*XXIV*
_Of how Francois got into good society underground--Of what he saw, andof the value of a cat's eyes--From darkness to light--Of how Francoismade friends for life._
"It was dark indeed; I had never imagined such darkness," says Francoisin his memoirs.[#] He adds that he has heard the story of thiswonderful escape from the catacombs told over and over by M. des Illes.He does not consider that it did him (Francois), the principal person,sufficient justice. He had also heard the old Duke Philippe relate thematter, and it was incredible how crooked he got it. But, then, DukePhilippe was a man who had no sense of humor. As to his dear Mme. desIlles, when she did tell this story, the baby was the chief hero. DukeHenri,--that is, the present man,--although only a lad when these eventstook place, remembered them well.
[#] See Epilogue.
"When he was seventeen," says Francois, "we used to fence together. Ihave often heard him relate to the other young fellows how we made ourescape; but Duke Henri has too much imagination, and that, you see,makes a man inaccurate. I knew two very accomplished thieves who wereinaccurate. I am not. Duke Henri's tale got stronger, like wine, astime went on. The rats grew to be of the size of cats; three of thempulled the baby out of madame's lap. And as to the people we killed, itwould have satisfied M. Dumas, who is the greatest and most correct ofsuch as write history."
The present author grieves that he has not the narration of this famousescape at the hands of Mme. des Illes and the two dukes, father and son.Those who have found leisure to read "A Little More Burgundy" have heardDes Illes's narrative as M. des Illes related it. Those who have notread that rendering may incline to hear Francois's own statement of whathappened after he thus found himself in darkness with people he hadnever seen. I have followed his memoir pretty closely. It tells somethings of which the other people concerned did not know. Evidently heconsidered it a less tragic affair than did they. It has been needfulto condense Francois's account, and to do this especially where hespeaks of his own intermediate adventures, which were singular enough.
When, as I have said, Francois, obeying Duke Philippe, put out hislantern, he sat still awhile, and said nothing. Like the rest, he wasfearful lest the officers he had disturbed so rudely should make a tooeffective search. Their inspection of the upper cellar would beperilous enough. The anxious people beneath held their breaths when aman overhead stumbled across the staves the thief had set to fall on thetrap-door. After a while all noises faded away, and in the evening theduke proposed to reconnoiter once more; but when he tried to lift thetrap, it was found impossible to do so. The municipals, in theirexamination, must have rolled a full barrel of wine upon the door. Thisdiscovery was, or seemed, an overwhelming calamity.
Francois during the day came to understand that here in the darknesswere Duke Philippe de St. Maur, his son Henri, a lad, another ratherolder boy, Des Illes, Mme. des Illes, and the baby, who made himselfterribly well known by occasional protests in the tongue of babyhood.As the thief became accustomed to the gloom and the company, his usualcheeriness returned; and when they could not open the trap he began topropose all manner of schemes. He would bore a hole and let out thewine, and so lighten the barrel. He would shoot a ball through the trapand the barrel, and thus let out the weight of wine. The duke, whonever lost respect for his own dignity, was disgusted, and would listento none of his counsels.
Toward bedtime the baby began to wail dismally; the boys sobbed; andMme. des Illes cried out to them that they should be ashamed tocomplain, and then, by way of comment, herself burst into tears; whilethe duke stumbled about, and swore under his breath. This was all veryastonishing to Francois, who had seen little of any world but his own,and to whom calamity served only as a hint to consider some way toescape its effects. He remained silent for a while, after the duke hadlet him plainly understand that he was a fool and had better hold histongue. This lasted for a half-hour, during which he sat still,thinking, with full eyes, of his dead dog. By degrees the children grewquiet, and the baby, having exhausted his vocabulary and himself, fellasleep. Then the duke said irritably:
"Why the deuce don't you do something, Master Thief? If you can getinto places where you do not belong, why cannot you get out of thisabominable box?"
Francois laughed. "Get out I would, and gladly; but how? We mightwait, monsieur, till they drink up the wine, or until it dries up, or--"But here the boys laughed, and even the duke forgot himself, and saidFrancois was a merry fellow. Indeed, he was of use to them all; for,soon becoming at ease, he regaled the boys with his adventures; but howmany he invented I do not know. Some were queer, and some silly; butall tales are good in the dark, for then what can one do but attend?
After a while, all being still, Francois lighted his lantern, on whichDuke Philippe said: "Put out that light; we have too few candles as itis; and keep quiet. You are prowling about like a cat on the tiles, andtwice you have stumbled over my legs."
"But I have twice said I was sorry," said Francois, getting tired ofthis duke with an uncertain temper, who repeated: "Put out that light,and sit down."
Then madame spoke: "He may have a reason to want to see and to moveabout."
"'T is so," said Francois. "If I walk, my wits walk; if I sit, they goto sleep; and as to cats, madame, I am a street cat"; and, thinking ofSuzanne, he laughed.
"Ah, confound your laughing!" The duke felt that to laugh at a joke hedid not share was, to say the least, disrespectful. "What is there tolaugh at?"
Francois, who had been moving as he spoke, was suddenly elated. He saidit was Suzanne he was thinking of; and when madame would know if shewere his wife, the duke was silent out of lack of interest for lowcompany, and Francois began to tell about the elders and the Hebrewmaid, and of the Amalekites who lived on the next roof. The boys werecharmed, and madame said, "Fie! fie!" but it served to amuse. An hourlater he began to move about restlessly, and at last cried out, from thefar end of the cellar:
"This way, monsieur; what is this? A candle--and quick!" When they allcame to see, he rolled aside an empty cask, and showed a heavy planking.He seized the decayed timbers and tore them away, so that as they fell ablack gap was to be seen. The air blew in, cool and damp.
"_Mon Dieu!_ 't is the catacombs. My husband's grandfather cut off thisend for a wine-cave. It is strange I should have quite forgotten it."
"But what then?" said the duke. "It is only a grave you have opened.You might as well have kept quiet."
The thief's feelings were hurt; he began to care less and less for thisuseless nobleman.
Madame said thoughtfully: "It may be a way out. If it come to the worst,we can but try it."
"Madame is right; and as to keeping quiet, I never could. Sleeping catscatch no rats." He believed in his luck. "We shall get out," he said,with cool assurance. "I always do. I have been in many scrapes. I gotout of the Madelonnettes, and I was once near to decorating a rope."
"A rope!" exclaimed madame.
"Yes. _Parbleu_! I wear my cravat loose ever since. I like to havefull swing, but not in that way." He was gay and talkative. The boysliked it; but not so the duke, who said:
"Well, what next?"
"We must explore. I will enter and see a little."
"But," said the woman, "you will get lost; and then, what to do?" Shehad come to trust the thief. He saw this, and liked it. "If we loseyou, what shall we do?--what _shall_ we do?"
The thief turned to her as he stood, lantern in hand. He was grave."Madame, I am a poor thief of the streets; I have had to live as Icould; and since I was a boy I can count the kind words ever said to meby man or woman. I shall not forget."
Madame was moved, and said they were all alike come upon evil days, andthat perhaps now he would turn from his wicked ways.
Poor Francois was not quite clear as to his ways having been wicked.
"Well, if you are going," said the duke, "you had better be about it."
; It was then young Des Illes said he must have a string, like people whowent into caves, else he might never find his way back. The thiefthought it a fine idea; and here was madame's big ball of knitting-wool.With no more delay, he took it, and leaving an end in Des Illes's hand,boldly walked away into the darkness with his lantern, and was soon lostto view.
When he came back to this anxious company, he had to report such atangle of passages as caused him to say that to try to escape throughthese must be a last resort. He thought they might live on the rats ifprovisions gave out, but they must eat them raw.
"_Helas!_ what a fate!" said madame.
The little Duke Henri spoke eagerly, and said the Chinese ate rats.
"But not raw," cried the young Des Illes, which set them all tolaughing.
Soon again they were quiet, because talk in the dark does not prosper.A little later madame called softly to the thief to sit by her, andwould hear of his life. Francois related his exploits with pride. Shemade no comment, but said at last: "Your name, my friend?" And when hereplied, "Francois," she declared that he was no more to be any one'sthief, but always Francois; and this was a hint to the duke, who took itin silence, and was evidently depressed.
After this, madame bade the boys say their prayers; and soon all wereasleep, except Francois, who sat against a cask, and saw Toto's browneyes in the darkness.
At last the morrow came. The provisions were shared, and, as usual withFrancois, his spirits rose as he filled his stomach. He held the baby,and was queerly interested in this mystery of unwinking eyes. Might hegive it of the bottle? He satisfied the child, who seemed fearless ofthat long, good-humored face. Might he hold it longer? It would relievemadame. He sang low to it a queer thief-song, and then another nonethere could understand.
"_Ciel!_" said the duke, who had slept off his splenetic mood; "you havea fine voice."
"Ah, would it were a hymn," said madame, "or a psalm of Clement Marot!"
"I know no hymns," said Francois, "but only some old choir chants."
Upon this he began to sing, low and sweet, one of the old Latin songs:
Salve, mundi salutare, Salve, salve, Jesu care! Cruel tuae me aptare Vellem vere, tu sols quare, Da mihi tui capiam.
The rich voice which in his boyhood days had soared like a lark up amongthe arches of Notre Dame had come again. He heard himself with wonderand with sad thoughts of the chances his boyish haste had forever lostfor him.
"And you a thief!" cried madame. "Where--where did you learn--"
But at this moment noises overhead put an end to all but listening. Atlast Francois said: "They move the casks. It were well to take to thecaves." And this was hastily agreed to, when, of a sudden, the noisesceased.
Francois still urged instant flight; but the duke said, "No; we mustwait," and gave no reasons. The thief did not agree, but held histongue, as Mme. des Illes said nothing, and since, after all, this was aduke.
An hour later he started up. "By Heaven, they are at the trap!"
The duke was no coward. He ran up the steps, pistol in hand, and gavehis second weapon to Francois, who stood below. The trap was cast wideopen, and a big municipal was seen stooping over the open space; forbeyond him the cellar was well lighted up. The duke fired without aninstant's indecision.
"By St. Denis! 't is a man, this duke," cried Francois, as the officerpitched head down into the cave. The thief set a foot on him as he lay,and reached up the second pistol to the duke, while young Des Illes, toocurious for fear, crawled up the broad stone stairs to see. The thiefheard a second shot, and followed the lad. There were several candlesset on casks, and through the smoke he saw a municipal in a heap at thefar end of the upper cellar. He was groaning piteously.
"Load again, monsieur," cried Francois. "Quick! there may be more." Hehimself went past the duke, and young Des Illes after him. He turnedthe officer over.
"He is not dead," he said. "Best to finish him."
But here was madame at his side, saying: "No, no! No more--I will nothave it. _Mon Dieu!_ it is bad enough. I will have no murder."
"Then let us go back; he is as good as dead."
"_Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!_" cried the woman; and so in haste the upper trapwas closed, and all went again down to the cave.
The officer below was dead, with a ball through his head. Mother andchildren huddled away in the far corner, scared. The duke said:
"What now must we do?"
"We must go, and at once," said Francois. "They will soon come back,and then--"
"Yes, yes," cried madame; "you are right. You were right; we shouldhave gone before, and saved all this bloodshed."
The duke made no comment, except to mutter, "I suppose so"; and at oncebegan to assist Francois's preparations for flight.
And now the thief's readiness and efficiency were shown. He arrangedevery one's loads, filled baskets, laughed over a shoulder at the boysas he strapped blankets on the duke, and at last loaded himself with allthat was left. They took the arms of the dead man, and soon trooped outinto the darkness. The duke, who at once went on ahead, carried alantern.
At the first turn, Francois called out to wait, and ran back. The dukeswore. He was now eager to go on, and declared that the thief woulddeliver them up, and save his own head. But madame was of other mind,and so they stood expectant. At last came Francois, laughing.
"Ah, monsieur, this comes of honest company. I forgot the bag of gold.And these--these are priceless. I have the fellow's clothes. When a mandoes not resist, the temptation is great; neither did he assist."
"Stop that talk, and come on. Are we going to set up a shop for oldclothes?"
Francois fell behind. "The duke would make a poor thief," he said tothe boys. Young Henri de St. Maur said: "You are insolent. My father athief!"
"_Tiens_! There are times when to steal is virtue. _Allons donc!_" andhe strode on, laughing, and telling the boys stories.
There were many little incidents that day, but the worst was at evening,when they found a great cave, lofty and wide, where had been cast, longbefore, the bones out of the overfilled cemeteries. Here it was thatskulls fell from the great heap, and rolled away on every side into thedarkness, while the rats ran out in armies. The thief was of all themost alarmed, and stood still, saying paternosters and aves by thedozen. After this they went on aimlessly, now and then hearing overheadthe roar and rumble of wagons. Their nights proved to be full of soretrials. The rats assembled, and grew bolder. One bit the baby, whocried until the thief lighted a candle and watched while the rest slept,or tried to do so.
The dismalness of, these underground labyrinths was such as no man couldimagine. One day they walked a half-mile through a wet cave-passage sonarrow that two persons could not move abreast. It ended in a blankwall, and they were forced to go back, over shoe-top in water. Or,again, they went up rude stairs, stumbling, but hopeful, only to descendonce more into the depths of the earth. Now and then a putrid rain fellon them, and at every turn the rats fled by them, now one and now ascurry of countless troops. Twice a mass of rock fell in some distantpassage, and strange echoes reverberated in cavern spaces, so that theboys cried out in terror, and even Francois shivered at the thought ofhow they might be buried alive by one of these downfalls. Each sad dayof weariness had its incident of terror or disappointment; and still,with lessening hope, they trailed on after the dim light which the dukecarried as he led them--none knew whither. Each morning they rose cold,wet, and unrefreshed, ate of their lessening food, and after some littletalk as to how this day they should keep turning to left or to right,set out anew, the duke still in advance, with an ever-changing mind asto where they were or what they should do. As day followed day, theirhalts became more frequent. They lingered where the dripping rain fromthe sewage of the great city overhead was least; or at times pausedsuddenly to listen to mysterious sounds, or to let the rats go by them,splashing in the noisome puddles underfoot. The night was as the day,
the day as the night. They had no way to tell the one from the other,except by the duke's watch.
So confusing was this monotonous tramp underground, the days so muchalike, that at last these sad people became bewildered as to how longthey had wandered. Their food was becoming less and less, and on theevening of the fifth day the duke and Francois knew that very soon theirstock of candles would be exhausted. These had, in fact, been of smalluse, except to keep the scared children more cheerful when night came onand the rats grew bold.
This evening of the fifth day, and earlier than usual, Mme. des Illesdeclared of a sudden that she could go no farther, and must rest for thenight. The duke had a new plan, and urged her to go on. She cried overthe baby on her lap, and made no answer. They sat down to pass anothernight of discomfort. After a little talk with the boys, Francois drewapart from the rest, and began to think over the wanderings of the day.Their situation this evening was somewhat better than it had usuallybeen, for they sat in a dry end of one of the many excavations, and didnot feel the cold, moist winds which howled along these stony caves,carrying a changeful variety of unwholesome stenches. A silent hourwent by in utter darkness. At times Francois rose to drive awayadventurous rats. At last he lighted a candle, and set it at the openend of the cul-de-sac. When he saw that the rats would not pass thelantern, he whispered to madame of this, and that he meant to explore alittle, and bade her have no fear. The duke had thus far had his ownway, and it had not been to Francois's taste. He took a second lantern,and moved off around a corner, resolute to find a means of escape. Theduke ordered him to return and to put out the candle. Francois made noreply. He counted the turns as he went on, and listened for the noiseof vehicles above him.
"A pretty duke, that!" he said. "I should have made as good a one. Ilike better that devil of a marquis; but _diantre!_ neither is muchafraid--nor I, for that matter."
Sometimes he turned back, at others went on boldly, noting whence blewany current of warmer air. At last he came upon an enormous excavation.In the middle was a mass of partly tumbled stone, laid in courses. Thisbroken heap was large, and irregularly conical. He moved around it inwonder, having seen nothing like it in his explorations. He turned theyellow and feeble lantern-light upon the heap, and at first concludedthat the old makers of these quarries had here built for themselves ahouse, which had fallen to ruin.
But where was he, and what part of Paris was over his head? Heremembered at last to have heard that these catacombs were once used asreceptacles for the dead, in order to relieve the overpeopledgraveyards. Had he been less alarmed, he might have guessed where he waswhen they came upon the bones; for that must have been near to thecemetery of the Church of the Innocents. But while the duke had led,Francois had taken less than his usual active notice, and had beencontent to follow. Here, now, was a new landmark. This before himcould be no dwelling of quarriers, but must be a house fallen into thegreat cave. He had heard of such happenings. To be certain where and onwhat street so strange a thing had occurred would afford knowledge as tothe part of Paris under which he stood. He would ask the duke; he mightknow. Thus reflecting, he began to walk around the tumbled mass. Avast amount of earth must have come down with it. He pried here andthere, and at last found a gap in the ruin, and crawled in betweenfallen timbers until he could stand up. On one side was a wall and awide chimney-place, and on the top of this wall the great beams of theceiling still rested. Their farther ends lay on what seemed the wreckof the opposite wall, thus leaving a triangular space filled in at eachside by broken stone. Amid this were the crushed steps of a staircase,quite blocked up. The lantern gave little light. Only close to thefireplace could the tall thief stand erect. He turned his lantern, andcried out:
"Ye saints!" Close beside him were the remains of a high-backed chair,and on these, and beside them, portions of the bones of a man. Twogreat jack-boots lay beside him, gnawed by rats. His skull was broken,and lay where the eager animals had dragged it.
Few could have stood here alone, and not felt its terror and itsmystery. Francois stood a moment, appalled, and unable to think or toobserve. At last he began to study the place with care and increasinginterest. A rusty sword, sheathed, was caught in the arm of the ruinedchair. Here and there lay bits of gold lace. He picked up the rustedclasp of a purse, gnawed by the rats. Near it lay scattered a number ofgold and silver coins, a rosary, and a small ring set with red stones.He put them all in his pocket. There was scarce a remnant of the man'sdress.
Francois looked at the tumbled bones. "_Mon Dieu!_" said he; "am I likethat?" and turned to see what else was here. On the lowest stair was aglint of yellow--a cross of gold. "Good luck!" he cried. On the hearthwas a copper kettle, green with rust. Soon he began to see better, andat last found a fragment of wood less damp than the rest of the floorand what lay upon it; for a steady, slow, irregular rain fell in drops,with dull patter here and there. He shaved off some slivers of thewood, and, getting at the drier inside, soon, with paper from his pouch,made a fire on the stone pavement. Presently he had a bright littleblaze, and in the brilliant glow began to shed his terror. He foundother wood, and nourished the flame. But when he saw that the fragmentswere from the end of a crushed cradle, he ceased to use them; becausehere were little bones lying scattered, and the man guessed at theextent of the tragedy, and was strangely stirred. He moved to and froin the tent-like space in awe and wonder, in thought reconstructing thehouse, and seeming to share in the horror of its story.
Before leaving, he looked again at the overturned chair, the stoneslying about it, and the moldering remains of the man. He must have beenasleep, and died instantly when the house fell into the great cave.There was no more to be seen. "God rest his soul!" said the thief, andcrawled backward out of the tangle of broken beams and stones.
In a few minutes he was again with those he had left, and, saying only,"'T is well, madame; we shall get out," fell into a peaceful sleep.
The next day every one dragged on wearily, the duke still leading, andFrancois hoping that he would be asked advice. The water rained on thema noisome downfall, the rats came out in hordes; and still Francoischeered his companions, now carrying the baby, and now encouraging thetired boys.
I have not given in full detail all the miseries of these weary days andsorrowful nights. They have been more fully told elsewhere by one whofelt them as more serious than did Francois, whose narrative I now amfollowing. These unhappy victims of the Terror had been altogether sixdays in the cave, but Francois not so long. By this time their spiritwas quite broken. The thief alone remained gay, hopeful, and evenconfident, but saw clearly enough that these people, used to easy lives,could not endure much longer the strain of this unguided wandering inthe dark and somber alleys of this horrible labyrinth of darkness andfoul odors. The duke seemed also to be of a like mind, for on themorning of the seventh day he awakened Francois at six, and, of a suddengrown sadly familiar, whispered low to him:
"Is there any hope? Madame and the boys are failing. Soon we shallhave to carry them."
"We shall get out," said Francois.
"But how? how? Why to-day any more than yesterday? Do you think of anyway to help us?"
"If monsieur will permit me to lead--"
"Good! Why did you not say so before?"
Francois made no direct reply, but asked: "Did ever a house fall intothese quarry-caves?"
"A house? Why do you ask? Yes; it was long ago. The house of thelieutenant of the guard it was. I do not recall the date. A house inthe Rue des Peches."
"Will this help to know when it was?" and Francois showed his coins andtold his story.
"Yes, yes; I see. How wonderful! These are of the time of Francis I."
"Rue des Peches?"
"Yes; it is now the Rue des Bon Secours. It is close to the Asile desInnocents."
"_Dieu!_ monsieur, then I know. I think we may get out to-day; but itmay be well not yet to tell madame. I think we are still near
to thefallen house."
"Then you shall lead," said the duke. "_Tiens!_ a queer fellow, thisthief," he muttered, and went to waken the sleeping children. No wordwas said as to the house of the lieutenant of the guard, but Francoisrefreshed the tired party by promising a speedy glimpse of day. For,now that the candles were few, they thought more of this than of theperils which the daylight might bring.
The thief led, and all day long they went on and on. Once he was quitedismayed to find that he had lost his way, and once came to the veryentrance of the cave he had left the night before. The duke againbecame querulous and dissatisfied; but Francois only laughed, and,resolutely concealing his mistake, retraced his steps. It was near toseven o'clock in the evening of July 28 when the thief bade them rest,and he would be back soon. The duke said something cross; but Francoismade no reply, and, turning a corner, lost sight of his party. He tookcareful note of the turns and windings of this maze, and now and thenfound himself in a blind alley, and must of need turn back. At the farend of one of these recesses he saw in the gloom two great, green,phosphorescent eyes. Like mighty jewels they were, set in the darkness.They were soon lost to view, and came and went. "They are cats," hemurmured; "and what a hunting estate they have! Ye saints! if I hadhere my poor Toto!" He began to move toward these eyes, which shot backthe light his lantern gave. There were three sets of the pale-greenjewels, and now their owners were maneuvering to escape. He began touse caressing cat-talk, such as had won the heart of Suzanne, and,falling on his knees, crept closer. Then there was a quick rush pasthim of his feline game; but one cat was indecisive, and he had her bythe leg. He paid well for his audacity, but held on, and pretty soonbegan to exercise the curious control he had over all animals. At lastpussy lay still and panting. When the scared animal grew quiet, he sether down. For a moment she hesitated, and then began to move away. Ashe followed she ran. He cast the lantern-light before her, and pursuedher with all speed. Once or twice she was nearly lost to view. Then sheturned a corner, and another, and of a sudden fled toward a distantarchway, through which he saw the light of day. A great rush of warmair went by him. He stood still, murmuring aves. To his surprise, hewas near to the place where he had left his companions. He stood amoment in deep thought. "We are out at last," he murmured. "But_ciel!_ there is much to think about. We may have too much light."
He went back and told of the discovery, but of the cat not a word. Theduke said: "I thought we should soon get out; come, let us be off."
Madame said gently: "Let us kneel before we go, and thank the good Godfor this friend he sent us in our trouble." Then they all knelt, andshe prayed, speaking her thankfulness to Heaven, with at the end a wordas to her husband, and also asking God's mercy for him who had led themforth out of darkness into light. When Francois heard her, he wasdisturbed as he had never been in all his days. When a man likeFrancois sheds tears, it is a great event in his life. He rose from hisknees, and asked the duke and the rest to go with him; and thus it wasthat in a few minutes they stood fifty feet from an open archway,through which came the level light from the western sky.
The duke was moved at last to say how clever Francois had been; and howhad he managed it? The thief declared it had been easy; but the cat gotno credit, and never was praised, then or ever, for her share of theirescape. Set in this rocky frame before them was a picture as it were ofa disused quarry, and beyond it vineyards, with yet farther a red-tiledhousetop. Here it was, as they paused, that madame said solemnly, withtears in her eyes:
"'God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw thelight, that it was good.'"
After the duke and Francois had peeped out, and seen no one, the dukebegan to set forth a variety of schemes as to what they should do. Noneof these was very wise, and at last madame turned to Francois. He haddisappeared, but presently came again, dressed in the clothes of thedead officer. He wore his sword and pistols, and now, as seen clearlyin the light of day, was certainly a queer enough figure. The garmentswere too short below and too wide above, and over them rose the longface, the broad mouth, and the huge ears. The boys, who looked on theirtroubles as at an end, set up a shout of laughter.
"The deuce! I shall arrest you, citizens," cried Francois. "And first,monsieur." He explained that he proposed to tie the duke's hands behindhis back, and with, as was usual, one end of the rope in his hand, wouldconduct the _ci-devant_ into Paris by the Barriere d'Enfer. The weepingwidow would follow, with the two children, to see the last of their poorpapa.
The duke was disgusted, but pretended to be much amused. "Well, it is apretty comedy," he said, as Mme. des Illes insisted.
"_Dame!_" said the thief, "but the tragedy is not far away."
"And what is to come after?" said she. "Had we not better wait tillnight?"
"No. The guards are doubled at night. It is boldness which will win."
"And what then, Francois?"
"I must find for you a refuge while I go to see if M. des Illes may nothave returned; for, madame, you have assured me that he would bereleased. Pray God it is so. And what better is there?" The duke wasforced to consent.
A rope found in the officer's pocket made part of Francois's spoil. Hetied the duke's hands, and showed him how, at need, a pull would releasethem. The gold was divided. All else they left. Francois reported theway clear, and they set out. But the boys giggled so much at the dukeand his indignant face that Francois paused.
"_Dame!_" he cried, "madame must weep." She was already doing that, hermind on the fate of M. des Illes. "If you boys are fools, and laugh, weare lost. Cry, if you can; but, for the love of Heaven, do not lookabout you, or smile. Take a hand of madame--so. Cry, if ever you meanto get away safe."
The road beyond the quarry was little used, and they went on, the dukefurious. When they met any one, Francois cried: "Get on, aristocrat!Pig of a _ci-devant_, march!"
Duke Philippe muttered: "_Sacre_, thief!" and got a smart jerk of therope, and more abuse, until the fun of it nearly upset the thief, whocould scarce contain himself. At the Barriere d'Enfer were but twoguards; nor were there as many people in the streets as usual.
Suddenly Francois halted at the summons to leave his prisoner with oneof the two men, and to enter the little office and exhibit his papers,as was needful.
"_Dame!_" muttered the thief, "one cannot know all things. I forgotabout the papers." He showed, however, no indecision. "Guard thiswretch, citizen," he said. "Here, take the rope. He is a returned_emigre_." The man took the rope. "I shall not be long." So saying,he went in after the second guard, closing the door behind them. Theman sat down at a desk, and opened a blank-book, saying: "The order,citizen."
"I am afraid it is lost," said Francois, eagerly searching his acquiredpockets. "The mischief! What to do?"
"To do? Thou must wait till the lieutenant comes back. He has gone tosee the fun."
"Fun! What fun?"
At this moment the man rose hastily. "_Diable!_ thou art Francois! Ithought I knew thy voice. There are orders to arrest thee. Citizen Amardesires thy society. Best make no fuss. I arrest thee. I am in luck.It is sure promotion. What trick art thou up to? And those folksoutside, who axe they?"
"But thou, an old thief, to arrest a comrade! Surely thou wilt not."
"No use. Come! no nonsense."
Francois put out a pleading hand. "But they will kill me, comrade." Helooked all the alarm needed.
"Bah!"
In an instant the strongest grip of the Cite was on the man's throat,and closed as a vise closes. A faint cry escaped as the man struggled.Francois threw a leg back of the fellow, and as he fell dropped on hischest. It was brief. The man's heels clattered on the floor; he wasstill. The thief rose. The man was to appearance dead. He wouldrevive, perhaps. "_Peste!_" cried Francois, "it is hard to keep one'shead."
Seizing a paper from the table, Francois went out of the door, closingit after him, and coolly caressing a cat on the
step. He said to theguard that his comrade would be out by and by, and that it was allright. As he spoke he waved the paper, and, taking the rope, went on,crying: "Get up, _ci-devant_!" As they got farther away he hurried theduke. "Death is behind us. Get on. Faster--faster!" He twisted andturned, and was not at ease until they were deep in the sinuous,box-hidden paths of the Luxembourg.
Very few people were to be seen, and these looked at or after them withcuriosity.
"We must be a queer party. Get on, citizen. Thou art lazy. Thou wiltsoon have a fine carriage." He was terribly anxious. "_Sacre_,monsieur! For the love of the saints, go on, and quicker!"
"What the deuce is it?" said the duke.
"That beast at the barrier knew me. He was an old thief."
"And what then? Why were we not stopped if he knew you?"
"He does not know me nor anybody now."
"_Foi d'honneur_, but you are a brave fellow!"
"Thanks; but make haste."
At last they were in the long Rue de Varennes, where they saw a greatcrowd filling the street, and were soon in the midst of a mass ofexcited people.
Francois cried out: "Room, citizens, room!"
An old woman shook her fist at him, yelling furiously: "Cursed Jacobin!"
The people were wild; and presently a man hustled the supposed officer.Others cried fiercely: "Hang him!" Another screamed out: "Robespierre isdead!" and the crowd took up the cry. A dozen hands seized on Francois.
"What the deuce is all this?" he shouted. "Take care, or the law willhave you."
"Robespierre is dead! _A la lanterne!_"
Upon this, the duke exclaimed: "Let him go; it is a good fellow, and notan officer"; and then, amid a maddening tumult, succeeded in hastilyexplaining enough to secure the release of the officer.
"_A bas la guillotine!_" cried Francois. "Down with the Terror!"
The crowd thickened, and went its way with wild cries. Meanwhile theboy Des Illes was lost, and madame in tears. They went on, askingquestions, and hearing of the execution of Robespierre, Couthon,Saint-Just, and the rest. The thief said: "Let us go straight to M. desIlles's house."
At the door madame fell into her husband's arms; and soon after dusk theboy came running back with his father, who had gone out to search forhim.
Then all was hastily made clear, and the long story told of Des Illes'srelease, and how he had found the dog, and in the cave the Jacobins bothdead, and of his vain efforts to discover his own people. They were fedand reclothed; and now, it being ten at night of this 10th Thermidor,Francois rose. "I must go," he said.
"You? Never!" said madame. "Our house is your home for life. You willwander and sin no more."
On this, Francois looked about him, from one kind face to another, andsat down, and broke into tears.
"It shall be as madame desires. I am her servant."
And this is the end of the adventures of Francois, the thief. Let whowill judge him.
*EPILOGUE*
_Wherein is some further account of Francois and of those who helpedhim._
In a little book which has found many friendly readers I related astrange story of the French Revolution.[#] In it was promised somefurther account of the most remarkable of the personages concerned. Ihave now fulfilled my desire to relate the adventures of Francois. Thesingular incidents I record are not without foundation.
[#] "A Madeira Party," The Century Co., which contains a tale called "ALittle More Burgundy," to which the reader is referred.
In the story above mentioned I have told how I chanced to meet Francoisand those with whom he spent his days after the stormy period duringwhich they first came together. My acquaintance with M. des Illes andthe old Duc de St. Maur slowly ripened into friendship. I was a lonelystudent in the Latin Quarter, and felt deeply the kindness which neverceased insisting that their house should be to me a home. In thesummer, and often after that, I was a guest at Des Illes's chateau inTouraine. There I came to know Francois, as one may know a French or anItalian servant. During these visits he acted as my valet, serving mewith admirable care, and never better pleased than when I invited him totalk about himself. He had long since shed his thief-skin, but I fearthat it was only the influence of fortunate circumstances which left himwithout excuse to be or to seem other than as honest as the rest of theworld about him.
I have known a great variety of disreputable folk in my lifetime, butnever one who had so many winning qualities, or who was so entirely athis ease. A scamp in the company of men of better morals usuallybecomes hypocritical or appears awkwardly aware of breathing anatmosphere to which he is unused. Francois had no such difficulties.For half a century he had been for Des Illes something between friendand servant. His former life and habits were well known to the few whocame to his master's house. He was comfortable, with some fortythousand francs in the _rentes_, for his old acquaintance, the marquis,had not forgotten his services. He had no necessity to exercise what hestill tranquilly called his profession. Like a clever street-dogadopted by a respectable family, though for a time uneasy, he ceased bydegrees to wander for the joy of stealing a bone, and became contentedwith the better and less perilous chances of a dinner at home.
I learned from M. de St. Maur, the duke's son, that while Mme. des Illeslived Francois remained the most domestic of animals. Her death causedhim a grief so profound that for a time his master was troubled lest hisreason might suffer. She herself would never hear a word against him.Unlike her husband, she was a fervent Protestant, and had now and thensome vain hope of converting Francois. While she lived he consideredhimself her special servant, but after her death transferred his regardto young Des Illes, the son. For many months Francois pined, as I havesaid. He then became restless, disappeared for a week at a time, and itis to be feared that once, or more often, he courted temptation. When Iknew him all this was in a remote past. At the chateau he usually cameto my bedroom an hour before dinner to set out my evening dress, and waspretty sure, when this was done, to put his head in my little salon andask if I needed anything. Perhaps, like M. des Illes, I might desire a_petit verre_ of vermuth for the bettering of appetite. As I soon foundwhat this meant, I commonly required this sustaining aid. When by andby he returned, carrying a neat tray with vermuth and cognac, it came tobe understood that he should be led into talk of himself over the littleglass, which would, I am sure, have paid toll before it got back to thebuffet. Pretty soon I got into the way of making him sit down, while Idrew from by no means unwilling lips certain odd stories which muchamused me. With an English or Irish servant such familiar intercoursewould have been quite impossible; but Francois, who had none of theshyness of other races, soon came to be on as easy terms with me as hewas with M. des Illes. When I asked him one evening to tell me his ownstory of the famous escape through the catacombs, he said, "But it islong, monsieur." When I added, "Well, sit down; I must have it," hereplied simply, "As monsieur wishes," and, taking a chair, gave me anaccount of their escape, in which he drew so mirthful a picture of theduke's embarrassments that I saw how little of the humor of the tale M.des Illes had allowed himself to put into his recital.
Francis's long life amid people of unblemished character had by no meanschanged his views. Yes, he had been a thief; but now he was out ofbusiness. He had retired, just as M. des Illes had done, there being nolonger any cause why he should relieve his own necessity by lesseningthe luxury of others; monsieur might feel quite secure.
As for politics, he was all for the Bonapartes, who, he said, weremagnificent thieves, whereas he had never been able to rise to the veryhighest level of his business. M. des Illes objected, and the last timehe had indulged himself in a prolonged absence--monsieur wouldcomprehend that this was many years ago--there had been a seriousquarrel; and how could he annoy so good a master, even though theydisagreed as to matters political? If monsieur were still curious as tohis life, he had a few pages in which he had set down cer
tain thingsworth remembering, and would monsieur like to see them? Monsieur wouldvery much like to read them. Thus came into my possession thisastonishing bit of autobiography, which at last I had leave to copy. Itwas oddly written, in a clear hand, and in a quaint and abrupt style,from which, in my use of it, I have generally departed, but of which Ifear some traces may yet be seen.
Two evenings later, and before I had found leisure to read all of it,Francois said to me, "Does monsieur think to give my poor little accountto the world?" I said I did not. At this I saw his very expressiveface assume a look which I took to mean some form of regret. As hespoke he was standing in the doorway, and was now and then mechanicallypassing a brush over my dress-coat. Presently he said: "I only desirednot to have set forth in France, when I am gone, such things as mightgive concern to M. des Illes, or trouble him if he should outlive me."
I replied that it should never be published; and when, after this, helingered, I added, "Is that as you desire?" It was not. His vanity wassimple and childlike, but immense.
"Monsieur will find it entertaining," he said; and I, that this was sureto be the case, and that it were a pity the world should lose sovaluable a work. At this his lean face lighted up. Perhaps in Englishit might some day be of interest to monsieur's friends; and as heunderstood that the English were given to stealing whole countriesbelonging to feeble folks, it might seem to them less unusual than itwould to people like those of France. But monsieur was not English. Heasked my pardon. I kept a grave face, and inquired if it were atreatise on the art of theft.
This embarrassed him a little, and he made answer indirectly: didmonsieur entirely disapprove this form of transfer? He seemed to regardit as merely a manner of commercial transaction by which one man aloneprofited. I returned that as to this nations held diverse opinions, andthat some Oriental people considered it a creditable pursuit, but thatpersonally it did seem to me wrong.
M. des Illes was distinctly of that opinion; but, after all, his(Francois's) account of what he had seen and been was not limited tomere details of business, and I might discover his adventures to haveother interest. When he heard at last that some day I might, throughhis writings, enlighten the nations outside of the pale of Galliccivilization, he went away with the satisfied air of a young author whohas found a publisher with a just appreciation of his labors--a thingboth rare and consolatory.
His personal history, as I have said, was well known to the entirehousehold; nor did he resent a jest now and then as to his disused art,if it came from one of a rank above his own. The old duke would say,"Any luck of late in snuff-boxes, Francois?"
"M. le Duc knows they are out of fashion."
"_Eh bien_; then handkerchiefs?"
"_Diable!_" says Francois. "They are no more of lace; what use to stealthem? M. le Duc knows that gentlemen are also out of fashion. M. leBourgeois is too careful nowadays."
"True," says the duke, and walks away, sadly reflective.
This Francois was what people call a character. He had a great heart andno conscience; was fond of flowers, of birds, and of children; pleasedto chat of his pilferings, liking the fun of the astonishment he thuscaused. Had he really no belief in its being wrong to steal? I do notknow. The fellow was so humorous that he sometimes left one puzzled anduncertain. He went duly to mass and confession, but--"_Mon Dieu_,monsieur; nowadays one has so little to confess, M. le Cure must find itdull."
When I would know his true ethics as to thine and mine, he cried,laughing, "_Le mien et le tien_; 't is but a letter makes thedifference, and, after all, one must live." It seemed a simplecharacter, but there is no such thing; all human nature is more complexthan they who write choose to think it. If character were such as thewriter of fiction often makes it, the world would be a queer place.
He is dead long ago, this same Francois, as my old friend Des Illeswrote me a few years later. He was very fond of a parrot he had taughtto cry, "_Vive Bonaparte!_" whenever the aged duke came by his perch.One morning Poll was stolen by some adroit purveyor of parrots. Thisloss Francois felt deeply, and vastly resented the theft,--in fact, hedescribed himself as being humbled by the power of any one to steal froma man bred up to the business,--and so missed his feathered companionthat for the first time he became depressed, and at last took to hisbed. He died quietly a few weeks after, saying to the priest who hadgiven him the final rites of the church: "M. le Cure--the gold snuff-boxthe duke gave you--" "Well, my son?" "The left-hand pocket is thesafer; we look not there." Then, half wandering, he cried: "Adieu,Master Time! Thou art the best thief, after all"; and so died, holdingDes Illes's hand.
I learned from the duke and his son, as well as from M. des Illes, manymore facts as to Francois than he himself recorded; the good old Cure LeGrand, who was a great friend of mine, also contributed some queerincidents of Francois's life; and thus it was that, when years had goneby, and I became dependent on my pen, I found myself able to write fullyof this interesting product of Parisian life.
After considering the material in my possession, I soon discovered thatit would not answer my purpose to let Francois's broken memoirs tell hisstory. There were names and circumstances in them which it were stillunwise to print. Much of what I may call the scenery of his somewhatdramatic adventures was supplied by the singular knowledge of theRevolution which the cure delighted to furnish. The good priest was byfar the most aged of this group, and yet to the last the most clear asto memories of a tragic past. Thus it came that I was led to write mystory of Francois in the third person, with such enlightening aid as Iobtained from those who knew him better than I.
In his defense I may be permitted to quote the cure's cautiously wordedopinion:
"Oh, monsieur, no man knows another, and every man is ever another tohimself. For you Francois is a thief, strangely proud of an exceptionalcareer and of his victories over the precautions of those from whom hestole. Is it not so, monsieur?" I said it was. "But the _bon Dieu_alone knows all of a man. I was not a priest until after the great wars.God pardon me, but I like still to tell tales of Jena and Austerlitz,and of what we did in those days of victory. To kill men! The idea nowfills me with horror, and yet I like nothing better, as monsieur wellknows, than to talk of those days of battle. And Francois--'t is muchthe same. How could one live with these dear people, and get no lessonfrom their lives? Our gay, merry-minded Francois loved to surprise thestaid folks who came hither to visit us; but I know that--ah, well,well, priests know many things."
I thanked him, but still had doubts as to whether the moral code of ourfriend Francois was ever materially altered by precept, example, or bythe lack of necessity to carry on his interesting branch of industry.
Before telling his story I like to let him say for himself the onlyapologetic words I could discover in this memoir:
"I have no wish to write my whole life. I want to put down some thingsI saw and some scenes in which I was an actor. I am now old. Isuppose, from what I am told, that I was wicked when I was young. Butif one cannot see that he was a sinner, what then? The good God who mademe knows that I was but a little Ishmaelite cast adrift on the streetsto feed as I might. I defend not myself. I blame not the chances oflife, nor yet the education which fate gave me. It was made to temptone in need of food and shelter. 'T is a great thing to be able tolaugh easily and often, and this good gift I had; and so, whether insafety or in peril, whether homeless or housed, I have gone through lifemerry. I had thought more, says M. le Cure, had I been less light ofheart. But thus was I made, and, after all, it has its good side. Ihave always liked better the sun than the shadow; and as to relieving mywants, are the birds thieves?"
I noticed on the margins of Francois's memoirs remarks in a neat femalehandwriting, which he told me were made by Mme. des Illes, who alone hadread his story.
At the end I found written: "If ever another should read what is setdown in these pages, let them have the comment of charity. He who wrotethem was by nature gifted with affec
tion, good sense, and courage. Hehad many delicacies of character, but that of which nature meant to makea gentleman and a man of refinement, desertion and evil fortune made athief and a reprobate. She who wrote this knew him as no one else did,and, with God's help, drew him out of the slough of crime and into along life of honest ways. CLAIRE DES ILLES."
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