardly like that. If I were you, I would tell moreagreeable fortunes. To outlive the joys of life, to be left a strandedwreck, while the world goes by gay and busy--pshaw! I like not that.You do it well. Let me read your own palm. I have a taste for thisart."

  Francois was at once interested. The gentleman's strong left hand tookthat of the thief, and with a wandering forefinger he ran over the linesof the pal
m. He let it fall, and looked downward at his own hand. "Itis strange that we shall meet again, and in an hour of danger. You willbe fortunate, and I shall not. You will have--"

  "_Tenez_, monsieur--stop!" cried Francois; "I will hear no more"; and hedrew his hands within the tent-folds.

  "_Dame_! and you are really a believer in it all, my good thief? Beliefis out of fashion. I hope you did tell that cursed Jacobin he would goto a place he doesn't believe in, but which is a little like Franceto-day. Come and see me if ever you are in trouble and this trade comesto an end. I like men who can laugh. 'T is a pretty talent, and rathergone out just now. I am the Marquis de Ste. Luce--or was. Come andlaugh for me, and tell me your story." He let fall a gold louis inToto's basket, and elbowed his way through the crowd, with "Pardon,monsieur," to white cockades, and scant courtesy to the Jacobins and the_demi-constitutionnels_, who were readily known by their costumes.

  As the marquis ceased to speak, Francois heard a singular noise in thetent back of him. He withdrew his head to see the cause, and a momentlater, reappearing, said he must be excused, because his friend was ill.The crowd broke up. Within the tent lay Pierre on the ground, in a fit.Francois, greatly alarmed and utterly at a loss, threw water in hisface, and waited. In a few moments it was over, and the man, flushedand breathing deeply, lay with red froth on his lips, as if in a deepsleep. He was no longer convulsed; but what further to do the partnerknew not, and sat beside him, not more competent to deal with this novelsituation than was Toto, who walked about, and scratched his nose, andgave it up. An hour went by with Pierre's head resting on Francois'slap.

  At last Despard opened his eyes. "Take him away," he said. The man wasdelirious.

  "Who?"

  "Take him away. Will he kill me? He killed her." A half-hour hewandered in mind, while Francois bathed his flushed face. Then he drewa deep breath, and said: "What is this? Where am I?"

  Francois replied: "Thou hast had a fit."

  "A fit? Yes; I have them--not often. I remember now. Has he gone,that devil?--that marquis?"

  "Who? Ste. Luce? Was it he that troubled thee?"

  "Yes; he."

  "But what then?"

  By and by Pierre sat up. Seeing him to be quite himself, but staringabout as if in fear, Francois said:

  "Come, now; I must have the whole story. What the mischief has thisfine gentleman done to thee? I am out of patience with thy tiresomemysteries. I know him; we have met before. Perhaps I can help thee."

  "Thou?"

  Pierre lay back on the floor, and covered his face.

  "_Mon Dieu!_" he cried, "why wilt thou force me to talk of it? Oh, tohate, and to be afraid!" He started up. "I am afraid."

  "If I hated a man," said Francois, "_sacre bleu_! I would twist hisneck."

  "If I could! if I could! I am not like thee. I am--am a coward.That's the truth."

  "_Dame!_ that is curious." He regarded the fat little man withattentive eyes. "Suppose we have it all out, and get done with it."

  "Done with it?"

  "Yes; done with it! Hast thou often had these fits before?"

  "Yes; and then I am better for a while."

  "Tell me all about this man. I will take care of thee."

  "No; God did not: thou canst not."

  "Then we must separate. I am tired of thy nonsense, and I do not care arap how soon this business ends, what with your cursed melancholy andthat jade Quatre Pattes. Now, out with it!"

  Pierre, seated on the floor of the booth, red-eyed and dejected, lookedup piteously at his questioner. "If I tell thee all, thou wilt despiseme."

  "Not I. Go on! If thou canst speak out like a man, I may be able tohelp thee; but if thou art of a mind to hold thy tongue, it were betterwe parted. I am tired of thy folly."

  Thus urged, Pierre told his story, reluctant, with bowed head, and attimes in tears. Francois sat over him on a stool, now and then asking aquestion, or waiting patiently when Pierre, choked by overmasteringemotions, was silent for a while.

  "I have been unhappy and unlucky from the time I can first remember,"said Pierre. "My people belonged to the lesser noblesse, but my fatherwas poor--oh, very poor. We had been ruined folks away there inNormandy for half a century, only a bit of farm and vineyard left to us.My mother was of the bourgeoisie, foolish and pretty. She died young,and I was left the only child. My father treated me ill. I had nocourage, he said. It was true. As I grew up, I was timid like a girl,and fearful of quarrels. When I was about twenty years old I had atrouble with a brother of this marquis. He struck me with his whipbecause of something I said. My father learned that I had excusedmyself, and was wild with rage. It was my bourgeois mother, he said; wehad lost all but honor, and now that too was gone. He died not longafter, and I, with a few hundred francs, was driven out to care formyself. The marquis had a mortgage on the farm. I went to a villagenear by, and lived awhile as I could until I was down to my lust sou. Iworked like a peasant in the fields; I was the servant at an inn. Atlast a mountebank company attracted me, and in despair I went with themto take care of the horses which served them in their performances. Byand by I learned sleight of hand, and fared better. At last I married agirl who danced in our company. She was pretty,--oh, more thanpretty,--and clever, too. When we came again to our town, a notaryoffered me a petty clerk's place, and I was well contented to settledown. My wife was too eager for the society of the bourgeoisie, andthey would have none of that of the dancing-girl. Then, unhappily, thismarquis saw my wife, and how I know not, but his fine clothes andcunning were too much for one who was eager for a society she could nothave. I was busy, and often absent collecting small debts. No onewarned me. I was satisfied, and even put by a little money.

  "There was a woman in the village, Mme. Quintette, a dressmaker, ashameless creature of bad life. She might have been then some fiftyyears old. 'T is now twelve years ago. At her house the marquis met mywife. One day my Renee was gone, and this Quintette with her. It isshe who is this Quatre Pattes."

  "The deuce!" cried Francois. "Now I see."

  "More than a year went by. Thou wouldst have killed the man. I couldnot. I am a coward, Francois--a coward! God made me so; I can't helpit. One day an infant was brought to my door, with a note. _Mon Dieu_,such a note! The dying mother in the hospital with her last money paida good sister to take the child to me--to me, of all men! And would Ipardon her? Francois, it was that devil's babe and hers. Would Iforgive her, and keep it? Wouldst thou have kept it?"

  "No," said Francois; "not I."

  "I did! I did! It was like her, all but the eyes. I grew to love it.Then there was an accident, a fall, and the little maid is crippled forlife. It seemed horrible, but now I thank God, because she is safe fromthe baseness of men. I wanted to die, but I must live; she has no otherfriend."

  Francois sat still, pitiful, and deep in thought. At last he said: "Whywere you so terribly afraid of that woman? She could do no worse thanruin our business."

  "I--hast thou ever been afraid thou wouldst murder some one? I was. Iwould have done it in a minute hadst not thou come in."

  "_Sac a papier_! Afraid of thyself! How queer! Thou wert afraid ofthyself?"

  "Yes; I am--I was--I am often afraid of myself."

  "Let us forget it."

  "I cannot. What can I do?"

  "Do? Nothing."

  "But that man--"

  "Well, thou art helpless. I should not be. Forget. Thy chance maycome." He was at the end of his wisdom. He pitied this weak-heartedcoward who so frankly avowed his defect. "We will speak of it no more,Pierre, or not now. But what brought you to Paris? Let us have it all,and get done with it."

  "My poor little humpback was hardly six years old when she came to me,crying, to know why the village children would not play with her. Shewas a humpback and a bastard. What was 'bastard'? I have always fledfrom trouble. One day I took the child and what little I had, and wasaway to Paris.
God knows how it hurt me to hear every evening how shehad been mocked and tormented; one is so foolishly tender. In thisgreat city I sought work, and starved. And when at last she was fadingbefore my eyes, I stole--my God, I stole!"

  "_Dame_! thou art particular. Must a man starve?"

  "When I got money out of a full purse I took, I set up our littlebusiness, and then I found thee. And this is all. I dare say I shallfeel better to have told some one. I did not want to steal. I did notsteal after I began with the booth, unless I was in need--oh, sorely inneed. It was so on that fortunate day when I was saved by thee. In thyplace I should have kept the old fishwife's purse."

  "And let me swing?"

  "Yes--perhaps; I don't know. I--it is well for me thou wert not acoward."

  "_Sacristie_! It appears that not to be a coward has its uses. Now_bon jour_ and adieu to the whole of this business. Let the miserablepast go. 'T is bad company, and not amusing. Have no fear; I will takecare of thee. Come, let us go home."

  "Thou wilt look about a little before we go?"

  "Toto, he is mad, this man."

  "I sometimes think I am. At night, in my dreams, I have him by thethroat, and he laughs, and I cannot hold him. I wake up, and curse inthe darkness because I cannot kill him. And then I know it is a debtnever to be paid--never."

  Francois had had enough of the small man's griefs. Contempt and pitywere strangely mingled as he listened to his story.

  "I shall let thee talk no more," he said. "But _mille tonnerres_! Icannot help thee to go mad. Let us go and wander in the countryto-morrow, thou and I and Toto. It will comfort thee. But no more ofthis; I will not stand it."

  The advice was wholesome, and, as usual, Pierre accepted the orders ofhis more sturdy-minded friend.