THE BIRD
He was called Loulou. His body was green, his head blue, the tips
of his wings were pink and his breast was golden.
But he had the tiresome tricks of biting his perch, pulling his
feathers out, scattering refuse and spilling the water of his
bath. Madame Aubain grew tired of him and gave him to Félicité for
good.
She undertook his education, and soon he was able to repeat:
"Pretty boy! Your servant, sir! I salute you, Marie!" His perch
was placed near the door and several persons were astonished that
he did not answer to the name of "Jacquot," for every parrot is
called Jacquot. They called him a goose and a log, and these
taunts were like so many dagger thrusts to Félicité. Strange
stubbornness of the bird which would not talk when people watched
him!
Nevertheless, he sought society; for on Sunday, when the ladies
Rochefeuille, Monsieur de Houppeville and the new habitués,
Onfroy, the chemist, Monsieur Varin and Captain Mathieu, dropped
in for their game of cards, he struck the window-panes with his
wings and made such a racket that it was impossible to talk.
Bourais' face must have appeared very funny to Loulou. As soon as
he saw him he would begin to roar. His voice re-echoed in the yard,
and the neighbours would come to the windows and begin to laugh,
too; and in order that the parrot might not see him, Monsieur
Bourais edged along the wall, pushed his hat over his eyes to hide
his profile, and entered by the garden door, and the looks he gave
the bird lacked affection. Loulou, having thrust his head into the
butcher-boy's basket, received a slap, and from that time he
always tried to nip his enemy. Fabu threatened to wring his neck,
although he was not cruelly inclined, notwithstanding his big
whiskers and tattooings. On the contrary, he rather liked the bird
and, out of deviltry, tried to teach him oaths. Félicité, whom his
manner alarmed, put Loulou in the kitchen, took off his chain and
let him walk all over the house.
When he went downstairs, he rested his beak on the steps, lifted
his right foot and then his left one; but his mistress feared that
such feats would give him vertigo. He became ill and was unable to
eat. There was a small growth under his tongue like those chickens
are sometimes afflicted with. Félicité pulled it off with her
nails and cured him. One day, Paul was imprudent enough to blow
the smoke of his cigar in his face; another time, Madame Lormeau
was teasing him with the tip of her umbrella and he swallowed the
tip. Finally he got lost.
She had put him on the grass to cool him and went away only for a
second; when she returned, she found no parrot! She hunted among
the bushes, on the bank of the river, and on the roofs, without
paying any attention to Madame Aubain who screamed at her: "Take
care! you must be insane!" Then she searched every garden in
Pont-l'Evêque and stopped the passers-by to inquire of them:
"Haven't you perhaps seen my parrot?" To those who had never seen
the parrot, she described him minutely. Suddenly she thought she
saw something green fluttering behind the mills at the foot of the
hill. But when she was at the top of the hill she could not see
it. A hod-carrier told her that he had just seen the bird in
Saint-Melaine, in Mother Simon's store. She rushed to the place.
The people did not know what she was talking about. At last she came
home, exhausted, with her slippers worn to shreds, and despair in
her heart. She sat down on the bench near Madame and was telling
of her search when presently a light weight dropped on her
shoulder--Loulou! What the deuce had he been doing? Perhaps he had
just taken a little walk around the town!
She did not easily forget her scare, in fact, she never got over
it. In consequence of a cold, she caught a sore throat; and some
time afterward she had an earache. Three years later she was stone
deaf, and spoke in a very loud voice even in church. Although her
sins might have been proclaimed throughout the diocese without any
shame to herself, or ill effects to the community, the curé
thought it advisable to receive her confession in the vestry-room.
Imaginary buzzings also added to her bewilderment. Her mistress
often said to her: "My goodness, how stupid you are!" and she
would answer: "Yes, Madame," and look for something.
The narrow circle of her ideas grew more restricted than it
already was; the bellowing of the oxen, the chime of the bells no
longer reached her intelligence. All things moved silently, like
ghosts. Only one noise penetrated her ears: the parrot's voice.
As if to divert her mind, he reproduced for her the tick-tack of
the spit in the kitchen, the shrill cry of the fish-vendors, the
saw of the carpenter who had a shop opposite, and when the
door-bell rang, he would imitate Madame Aubain: "Félicité! go to
the front door."
They held conversations together, Loulou repeating the three
phrases of his repertory over and over, Félicité replying by words
that had no greater meaning, but in which she poured out her
feelings. In her isolation, the parrot was almost a son, a lover.
He climbed upon her fingers, pecked at her lips, clung to her
shawl, and when she rocked her head to and fro like a nurse, the
big wings of her cap and the wings of the bird flapped in unison.
When clouds gathered on the horizon and the thunder rumbled,
Loulou would scream, perhaps because he remembered the storms in
his native forests. The dripping of the rain would excite him to
frenzy; he flapped around, struck the ceiling with his wings,
upset everything, and would finally fly into the garden to play.
Then he would come back into the room, light on one of the
andirons, and hop around in order to get dry.
One morning during the terrible winter of 1837, when she had put
him in front of the fire-place on account of the cold, she found
him dead in his cage, hanging to the wire bars with his head down.
He had probably died of congestion. But she believed that he had
been poisoned, and although she had no proofs whatever, her
suspicion rested on Fabu.
She wept so sorely that her mistress said: "Why don't you have him
stuffed?"
She asked the advice of the chemist, who had always been kind to
the bird.
He wrote to Havre for her. A certain man named Fellacher consented
to do the work. But, as the diligence driver often lost parcels
entrusted to him, Félicité resolved to take her pet to Honfleur
herself.
Leafless apple-trees lined the edges of the road. The ditches were
covered with ice. The dogs on the neighbouring farms barked; and
Félicité, with her hands beneath her cape, her little black sabots
and her basket, trotted along nimbly in the middle of the
sidewalk. She crossed the forest, passed by the Haut-Chêne and
reached Saint-Gatien.
Behind her, in a cloud of dust and impelled by the steep incline,
a mail-coach drawn by galloping horses advanced like a whirlwind.
When he saw a woman in the middle of the road, who did not get out
of the way, the driver stood up in his seat and shouted to her and
so did the postilion, while the four horses, which he could not
hold back, accelerated their pace; the two leaders were almost
upon her; with a jerk of the reins he threw them to one side, but,
furious at the incident, he lifted his big whip and lashed her
from her head to her feet with such violence that she fell to the
ground unconscious.
Her first thought, when she recovered her senses, was to open the
basket. Loulou was unharmed. She felt a sting on her right cheek;
when she took her hand away it was red, for the blood was flowing.
She sat down on a pile of stones, and sopped her cheek with her
handkerchief; then she ate a crust of bread she had put in her
basket, and consoled herself by looking at the bird.
Arriving at the top of Ecquemanville, she saw the lights of
Honfleur shining in the distance like so many stars; further on,
the ocean spread out in a confused mass. Then a weakness came over
her; the misery of her childhood, the disappointment of her first
love, the departure of her nephew, the death of Virginia; all
these things came back to her at once, and, rising like a swelling
tide in her throat, almost choked her.
Then she wished to speak to the captain of the vessel, and without
stating what she was sending, she gave him some instructions.
Fellacher kept the parrot a long time. He always promised that it
would be ready for the following week; after six months he
announced the shipment of a case, and that was the end of it.
Really, it seemed as if Loulou would never come back to his home.
"They have stolen him," thought Félicité.
Finally he arrived, sitting bolt upright on a branch which could
be screwed into a mahogany pedestal, with his foot in the air, his
head on one side, and in his beak a nut which the naturalist, from
love of the sumptuous, had gilded. She put him in her room.
This place, to which only a chosen few were admitted, looked like
a chapel and a second-hand shop, so filled was it with devotional
and heterogeneous things. The door could not be opened easily on
account of the presence of a large wardrobe. Opposite the window
that looked out into the garden, a bull's-eye opened on the yard;
a table was placed by the cot and held a washbasin, two combs, and
a piece of blue soap in a broken saucer. On the walls were
rosaries, medals, a number of Holy Virgins, and a holy-water basin
made out of a cocoanut; on the bureau, which was covered with a
napkin like an altar, stood the box of shells that Victor had
given her; also a watering-can and a balloon, writing-books, the
engraved geography and a pair of shoes; on the nail which held the
mirror, hung Virginia's little plush hat! Félicité carried this
sort of respect so far that she even kept one of Monsieur's old
coats. All the things which Madame Aubain discarded, Félicité
begged for her own room. Thus, she had artificial flowers on the
edge of the bureau, and the picture of the Comte d'Artois in the
recess of the window. By means of a board, Loulou was set on a
portion of the chimney which advanced into the room. Every morning
when she awoke, she saw him in the dim light of dawn and recalled
bygone days and the smallest details of insignificant actions,
without any sense of bitterness or grief.
As she was unable to communicate with people, she lived in a sort
of somnambulistic torpor. The processions of Corpus-Christi Day
seemed to wake her up. She visited the neighbours to beg for
candlesticks and mats so as to adorn the temporary altars in the
street.
In church, she always gazed at the Holy Ghost, and noticed that
there was something about it that resembled a parrot. The likeness
appeared even more striking on a coloured picture by Espinal,
representing the baptism of our Saviour. With his scarlet wings
and emerald body, it was really the image of Loulou. Having bought
the picture, she hung it near the one of the Comte d'Artois so
that she could take them in at one glance.
They associated in her mind, the parrot becoming sanctified
through the neighbourhood of the Holy Ghost, and the latter
becoming more lifelike in her eyes, and more comprehensible. In
all probability the Father had never chosen as messenger a dove,
as the latter has no voice, but rather one of Loulou's ancestors.
And Félicité said her prayers in front of the coloured picture,
though from time to time she turned slightly toward the bird.
She desired very much to enter in the ranks of the "Daughters of
the Virgin." But Madame Aubain dissuaded her from it.
A most important event occurred: Paul's marriage.
After being first a notary's clerk, then in business, then in the
customs, and a tax collector, and having even applied for a
position in the administration of woods and forests, he had at
last, when he was thirty-six years old, by a divine inspiration,
found his vocation: registrature! and he displayed such a high
ability that an inspector had offered him his daughter and his
influence.
Paul, who had become quite settled, brought his bride to visit his
mother.
But she looked down upon the customs of Pont-l'Evêque, put on
airs, and hurt Félicité's feelings. Madame Aubain felt relieved
when she left.
The following week they learned of Monsieur Bourais' death in an
inn. There were rumours of suicide, which were confirmed; doubts
concerning his integrity arose. Madame Aubain looked over her
accounts and soon discovered his numerous embezzlements; sales of
wood which had been concealed from her, false receipts, etc.
Furthermore, he had an illegitimate child, and entertained a
friendship for "a person in Dozulé."
These base actions affected her very much. In March, 1853, she
developed a pain in her chest; her tongue looked as if it were
coated with smoke, and the leeches they applied did not relieve
her oppression; and on the ninth evening she died, being just
seventy-two years old.
People thought that she was younger, because her hair, which she
wore in bands framing her pale face, was brown. Few friends
regretted her loss, for her manner was so haughty that she did not
attract them. Félicité mourned for her as servants seldom mourn
for their masters. The fact that Madame should die before herself
perplexed her mind and seemed contrary to the order of things, and
absolutely monstrous and inadmissible. Ten days later (the time to
journey from Besançon), the heirs arrived. Her daughter-in-law
ransacked the drawers, kept some of the furniture, and sold the
rest; then they went back to their own home.
Madame's armchair, foot-warmer, work-table, the eight chairs,
everything was gone! The places occupied by the pictures formed
yellow squares on the walls. They had taken the two little beds,
and the wardrobe had been emptied of Virginia's belongings!
Félicité went upstairs, overcome with grief.
The following day a sign was posted on the door; the chemist
screamed in her ear that the house was for sale.
For a moment she tottered, and had to sit down.
What hurt her most was to give up her room,--so nice for poor
Loulou! She looked at him in despair and implored the Holy Ghost,
and it was this way that she contracted the idolatrous habit of
saying her prayers kneeling in front of the bird. Sometimes the
sun fell through the window on his glass eye, and lighted a great
spark in it which sent Félicité into ecstasy.
Her mistress had left her an income of three hundred and eighty
francs. The garden supplied her with vegetables. As for clothes,
she had enough to last her till the end of her days, and she
economised on the light by going to bed at dusk.
She rarely went out, in order to avoid passing in front of the
second-hand dealer's shop where there was some of the old
furniture. Since her fainting spell, she dragged her leg, and as
her strength was failing rapidly, old Mother Simon, who had lost
her money in the grocery business, came every morning to chop the
wood and pump the water.
Her eyesight grew dim. She did not open the shutters after that.
Many years passed. But the house did not sell or rent. Fearing
that she would be put out, Félicité did not ask for repairs. The
laths of the roof were rotting away, and during one whole winter
her bolster was wet. After Easter she spit blood.
Then Mother Simon went for a doctor. Félicité wished to know what
her complaint was. But, being too deaf to hear, she caught only
one word: "Pneumonia." She was familiar with it and gently
answered:--"Ah! like Madame," thinking it quite natural that she
should follow her mistress.
The time for the altars in the street drew near.
The first one was always erected at the foot of the hill, the
second in front of the post-office, and the third in the middle of
the street. This position occasioned some rivalry among the women
and they finally decided upon Madame Aubain's yard.
Félicité's fever grew worse. She was sorry that she could not do
anything for the altar. If she could, at least, have contributed
something toward it! Then she thought of the parrot. Her
neighbours objected that it would not be proper. But the curé gave
his consent and she was so grateful for it that she begged him to
accept after her death, her only treasure, Loulou. From Tuesday
until Saturday, the day before the event, she coughed more
frequently. In the evening her face was contracted, her lips stuck
to her gums and she began to vomit; and on the following day, she
felt so low that she called for a priest.
Three neighbours surrounded her when the dominie administered the
Extreme Unction. Afterwards she said that she wished to speak to
Fabu.
He arrived in his Sunday clothes, very ill at ease among the
funereal surroundings.
"Forgive me," she said, making an effort to extend her arm, "I
believed it was you who killed him!"
What did such accusations mean? Suspect a man like him of murder!
And Fabu became excited and was about to make trouble.
"Don't you see she is not in her right mind?"
From time to time Félicité spoke to shadows. The women left her
and Mother Simon sat down to breakfast.
A little later, she took Loulou and holding him up to Félicité:
"Say good-bye to him, now!" she commanded.
Although he was not a corpse, he was eaten up by worms; one of his
wings was broken and the wadding was coming out of his body. But
Félicité was blind now, and she took him and laid him against her
cheek. Then Mother Simon removed him in order to set him on the
altar.