a stroke of fortune

by jean-claude etranger

illustrated by roy dismas

for previous tales of jacques click here and here.

jacques was content with his small income and had little contact with his relations, most of whom lived on or near the family's ancient estate on the coast of brittany. most of the family who lived in brittany, and some of them who, like jacques, had repaired to paris and other larger cities, spent the greater portion of their brief existences on this earth in endless disputes regarding the division of the family inheritance. many of these disputes concerned the attempts of various uncles to provide for their natural children, or by the attempts of the natural children and their mothers to be provided for. jacques had always been pained and bored by these disputes - he was pained and bored by most human endeavors - and took as little notice of them as possible. now word reached him that his uncle gustave-laurent - a personage he had no memory of - had died. for reasons jacques could not have comprehended even had he wished to try, this event had released a portion of the inheritance to be distributed evenly among all surviving family members. a modest enough sum, thus divided, but for jacques an unexpected little windfall. this gratified him, as much as he could be gratified by anything, and he decided to celebrate. when he arrived the next morning at madame geraldine's establishment - that is, the next morning after securing the new funds at his bank - he began by ordering a cognac. his usual procedure was to order absinthes in the morning and early afternoon and schnapps as the day wore into night. babette, the jolly barmaid who was now in her third week in madame geraldine's employ, took immediate notice of this. "a cognac, monsieur? that is not like you." and she emitted her hearty laugh. "what a revolution! what next? we shall have to look out the window, will we not, madame, to see if the earth is still flat. " and she laughed again. mildly flustered, jacques explained that he was simply celebrating his new good fortune, and gave a brief account of it and its cause. like most persons, of all classes and nations, babette regarded any amount of wealth beyond what she possessed herself as unlimited and inexhaustible riches. she had regarded jacques as a gentleman of some modest means - he did not work, and wore clothes with no holes in them - but she now saw him in a new light . babette did not intend to work behind a zinc counter forever. nor did she look forward to taking to the streets, or to marrying a poor but honest working man, even one that did not beat her. a gentleman such as jacques, or one of madame geraldine's other regulars, with some independent income but soft and apparently malleable to a woman like herself, was her idea of a good catch. and if the good catch happened to drink himself to death and leave her his fortune - why, that was surely not a process difficult to hasten, was it? so on this rainy morning babette began to seriously marshal her forces for her conquest of jacques. such other customers as arrived, even the regulars, were quickly served and left to their thoughts. madame geraldine, from her post by the fire, did not mind, as business was slow, and watched babette's performance with some amusement. at one point she even laughed - for the first time in seven or eight years.

a letter

by jean-claude etranger

illustrated by roy dismas

months, or perhaps years, passed after jacques' meetings on the street with the little woman who did not have time for him. eventually he forgot her. one wintry morning as he was walking to the cafe - against an unusually cold and strong wind - a piece of paper from the street blew against his leg and the force of the wind was such that he could not easily brush it off. he stopped, and peeled the paper from around his lower left leg. he noticed that it was a letter, or a portion of a letter, and such parts of it as had not been obscured by dirt or water were written in a round, firm hand. intrigued, he folded it up and put it in his jacket pocket, with the intention of looking at it more closely when he reached the cafe. the cold and wind and threat of rain were such that madame geraldine had had the outdoor tables moved under the shelter of the building's eaves, and the chairs taken indoors. therefore jaqcues went inside and took a seat at the bar. after his second absinthe, rain began to beat on the windows, and for some reason this reminded jacques of the letter, and he took it out of his pocket. a new barmaid was working that morning, under the watchful eye of madame geraldine, who was knitting without enthusiasm in the corner beside the small fire. the new barmaid was a fat and saucy creature who was not familiar with jacques' taciturn and morose ways and when she saw him reading the letter she attempted to chaff him a little. "ah, monsieur, a letter from one of your many fair conquests, no doubt." "no, " jacques replied seriously,"it is a letter i found in the street." "ah - but perhaps it speaks of love, and will kindle some happy thoughts in monsieur's heart." "more likely, " interjected madame geraldine, " a begging letter, of the sort altogether too familiar these days. which is why it was torn up and thrown in the street." "no," said jacques, who had begun reading the letter, "it does not seem to answer to either of those descriptions." the letter, what was legible of it, read: .........gustave has been quite of sorts since henri .......... the house at the seashore ..... if only i could! but you know......... perhaps next year uncle bernard can be persuaded .... there really is nothing more. in three or four years perhaps.... if i learn anything more, i will certainly... claude finishes his military obligation .... perhaps then.... what can one do but hope... "no," jacques repeated, "there is really not much to it. another absinthe, if you please, mademoiselle."

a drunkard

by jean-claude etranger

illustrated by roy dismas

jacques, a drunkard with just enough of an income to support his indolent life, was in the habit - and he was very much a creature of habit - of rising and taking to the street on the way to his cafe in the early morning - earlier than most honest and hard working folk. one foggy morning he noticed an unfamiliar female form coming toward him. his first impression was that it was a child, but as it came closer he saw that it was a small woman, dressed neither in rags nor in the latest fashion, and no longer young - perhaps almost as old as himself. though he had no reason to do so, jacques considered himself a bit of a rogue. he tipped his hat to the woman, and enquired with the trace of a leer, "on your way to mass, madam?' without slowing or hastening her stride, but looking him full in the face, the woman replied from under her large hat, "why yes i am, sir, thank you for asking," and went on her way. the next morning at approximately the same time jacques encountered the woman again. this time he tipped his hat and complimented her on her attire. she thanked him politely without pausing, and left him behind. the next morning after that he saw her again, made the observation that her dress looked of fine quality and enquired if he might verify its excellence by touching it. "no thank you, sir, " she replied with the barest trace of a polite smile, "i am afraid i do not have time for that." on most - though not all - mornings after that jacques met the little woman and offered a different greeting or observation to her - each one more inane than the one before - but without succeeding in engaging her interest or slowing her progress. then after a time - weeks? months? - jacques was a poor judge of time - she no longer appeared. otherwise his routine went on unchanged and he continued in his two occupations of drinking schnapps and drinking absinthe. late afternoons always found him with his face on "his" table at his cafe. the cafe paid its staff poorly, and the proprietress, madame geraldine, was a bit of a bully, so that there was a constant turnover of waiters. most of them roused our friend roughly from his inebriation, especially if he were snoring. others were more gentle with him.