"Mighty solid," the ironworker said, "that old house, so square and
high. They are no Creole brick it is make with, that old house."
Chester began to speak approvingly of the wide balconies running
unbrokenly around its four sides at both upper stories, but Beloiseau
shook his head: "They don't billong to the firz' building of that
house, else they _might_ have been Spanish, like here on the Cabildo
and that old _Café Veau-qui-tête_. They would not be cast iron and of
that complicate' disign, hah! But they are not even a French cast
iron, like those and those"--he waved right and left to the wide
balconies of the Pontalba buildings flanking the square with such
graceful dignity. "Oh, they make that old house look pretty good,
those balconie', but tha'z a pity they were not wrought iron, biccause
M. Lefevre--he was rich--sugar-planter--could have what he choose, and
she was a very fashionable, his ladie. They tell some strange stories
ab-out them and that 'ouse; cruelty to slave', intrigue with slave',
duel' ab-out slave'. Maybe tha'z biccause those iron bar' up and down
in sidewalk window', old Spanish fashion; maybe biccause in confusion
with that Haunted House in Royal Street, they are so allike, those two
house'. But they are cock-an'-bull, those tale'. Wha's true they
don't tell, biccause they don' know, and tha'z what I'm telling you ad
the present.
"When my father he was yet a boy, fo'teen, fiv'teen, those Lefevre'
they rent' to the _grand-mère_ of both Castanado and Dubroca, turn
ab-out, a li'l' slave girl so near white you coul'n' see she's black!
You coul'n' even _suspec_' that, only seeing she's rent', that way, and
knowing that once in a while, those time, that whitenezz coul'n' be
av-void'. Myseff, me, I've seen a man, ex-slave, so white you woul'n'
think till they tell you; but then you'd see it--black! But that li'l'
girl of seven year', nobody coul'n' see that even avter told. Some
people said: 'Tha'z biccause she's so young; when she's grow' up you'll
see. And some say, 'When she get chil'ren they'll show it, those
chil'ren--an' some be even dark!'
"Any'ow some said she's child of monsieur, and madame want to keep her
out of sight that beneficent way. They would bet you any money if you
go on his plantation you find her slave mother by the likenezz. She
di'n' look like him but they insist' that also come later. Any'ow
she's rent' half-an'-half by those _grand-mère_' of Castanado and
Dubroca, at the firzt just to call 'shop'! at back door when a cuztomer
come in, and when growing older to make herseff many other way' uzeful.
And by consequence she was oft-en playmate with the chil'ren of all
that coterie there in Royal Street. Excep' my father; he was fo'teen
year' to her seven."
"Was she a handsome child?" Chester ventured.
"I think no. But in growing up she bic-came"--the craftsman handed out
a pocket flash-light and an old _carte-de-visite_ photograph of a
black-haired, black-eyed girl of twenty or possibly twenty-three years.
"You shall tell me," he said:
"And you'll trust me, my sincerity?"
"Sir! if I di'n' truzt you, _ab-so-lutely_, you shoul'n' touch that
with a finger."
"Well, then, I say yes, she's handsome, trusting you not to gild my
plain words with your imagination. She's handsome, but in a way easily
overlooked; a way altogether apart from the charms of color and
texture, I judge, or of any play of feeling; not floral, not startling,
not exquisite; but _statuesque_, almost heavily so, and replete with
the virtues of character."
"Well," said Beloiseau, putting away the picture, "sixteen year' she
rimain' rent' to mesdames that way, and come to look lag that. And all
of our parent'--gran'parent'--living that simple life like you see us,
their descendant', now, she biccame like one of those
familie'--Dubroca--Castanado--or of that coterie entire.
"So after while they want' to buy her, to put her free. But Mme.
Lefevre she rif-use' any price. She say, 'If Fortune'--that was her
name--'would be satisfi' to marry a nize black man like Ovide, who
would buy his friddom--ah, yes! But no! If I make her free without,
she'll right off want to be marrie' to a white man. Tha'z the only
arrengement she'll make with him; she's too piouz for any other
arrengement, while same time me I'm too piouz to let her _marry_ a
white man; my faith, that would be a crime! And also she coul'n' never
be 'appy that way; she's too good and high-mind' to be marrie' to any
white man wha'z willin' to marry a nigger.'
"So, then, it come to be said in all those card-club' that my father
he's try to buy Fortune so to marry her. An' by that he had a quarrel
with one of those young Lefevre', who said pretty much like his mother,
only in another manner, pretty insulting. And, same old story, they
fought, like we say, 'under those oak,' Métairie Ridge, with sharpen'
foil'. And my father he got a bad wound. And he had to be nurse' long
time, and biccause all those shop' got to be keep she nurse' him more
than everybody elze.
"Well, human nature she's strong. So, when he get well he say, 'Papa,
I can' stay any mo' in rue Royale, neither in that _vieux carré_,
neither in that Louisiana.' And my grandpère and all that coterie they
say: 'To go at Connect-icut, or Kanzaz, or Californie, tha'z no
ril-ief; you muz' go at France and Spain, wherever 'tis good to study
the iron-work, whiles we are hoping there will be a renaissance in that
art and that businezz; and same time only the good God know' what he
can cause to happen to lead a child of the faith out of trouble and
sorrow.'
"So my father he went, and by reason of that he di'n' have to settle
that queztion of honor what diztress all the balance of the coterie;
whether to be on the side of Louisiana, or the Union. He di'n' run
away to ezcape that war; he di'n' know 'twas going to be, and he came
back in the mi'l' of it, whiles the city was in the han' of that Union
army. Also what cause him to rit-urn was not that war. 'Twas one of
those thing' what pro-juce' that saying that the truth 'tis mo'
stranger than figtion.
"Mr. Chezter, 'twas a wonderful! And what make it the mo' wonderful,
my father he wasn' hunting for that, neither hadn' ever dream' of it.
He was biccome very much a wanderer. One day he juz' chance' to be in
a village in Alsace, and there he saw some chil'ren, playing in the
street. And he was very thirzty, from long time walking, and he
request' them a drink of water. And a li'l' girl fetch' him a drink.
But she was modess and di'n' look in his face till he was biggening to
drink. Then she look' up--she had only about seven year', and my
father he look' down, and he juz' drop that cup by his feet that it
broke--the handle. And when she cry, and he talk' with her and say
don' cry, he can make a cem-ent juz' at her own house to mend that to a
perfegtion, he was astonizh' at her voice as much as her face. And
when he ask her name and she tell him, her firz' name, and say tha'z
the name of her _grand'-mère_, he's am-aze'! But when he see her
mother meeting them he's not surprise', he's juz' lightning-struck.
"Same time he try to hide that, and whiles he's mixing that cem-ent and
sticking that handle he look' two-three time' into the front of the
hair of that li'l' girl, till the mother she get agitate', and she
h-ask him: 'What you're looking? Who told you to look for something
there? _Ma foi_! you're looking for the _pompon gris_ of my mother
and grandmother! You'll not fine it there. Tha'z biccause she's so
young; when she's grow' up you'll see; but'--she part' as-ide her own
hair in front and he see', my father, under the black a li'l' patch of
gray, and he juz' say, '_Mon dieu_!' while she egsclaim'--
"'If you know anybody's got that _pompon_ in Louisiana, age of me, or
elze, if older, the sizter of my mother, she's lost yonder sinze mo'
than twen'y-five year'. My anceztor' they are _name_' Pompon for that
li'l' gray spot.'
"Well, then they--and her 'usband, coming in--they make great frien'.
My father he show' them thiz picture, and when he tell them the
origin-al of that also is name' Fortune, like that child an' her
mother, and been from in-fancy a slave, they had to cry, all of them
together. And then they tell my father all ab-out those two sizter',
how they get marrie' in that village with two young men, cousin' to
each other, and how one pair, a year avter, emigrate' to Louisiana with
li'l' baby name' Fortune, and--once mo' that old story--they are bound
to the captain of the ship for the prise of the passage till somebody
in Ammerica rid-eem them and they are bound to him to work that out.
And coming accrozz, the father--ship-fever--die', and arriving, the
passage is pay by the devil know' who'.
"Then my father he tell them that chile muz' be orpheline at two-three
year', biccause while seeming so white she never think she wasn' black.
"And so my father, coming ad that village the moz' unhappy in the
worl', he went away negs day the moz' happy. And he took with him some
photo' showing that mother and chile with the mother's hair comb' to
egspose that _pompon gris_; and also he took copy from those record' of
babtism of the babtism of that li'l' Fortune, _émigré_.
"Same time, here at home, _our_ Fortune she was so sick with something
the doctor he coul'n' make out the nature, and she coul'n' eat till
they're af-raid she'll die. And one day the doctor bring her father
confessor, there where she's in bed, and break that gently that my
father he's come home, and then that he's bring with him the perfec'
proof that she's as white as she look'. Well, negs day she's out of
bed; secon' she's dress--and laughing!--and eating! And every day my
father he's paying his intention', and Mme. Lefevre she's rij-oice,
biccause that riproach is pass' from monsieur her 'usband and pritty
quick they are marrie', and tha'z my mother."
After a reverent silence Chester spoke: "And lived long and happily
together?"
"Yes, a long, beautiful life. Maybe that life woul'n' be of a
diztinction sufficient to you, but to them, yes. They are gone but
since lately."
"And that Lefevre house?"
"Ah, you know! Full of Italian'--ten-twelve familie', with washing on
street veranda eight day ev'ry week. _Pauvre vieux carré_!"