the lost fortune
"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!"
