The Adventures of François

by S. Weir Mitchell

  *XIV*

  _Francois escapes from Paris and goes in search of a father. He meets aman who has a wart on his nose, and who because of this is unlucky._

  He had been fortunate. Not more than an hour and a quarter had gone bysince Amar's entrance, and the mid-hour of breakfast had probablysecured them from intrusion of foe or friend. Francois, who knew Parisas few men did, strode on through narrow streets and the dimly lightedpassages which afforded opportunity to avoid the busier haunts of men.The barriers were carelessly guarded, and he passed unmolested into thecountry. Once outside of the city, he took the highroad to Evreux, downthe Seine, simply because the passport of Jean Francois, juggler,pointed to Normandy as his destination. Naturally a man of forethinkingsense, he had assumed that the village whence came Despard should be thehome of that father who was ill. He knew from his former partner enoughof the village to answer questions. It lay westward of Evreux. Francewas then less full of spies and less suspicious than it became in theTerror; and until he arrived at a small town on the north bank of theSeine, not far from Poissy, he had no trouble. He saw no couriers. Thepost went only once a week. He was safe, and, to tell the truth, merryand well pleased again to wander. His money was sewed in his garments.He wore his rapier under his cloak, but with it he carried theconjurer's thin, supple blade, which, when he feigned to swallow it, aspring caused to coil into the large basket-hilt. His pistols werestrapped behind him, and on his back he carried his knapsack and smallbag of juggling apparatus. Thus, clad in sober gray, with the tricoloron his red cap and a like decoration on the poodle's collar, he wassurely a quaint enough figure. Long, well built, and wiry, laughinglarge between his two wing-like ears, he held his way along the highroadon the bank of the winding Seine.

  He avoided towns and people, camped in the woods, juggled and toldfortunes at farm-houses for a dinner, and, as I have said, had notrouble until he came at midday to the hamlet of Ile Rouge. Here, beingtired, and Toto footsore, he thought he might venture to halt and sleepat the inn.

  It was a little gray French town in the noonday quiet, scarce a soul insight, and a warmer sun than January usually affords on street andsteaming roof-tiles. Hostile dogs, appearing, seemed to consider Toto aRoyalist. Francois tucked him under his arm, and carelessly entered thestone-paved tap-room of the "Hen with Two Heads." He repented too late.The room was half full. One of the many commissioners who afterwardswarmed through France was engaged with the mayor of the commune.Francois, putting on an air of humility, sought out the innkeeper, andasked meekly to have a room. As he did so, a fat man in the red bonnetof the Jacobins called out from the table where he sat, "Come here!"

  Francois said, "Yes, citizen," and stood at the table where thistruculent person was seated.

  He was sharply questioned, and his papers and baggage were overhauledwith small ceremony, while, apparently at his ease, he liberallydistributed smiles and the kindly glances of large blue eyes. At lasthe was asked why he carried a sword; it was against the law. He madeanswer that he carried two tools of his trade--would the citizen see?And when he had swallowed two feet of his juggler's blade, to the wonderof the audience, nothing further was said of the rapier. At last,seeing that the commissioner still hesitated, he told, with great showof frankness, whither he was going, and named Despard as one who wouldanswer for him. The mention of this name seemed to annoy thequestioner, who said Despard was a busy fellow, and was stirring up thecitizens at Musillon. He, Gregoire, was on his way to see after him.He should like to make the acquaintance of that sick father, and, afterall, Francois might be an _emigre_. He must wait, and go with thecommissioner to Musillon.

  Francois smiled his best; and, when the citizen commissioner had donewith business, might he amuse him with a little juggling? CitizenGregoire would see; let him sit yonder and wait. After a few minutesthe great man's breakfast was set before him; the room was cleared, andthe citizen ate, while Francois looked him over.

  "HE HELD HIS WAY ALONG THE HIGHROAD."]

  Gregoire was a short, stout man with long hair, a face round, red,chubby, and made expressionless by a button-nose, which was decoratedwith a large rugose wart. The meal being over, he went out, leaving asoldier at the door, and taking no kind of note of his prisoner.Francois sat still. He was patient, but the afternoon was long. Atdusk Citizen Gregoire reappeared, and, as Francois noted, was a littlemore amiable by reason of the vinous hospitality of the mayor. He satdown, and ordered dinner. When it came, Francois said tranquilly:

  "Citizen Commissioner Gregoire, wouldst thou kindly consider the stateof my stomach? Swallowing of swords sharpens the appetite."

  The commissioner looked up from his meal. He was in the good-humoredstage of drunkenness.

  "Come and eat," he said, laughing.

  "He hath the benevolence of the bottle," thought Francois. "Let usamuse him."

  The commissioner took off his red bonnet, poured out a glass of wine,looked at a paper or two in his hand-bag, and set it on a seat near by,while the juggler humbly accepted the proffered place. Then the poodlewas made to howl at the name of Citizen Capet, and to bark joyously atthe mention of Jacobins. Francois told stories, played tricks, and drankfreely. The commissioner drank yet more freely. Francois proposed tomake a punch,--a juggler's punch,--and did make a drink of uncommonvigor. About nine the commissioner began to nod, and Francois, who hadbeen closely studying his face, presently saw him drop into a deepslumber. The open bag looked tempting. He swiftly slipped a dexteroushand into its contents, and feeling a wallet of coin, transferred it tohis own pocket. The temptation had been great, the yielding to itimprudent; but there was no one else about, except the careless guardoutside the door. Francois concluded to replace the wallet; but at thismoment the great Gregoire of the committee woke up. "That was funny," hesaid. "I did not quite catch the end of it."

  "No," said Francois; "the citizen slept a little."

  Gregoire became angry.

  "I--I asleep? I am on duty. I never sleep on duty." The citizen wasvery drunk. He got up, and, staggering, set a foot on Toto's tail. Thepoodle yelped, and the Jacobin kicked him. "_Sacree bete!_" Thepoodle, unaccustomed to outrage, retorted by a nip at a fat calf. Thenthe great man asserted himself.

  "Hallo, there! Curse you and your dog! Landlord! landlord!" The hostcame in haste, and two soldiers. "Got a safe place? Lock up thissc-scoundrel, and k-kill his dog!" The landlord kindly suggested adisused wine-cellar. "Now, no delay. I'm Gregoire. Lock him up!"Having disposed of the juggler, the citizen contrived to get out of theroom and to bed with loss of dignity and balance.

  A few minutes sufficed to set Francois in a chilly cellar, the poodle athis heels; for no one took seriously the order to kill Toto. Of the twosoldiers, one, who was young and much amused, brought an old blanket,and a lantern with a lighted candle set within it. Yes, the prisonercould have his knapsack and bag--there were no orders; but he must giveup his sword. It was so dark that when Francois promptly surrenderedhis juggler's blade it seemed to satisfy the soldiers; for who coulddream that a man would carry two swords? With a laugh and a jest,Francois bade them to wake him early. He called to the young recruit,as they were leaving, that he would like to have a bottle of wine, andgave him sufficient small change to insure also a bottle for thesegood-humored jailers.

  They took the whole affair as somewhat of a practical joke. All wouldbe well in the morning. When Gregoire was drunk he arrested everybody.The young soldier would fetch the wine in an hour. Good night.

  Francois was alone and with leisure to consider the situation.

  "Attention, Toto!" he said. This putting of thought into an outspokensoliloquy, with the judicial silence of the poodle to aid him, wasprobably a real assistance; for to think aloud formulates conditions andconclusions in a way useful to one untrained to reason. To read one'sown mind, and to hear one's own mind, are very different things.

  "Toto," he said, "we are in a
bad way. Why didst thou bite that fatbeast's calf? It did thee no good, thou ill-tempered brute. 'T is notgood diet; a pound of it would make thee drunk. I shall have to whipthee, little beast of an aristocrat, if thou dost take to nipping thecalves of the republic."

  Toto well knew that he was being scolded. He leaped up and licked thethief's face.

  "Down, Citizen Toto! Where are thy manners? I like better CitizenGregoire drunk than Citizen Gregoire sober. How about my poor papa?Oh, but I was an ass to name Despard. Didst thou observe that thecommissioner's eyebrows meet? And, Toto, he has a great wart on hisnose. 'T is a man will fetch ill luck. I knew a thief had a wart onhis nose, and he was broken on the wheel at Rouen. Besides, there wasthe wallet. Toto, attention! Thou dost wander. It is all the doingsof that _sacre_ marquis. _A bas les aristocrates_! Let us inspect alittle." Upon this he pried about every corner, tried the heavy oakendoor, still gaily talking, and at last sat on an empty cask andconsidered the grated window and the limited landscape dimly visiblebetween its four iron rods. The end of a woodpile, about four feetaway, was all that he could see. This woodpile set him to thinking.

  An hour later the young recruit returned with the wine. "I came to seeif thou wert safe," he said. "Like as not Gregoire will forget all aboutthee to-morrow. Wine hath a short memory."

  Francois laughed. "_Le bon Dieu_ grant it. I can tell fortunes, butnot my own." And should he tell the citizen soldier's fortune? Withmuch laughter it was told, and the gifts of fateful time were showeredon the soldier's future in opulent abundance. He would be with the armyon the frontier soon. He would marry--_dame!_--a woman rich in looksand lands. He would be a general one day. And this, oddly enough, cametrue; for he became a general of division, and was killed the morningafter at Eylau. Seeing that this young man had agreeable fashions, thethief ventured to express his thanks.

  "Monsieur--" he began.

  "Take care! _Mon Dieu!_ thou must not say that; 'citizen,' please. Themessieurs are as dead as the saints, and the devil, and the _bon Dieu_,and the rest."

  As he did not seem displeased, Francois said:

  "Oh, thou art no Jacobin. Hast a _De_ to thy name?"

  This recruit's manners appeared to Francois a good deal like those ofthe young nobles whom he had taught to fence.

  "What I was is of no moment," replied the young fellow. "The _De's_ areas dead as the saints. I am a soldier. But, pardon me, the citizen maybe as frank as suits his appetite for peril. I have had my bellyful."

  "Frank? _Dame!_ why not? Up-stairs I was a Jacobin; down here I am aRoyalist. I was an aide in Gamel's fencing-school, and, _pardie!_ Icame away. Thou canst do me a little service."

  "Can I help thee, and not hurt myself? We--my people--are grown scarceof late. I am the last; I take no risks."

  "There will be none. Bring me a little steel fork and a good long bitof twine."

  "A fork! What for?" He had a lad's curiosity.

  "To eat with."

  "But there is nothing to eat."

  "Quite true. But it assists one's imagination; and, after all, theremay be to-morrow, and to eat with decency a fork is needed. A citizenmay use his bare paws, but a monsieur may not use the fingers ofequality. Thou wilt observe how the thought of these tools of luxuryreminds one of messieurs and the like."

  The lad--he was hardly over twenty--laughed merrily. "Thou art adelightful companion. Gamel--thou didst say Gamel?"

  "I did, monsieur. Gamel that was the master of arms in the Rue St.Honore."

  "My poor brother used to fence there. By St. Denis! thou must beFrancois!"

  "I am."

  "Then thou shalt have the tool of luxury. But, good heavens! take care.Thou hast a tongue which--well, I have learned to bridle mine."

  "My tongue never got me into trouble; like my legs, it is long, and,like them, it has got me out of a good many scrapes. I thank thee forthe warning. One knows whom to talk to. I can be silent. Oh, you maylaugh. I did not speak for a day after I first saw that juggler's tool,the guillotine, in the sun on the Place de la Revolution. _Dieu!_behold there is a man that talks and laughs; and, presto, pass! there iseternal silence."

  "_Ame de St. Denis!_ thou art not gay," cried the soldier.

  "_Tete de St. Denis_ were better. He was a fellow for these times--asaint that could carry his head under his arm when it was chopped off."

  The young recruit laughed, but more uneasily. Not to laugh in somefashion was among the impossibilities of life when this face-quake ofmirth broke out between those wing-like ears.

  He would fetch the tools, and, in fact, did so in a few minutes. Thenhe bade Francois good night, and went away. As soon as he had gone,Francois retired to a corner with his lantern to inspect the wallet.There were three louis, a few sous, and no more. The risk was large,the profit small. In an inner pocket was a thin, folded paper. Whenopened it seemed to be a letter in due form, dated a month before, butnever sent. It was addressed to Citizen de la Vicomterie of the GreatCommittee. Francois whistled. It was a furious attack on Robespierreand Couthon, and an effort to sum up the strength which an assault onthe great leaders would command in the Convention--a rash document forthose days. Clearly the writer, whose full signature of Pierre Gregoirewas appended, had wisely hesitated to send it.

  "It seems to have been forgotten. Was he drunk, Toto? Surely now wemust get out and away. 'T is a letter of death; 't is a passport worthmany louis, Toto." He pulled off a shoe, folded the paper neatly, andpulling up a tongue of leather on the inside sole, placed the letterunderneath, and put on the shoe again. He took the louis, threw thewallet under a cask, and waited.

  When the house was still he set to work. He had found behind a barrel along staff used to measure the height of wine in casks. On the end ofthis he tied securely, crosswise, the steel fork, and then began toinspect the thin rods of the window, which were but ill fitted to guarda man of resources.

  "Art still too fat?" he said, as he lifted Toto and managed to squeezehim between the bars. After that he began to fish with his stick andfork for a small log which had fallen from the woodpile and was just afoot or two out of reach. Twice he had it, and twice it broke loose,but now Toto understood, and, seizing the log, dragged it nearer. Atlast Francois had the prize. The rest was easy. He set the log betweenthe thin bars, and threw on this lever all the power of one of thestrongest men in Paris. In place of breaking, the iron rod bent anddrew out of its sockets. A second proved as easy, and at last thewindow-space was free. It seemed large enough. He concluded to leavehis bag; but the knapsack he set outside, and also his weapons and theconjuring-balls. Next he stripped off most of his clothes, and laidthese too on the far side of the window. Finally his legs were through,and his hips. But when it came to the shoulders he was in trouble. Itseemed impossible. He felt the poor poodle pulling at his foot, and hadhard work to restrain his laughter. "_Dame!_ would I grin at _MereGuillotine_? Who knows? How to shrink?" He wriggled; he emptied hischest of air; he turned on his side; and, leaving some rags and a goodbit of skin on the way, he was at last outside. Here, having reclothedhimself, he broke up the wine-measurer and threw the fork over the wall.In a few minutes he was on the highway, and running lightly at the topof his speed. At dawn he found a farm-house which seemed to bedeserted--no rare thing in those days. He got in at a window, andstayed for two days, without other food than the crusts he had carriedfrom the cellar. The night after, weak and hungry, he walked till dawn;and being now a good ten leagues from that terrible commissioner, heventured to buy a good dinner and to get himself set over the Seine.Somewhat reassured, he asked the way to Evreux, and, for once in hislife perplexed and thoughtful, went along without a word to Toto.

  He had been three weeks on the way, owing to his need to hide or to makewide circuits in order to avoid the larger towns. It was now theFebruary of northern France, and there was sometimes a little snow, butmore often a drizzling rain. He had suffered much from cold
; but as hestrode along, with a mind more at ease, he took pleasure in thesunshine. A night wind from the north had dried the roads. It wascalm, cold in the shadows, deliriously warm on the sun-lit length ofyellow highway. He had lost time,--quite too much,--but he still hopedto reach Musillon before that man with the wart arrived. If so, hewould see Despard, warn him as to Gregoire, and, with this claim, andtheir old partnership, on which he counted less, he might get hispassport altered, and lose himself somewhere. If he had to remain inthe town, he must see, or be presumed to have seen, that sick father,and must be promptly adopted if by cruel circumstances he became unableto journey far enough from Paris to feel secure. The distorted face ofAmar haunted him--the man who, to save his own life, would not even makebelieve to forgive. He had no power within him to explain a man likeAmar; and because the Jacobin was to him incomprehensible, he was morethan humanly terrible. What possessed that devil of a marquis to turnup! And was he now at his chateau? And why had Achille Gamel set downNormandy in the passport? And why had he himself been fool enough tofill up the vacant place for the name of his destination with that ofthe only small town he could recall in that locality? He had been inhaste, and now a net seemed to be gathering about him. He must gothither, or take perilous chances. He was moving toward a fateful hour.

  "Toto," he said, "let us laugh; for I like not the face of to-morrow."