Meanwhile the little monkey persuaded himself every day that that
little house was expressly built for him. Truly, he would have
remained there all his life but for one occurrence. One night, moved
by compassion, he opened the door, as you already know, for his
terrible persecutor.
“I would like to know,” said Dry-throat, leaning his shoulders
against the closed door, “I would like to know who is my benefactor?”
“It is I,” replied Beppo, changing his voice so as not to be
recognized.
“What is your name?”
“My name is?”
“I know that voice!” said the blind man. Then he added, “Tell me, my
dear benefactor, have you ever seen a little rose-colored monkey?”
“I have seen many monkeys, but never one of that color. Perhaps this
one was green and yellow, like an omelette with parsley?”
“That is his voice! ’Tis he!” said Dry-throat to himself. “Among your
friends,” he added, “have you heard of one called Beppo?”
“No. On the contrary, yes, it seems to me I have known one. But that
Beppo was a rascal.”
“More than a rascal! Imagine, I did him many favors, I even allowed
him to eat with me at my table, and do you know how he recompensed
me? He blinded me with his sharp nails.”
“That I do not believe.”
“You do not believe it?”
“No. Beppo was a rascal; but he did not have a heart as bad as that.”
“However, it was he who blinded me.”
“No! No! No!”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“Believe me, Dry-throat, I did not blind you. It was Nanni, the cat
that belonged to Candle-bit.”
“Ah! Then you are discovered! You are Beppo!” cried Dry-throat.
Beppo immediately repented his imprudence; but now it was too late.
“I am as good as dead!” he said, looking for a window. That house,
unfortunately, had no window.
Meanwhile Dry-throat, grabbing here and there with his hands,
succeeded in catching the little monkey. Having seized him by
the hair, he bound him with a little chain and placed him on his
shoulders. Then the chief assassin left the house, and took the first
road that came to his feet.
“Where are you leading me?” asked Beppo, with a thin voice that could
hardly be heard.
“In a little while you will see. You have good eyes, and you can be
my guide along the road.”
“But where do you wish to go?”
“Where my legs carry me.”
Walking day and night, they made a great journey without ever
stopping a minute. One morning they found themselves in a large
city on the border of the sea. In the harbor there were hundreds
and hundreds of steamships. Sitting down on a large basket near the
shore, Dry-throat began to search in his pockets. Not finding a
penny, he said to Beppo, who was half dead with hunger and fatigue,
“Tell me, ugly little monkey, did you ever do anything?”
“What does that mean?”
“Why, do you know how to sing a song? Can you play any instrument?
Do you know how to jump and make summersaults? Can you eat burning
paper?”
“Burning paper?” replied Beppo. “I leave that to you. However, I
know how to dance the polka very well, and with my mouth I can make
the sounds of a trombone and of a violin.”
“That will do,” said Dry-throat. Without waiting a minute, with his
large loud voice he began to cry to the people who passed by: “Come
one, come all! Come see the celebrated rose-colored monkey, that
has had the honor of dancing before all the royal heads of both
hemispheres. My little monkey dances, sings, plays, and makes a
thousand other noises which a man or some other reasoning beast can
make. Come one, come all! The cost is little, the enjoyment is great!”
After this outcry a great crowd gathered around. Our friend Beppo not
only pleased everybody, but created a furore. All the spectators
cried, “Bravo!” until they lost their voices. When the spectacle
was over, Dry-throat felt some one touch him on the elbow. It was a
nice-looking young man, dressed in a travelling suit. The young man
said in a polite manner, “Does that monkey belong to you?”
“It is mine.”
“Will you sell it?”
“With all my heart!”
“How much do you want?”
“Fifty dollars. But, if the price seems high, I will take a little
less.”
“Fifty dollars! Then the monkey is mine.”
When Dry-throat had been paid, the young man turned to the little
monkey and said, “Don’t you recognize me, Beppo?”
“Indeed, I do, my dear Mr. Alfred,” said Beppo, jumping for joy. Poor
Beppo! He was so happy that he began to cry like a baby.
That same night the young man Alfred and the little monkey--all
dressed from head to foot like a little waiter--departed for a long
trip around the world. And I would not be at all surprised to see one
of these days a printed book entitled “Trip around the World, told by
a Little Rose-colored Monkey.”
Transcriber’s Note
Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. Archaic spelling was retained. One duplicated word was deleted.