The Adventures Of Theophane Anouil

III

11 February 1901, Paris France

 Theophane had gone to a particular café one afternoon to attempt on finding someone to philosophize with. He had sat down and ordered some food and his usual absinth, then sat back and while stirring his absinth he lit his clay pipe. A young girl had politely inquired as to if anyone was going to join him in his eating when he replied that he suspected not she daintily sat down. She inquired after his name, “Theophane Anouil” he replied, “And Mademoiselle?” She said that she was named Esmé, she said: “Monsieur Anouil I have but my Christian name Esmé I have no mama or papa, they died when I was young a kind Madame took me in after that, but she also died yesterday I am on my own in the world now.” “Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu, you poor soul is there anything I can do for you, Mademoiselle?” “Monsieur you are most kind but I can manage the bon Monsieur who owns the café lets me stay here in the back of the café in exchange for me washing the dishes and cleaning up.” Theophane was shocked, “Mon bon Petité Mademoiselle” he cried, “This is no proper way for you to live in such flower of youth.” She shrugged “Monsieur I have no one but myself, what do you suggest I do? Mon Dieu, if I could I would make my way in an easier manner, but that is of no matter, I will live and continue to live this way, Monsieur must not pity  me, I will work, and when I have time I will find employment in other ways so I may start up my own business washing or sewing.” Her in saying this so deeply struck Theophane’s heart “Won’t you come with me? I would look after you as if you were my child.” “Monsieur is too kind, I will think about it, mercí come back in a few days.”

 They had discussed many things and she was deeply interested in his strange way of viewing life, he had told her that life was a poem in writing and that she must continue living her young life to the full, she had asked him if he had lived his young life to the full, and if his poem was written he had replied, “Esmé life’s poem is not written completely till one’s death, it is a beautiful thing, it talks of childhood, hardships, love, and all the good and bad things in life till death and the soul goes heaven-bound.” Thereafter Theophane left her in a fluster of both pity and worry, he had asked her if she would live with him as if he had the means to look after her. Through his unvarying gallantry, he had committed to something which he was unable to deliver on, in this mind he came to me.

 “You must understand that I have no want for money.” He said as I reached for my wallet. I withdrew my hand from the draw in which the little wallet was contained. “I need but a few Francs to make do but I must earn them,” he said. I asked him as to what he was capable of, he replied that he was able to draw architectural drawings, as he had learned from his uncle, a famous architect. He could also write and also play the violin. I pondered “You may try the music hall, or try and get employment as an architect.”  He looked at me as if I had just shown him the gates of heaven, “I do believe the Bon Dieu has given me an answer.” He then stood up and shook me heartily by the hand. “I do believe I will travel. I will play the violin” I thought bitterly about how I shouldn’t have suggested it and then realised that a man such as Theophane would not have liked the idea of an architect anyway and would have disregarded the idea entirely.