The Adventures of François

by S. Weir Mitchell

  *II*

  _In which Francois becomes a choir-boy, and serves two masters, to theimpairment of his moral sense._

  He was about fourteen, and the best of the choir, when a great changetook place in his life. He was sent, with a dozen others, to the vestryof Notre Dame, and there carefully tested as to the power and quality ofhis voice. The masters of the choir were exacting, but, to his greatdelight, he was thought the best of the four who were finally selectedto fill vacancies among the boy choristers of the cathedral. This cameabout in the autumn of the year 1781.

  The next day he received a long lecture on how he should behave himself;and thus morally provided, was sent, with his small belongings in a bag,to the house of certain of the choir-masters who lived in the Rue desChanteurs. One of the priests who escorted the four boys stood at thedoor of the house of the choir, and saying good-by to them as they wentin, bade them come, if they might, and visit their old home; and so,with a benediction, sent them forth into a larger world.

  It was not much larger, nor was it as agreeable. When the good fatherleft them, one Tomas, who was steward of the choir-house, took the ladsin charge.

  "Up with ye, singing-birds!" he cried; "up! up!" And this at eachstory: "It will soon be your best chance of heaven; up! up!" until theyreached a large attic under the tiles.

  It was a dismal place, and hospitable to every wind that blew. Each oftwelve choir-boys had a straw mattress on the floor, and pegs where hunghis clothes and the white surplice he wore during service. The fournewcomers took possession, and were soon informed by Tomas of theirduties. They must be up at five to sing before breakfast with thesecond chanter.

  "Before breakfast!" cried one of the recruits.

  "Little animal!" said Tomas. "Before thou dost eat there is room tofill thy chest; but after, what boy hath room? Breakfast at six and ahalf; at seven a lesson. Thou wilt intone with Pere Lalatte."

  Thus the day was to be filled; for here were lessons a-plenty in Latin,and all must learn to read and to write, for they might be priests someblessed day.

  Francois reflected as Tomas packed the hours with this and that as onepacks a bag. He made his face as grave as nature would let it be, andsaid it was very nice, and that he liked to sing. Was there anythingelse? Tomas replied that this first day they might ask questions, butthat after that he (Tomas) had only one answer, because to have only onesaved thinking.

  This amused Francois, who was prematurely capable of seeing the fun ofthings.

  When a duller boy who did not apprehend asked to know more he receivedan illustration in the form of a smart smack, which proved convincinglyinstructive, and silenced all but Francois, who asked, "Please,monsieur, when may we play?" and "Is there anything more?"

  Tomas replied that there was a free hour before supper, and a littlewhile somewhere about noon in the garden; also, they must wait on table;and oh, he forgot the prayers; and then went on to complete the packingof the day with various small duties in the nature of attentions to thecomfort of Tomas. With some last words as to the time of the next meal,the steward left them.

  The lads, silent and anxious, arranged their small possessions. Alittle goldfinch in a wicker cage was Francis's most valued property; hehad taught it many pretty tricks, and now he had been allowed to bringit with him. Francois put the cage on the window-ledge, and fed hisbrightly tinted bird from a small store of millet with which he hadfilled his pocket. Then he looked out to see what prospect the viewfrom the attic afforded.

  The home of the master-choristers was an ancient house of the days ofHenri IV, and leaned so far over that as the boy looked out he had asudden fear lest it should be about to tumble. The street was not morethan twelve feet wide. The opposite dwellings were a full story belowthe attic from which the boy looked. The nearest house across the wayhad an ancient stoop. Others bent back from the line of the street, andthe open windows gave them a look of yawning weariness which set the boyto gaping in sympathy.

  Above was a mottled wilderness of discolored tiles, chimney-pots, andhere and there gray corner turrets with vanes which seemed to entertaindiverse views as to the direction whence the wind blew. Below was thesunless well of the street. As he gazed he saw the broad hats ofpriests hiding the figures beneath them. It interested the boy. It wasnew and strange. He was too intent to notice that all but he had gone,obedient to an order of Tomas.

  A woman at a window over the way let fall a skirt she had been drying.It sailed to and fro, and fell on the head of a reflective abbe. Theboy broke into laughter. A cat climbed on to a chimney-pot, and was metby a gust of smoke from the flue beside it. She scrambled off, sneezing.

  "What fun!" cried the boy, and laughed again.

  "Little beast!" shouted Tomas. "Must I come for thee? 'T is notpermitted to laugh. It is forbid to laugh. It spoils the voice"--aqueer notion which, to his sorrow, the boy found to prevail in the houseof the choristers.

  "How can that be?" said Francois, boldly.

  The man gave him to understand that he was to obey his betters withoutanswering, and then, taking the cage from the window, said:"Come--quick, too! Thou art late for the dinner, and must do withoutit. There is a singing-lesson. Off with thee!"

  He was leaving the room when, suddenly, a strange fury of anger came onthe boy. He snatched the cage from the man's hand, crying, "My bird!It is my bird!"

  Tomas caught him, and began to administer a smart cuffing; but the ladwas vigorous and of feline agility. He used nails, teeth, and feet.Then, of a sudden, he ceased to struggle, and fell on a mattress in anagony of tears. The man had set his foot on the fallen cage, crying:

  "I will teach thee a lesson, little animal!"

  There lay in the crushed cage the dead bird, still quivering, ashapeless mass of green and yellow with a splotch of red. It was thefirst lesson of that larger world toward which the foundling had been sojoyfully looking.

  He made no further resistance to the discipline which followed. Thencame a dark cell and bread and water for a weary day, and much profit inthe way of experience. It was a gentle home he had left. He had knownthere no unkindness, nor had he ever so sinned as to suffer more thansome mild punishment. The new life was hard, the diet spare. As thewinter came on, the attic proved to be cold. The winds came in from thetiles above and through the shrunken window-frames. Once within, theyseemed to stay and to wander in chilly gusts. The dark suits worn bythe choir-boys were none too warm. If the white surplice were clean,little more was asked in that direction. There were long services twicea day at the great cathedral near by, and three hours of practice underthe eye of a junior chorister. The boys were abed at eight, and up atfive; and for play, there were two uncertain hours--after the noon mealand at seven in the evening--when they were free to move about a smallcourt behind the house, or to rest, if they pleased, in the attic. Fourdays in the week there were lessons in Latin and in reading and writing.Assuredly the devil had little of the chance which idle hours arepresumed to give. But this fallen angel has also the industry of theminute, and knows how to profit by the many chances of life. Heprovided suggestive lessons in the habits of the choristers who dwelt inthe stories above the wine-shop on the first floor. Sounds of gaycarouses reached the small garret saints at night, and gay voices wereheard which had other than masculine notes. At meal-times thechoir-boys waited on their masters, and fetched their food from thekitchen. The lads soon learned to take toll on the way, and to comforttheir shrunken stomachs with a modest share of the diet of theirbetters.

  "Little rats!" said Tomas the steward, "you will squeal in purgatory forthis; and 't were better to give you a dose of it here." And so certainof the rats, on account of temporary excess of feed, were given none fora day, and left in a cold cellar to such moral aids as reflection mightfetch.

  Francois sat with his comrades of mishap in the gloom, and devised newways of procuring food and concealing their thefts.

  "Rats we a
re," said Francois, gaily; "and rats had need be smart; andwho ever heard that the _bon Dieu_ sent rats to purgatory?" Then hehatched queer stories to keep up the spirits of the too penitent; andwhether full or empty, cold or warm, took all that came with perpetualsolace of good-humored laughter. It was not in him to bear malice. Thechoir-masters liked him, and with the boys he was the leader.

  Most of the dozen choir-bays were dull fellows; but this sharp-wittedFrancois was of other make, and found in the table-talk of thechoristers, and of the cure's who came now and then to share their amplefare, food for such thoughts as a boy thinks. He soon learned, as hegrew older, how difficult is complete sin; how many outlets there arefor him who, being penitent, desires to create new opportunities forpenitence. Francois was fast forming his character. He had small needto look for excuses, and a meager talent for regret. When his stomachwas full he was good, and when it was empty he must, as he said in afteryears, "fill it to squeeze out Satan."

  There were singular books about, and for his education, now that he readLatin fairly well, a manual on confession. It was not meant forhalf-fed choir-boys. More fascinating were the confessions of oneRousseau--a highly educative book for a clever boy of sixteen. At thisage Francois was a long-legged, active fellow, a keen-witted domesticbrigand, expert in providing for his wants, and eagerly desirous ofseeing more of the outside world, of the ways of which he was soignorant. The procession of closely watched boys went to church andback again to the old house at least once a day, and this was his onlyglimpse of the entertaining life of the streets. When left to himself,he liked best in good weather to sit at the open attic window and watchthe cats on the roofs across the way. So near were the houses that hecould toss a bone or a crust on to the roof opposite, and delight to seethese Ishmaelites contend for the prize. He grew to know them, so thatthey would come at dusk to the roof-edge, and contemplate dieteticpossibilities with eager and luminous eyes. Being versed in the Bible,as all good choir-boys should be, he found names for his feline friendswhich fitted their qualities; for there, among the chimneys, was a smallworld of stirring life which no man disturbed. He saw battles,jealousies, greediness, and loves. Constancy was not there. Solomon ofthe many wives was king of the tiles; a demure blue cat was Susannah,for good reasons; and there, too, were the elders. It might have seemedto some pitiful angel a sad picture--this poor lad in the grasp oftemptations, but made for better chances, finding his utmost joy in thedistant company of these lean Arabs of the desert housetops.