THE DEATH OF PRETTY-HEART
The sun came out brightly. Its rays fell on the white snow, and the
forest, which the night before had looked so bleak and livid, was now
dazzling with a radiancy that blinded the eyes. Several times Vitalis
passed his hand under the coverlet to feel Pretty-Heart, but the poor
little monkey did not get warmer, and when I bent over him I could hear
him shivering and shaking. The blood in his veins was frozen.
"We must get to a village or Pretty-Heart will die," said Vitalis. "Let
us start at once."
His wrappings were well heated and the little creature was rolled in
them. My master placed him under his vest, next his heart. We were
ready.
"This was a shelter," said Vitalis, looking round the hut as we were
going out, "that has made us pay dearly for its hospitality." His voice
trembled.
He went out first, and I followed in his footsteps. When we had gone a
few yards we had to call to Capi. Poor dog, he had remained standing
outside the hut, his nose turned to the spot where his companions had
been taken by the wolves.
Ten minutes later we reached the main road. We passed a cart; the
driver told us that within an hour we should reach a village. This was
encouraging, yet it was difficult, even painful, to walk. The snow came
up to my waist. Many times I asked Vitalis after Pretty-Heart. Each time
he told me that he was still shivering. At last we saw the white roofs
of a fair sized village. We were not in the habit of putting up at the
better class inns. We always chose a poor place, where we were sure we
should not be driven away, and where they would not take all we had.
But this time Vitalis went into an inn where a beautiful sign hung
outside the kitchen door. The door was open and we could see the great
stove covered with shining copper saucepans, from which the steam was
rising. Ah, how good that soup smelled to the famished wanderers!
My master, putting on his most "gentlemanly" airs, and with his hat on
his head and his head thrown back, asked the landlady for a good bed and
a fire. At first the landlady, who was a fine looking woman, had not
condescended to notice us, but Vitalis' grand manner evidently impressed
her. She spoke to a maid and told her to take us up to a room.
"Quick, get into bed," said Vitalis, while the servant was lighting the
fire. I looked at him in astonishment. Why go to bed? I would rather sit
down and eat something than go to bed.
"Quick, hurry up," repeated Vitalis.
There was nothing to do but to obey.
There was an eiderdown quilt on the bed. Vitalis pulled it right up to
my chin.
"Try and get warm," he said; "the warmer you are the better."
It seemed to me that Pretty-Heart needed warming much more than I,
because I was not very cold now. While I laid still under the eiderdown
trying to get warm, Vitalis, to the servant's astonishment, turned
little Pretty-Heart round and round before the fire as though he were
going to roast him.
"Are you warm?" Vitalis asked me after a few minutes.
"I'm suffocating."
"That's right."
He came to the bed quickly. He put Pretty-Heart in, telling me to hold
him close to my chest. The poor little animal, who always rebelled when
he was made to do something that he did not want, seemed resigned to
everything. He let me hold him close to my body without making a
movement. But he was not cold now; his body was burning.
My master, who had gone down to the kitchen, soon returned, carrying a
bowl of well sweetened wine. He tried to make Pretty-Heart drink a few
spoonfuls, but the poor little creature could not unclench his teeth.
With his brilliant eyes he looked at us imploringly as though to ask us
not to torment him. Then he drew one arm from under the covers and held
it out to us.
I wondered what he meant. I looked inquiringly at Vitalis, who
explained: Before I had met them Pretty-Heart had had inflammation of
the lungs and they had had to bleed him, taking the blood from his arm.
Knowing that he was sick now he wanted us to bleed him so that he could
get better as before.
Poor little monkey! Vitalis was touched to the heart, and this made him
still more anxious. It was evident that Pretty-Heart was ill and he must
be very ill indeed to refuse the sugared wine that he liked so much.
"Drink the wine, Remi, and stay in bed," said Vitalis. "I'll go for a
doctor."
I must admit that I also liked sugared wine and besides I was very
hungry. I did not let him tell me twice to drink it. After I had emptied
the bowl I slid down under the eiderdown again, where the heat, aided by
the wine, nearly suffocated me.
Vitalis was not gone long. He soon returned, bringing with him a
gentleman wearing gold-rimmed spectacles--the doctor. Thinking that the
doctor might not put himself out for a monkey, Vitalis had not told him
who was his patient. When he saw me in bed, as red as a tomato, the
doctor put his hand on my forehead and said at once: "Congestion."
He shook his head with an air which augured nothing good.
Anxious to undeceive him for fear he might bleed me, I cried: "Why, I'm
not ill!"
"Not ill! Why, the child is delirious."
I lifted the quilt a bit and showed him Pretty-Heart, who had placed
his little arm round my neck.
"He's the one that's ill," I said.
"A monkey!" he exclaimed, turning angrily to Vitalis. "You've brought me
out in such weather to see a monkey!..."
Our master was a smart man who was not easily ruffled. Politely, and
with his grand air, he stopped the doctor. Then he explained the
situation, how he had been caught in a snowstorm, and how through fear
of the wolves Pretty-Heart had jumped up in an oak tree, where he had
been almost frozen to death. The patient might be only a monkey, but
what a genius! and what a friend and companion to us! How could we
confide such a wonderful, talented creature to the care of a simple
veterinary surgeon? Every one knew that the village veterinary was an
ass, while every one knew that doctors were scientific men, even in the
smallest village. If one rings at a door which bears a doctor's name,
one is sure to find a man of knowledge, and of generosity. Although the
monkey is only an animal, according to naturalists they are so near like
men that often an illness is treated the same for one as for the other.
And was it not interesting, from a scientific point of view, to study
how these illnesses differed. The doctor soon returned from the door
where he had been standing.
Pretty-Heart, who had probably guessed that this person wearing the
spectacles was a physician, again pushed out his arm.
"Look," cried Vitalis, "he wants you to bleed him."
That settled the doctor.
"Most interesting; a very interesting case," he murmured.
Alas! after examining him, the doctor told us that poor little
Pretty-Heart again had inflammation of the lungs. The doctor took his
arm and thrust a lancet into a vein without him making the slightest
moan. Pretty-Heart knew that this ought to cure him.
After the bleeding he required a good deal of attention. I, of course,
had not stayed in bed. I was the nurse, carrying out Vitalis'
instructions.
Poor little Pretty-Heart! he liked me to nurse him. He looked at me and
smiled sadly. His look was quite human. He, who was usually so quick and
petulant, always playing tricks on one of us, was now quiet and
obedient.
In the days that followed he tried to show us how friendly he felt
towards us, even to Capi, who had so often been the victim of his
tricks. As in the usual trend of inflammation of the lungs, he soon
began to cough; the attacks tired him greatly, for his little body shook
convulsively. All the money which I had, five sous, I spent on sugar
sticks for him, but they made him worse instead of better. With his keen
instinct, he soon noticed that every time he coughed I gave him a little
piece of sugar stick. He took advantage of this and coughed every
moment in order to get the remedy that he liked so much, and this remedy
instead of curing him made him worse.
When I found out this trick I naturally stopped giving him the candy,
but he was not discouraged. First he begged for it with an appealing
look; then when he saw that I would not give it to him, he sat up in his
seat and bent his little body with his hand on his stomach, and coughed
with all his might. The veins in his forehead stood out, the tears ran
from his eyes, and his pretense at choking, in the end, turned to a
dreadful attack over which he had no control.
I had to stay at the inn with Pretty-Heart while my master went out
alone. One morning upon his return he told me that the landlady had
demanded the sum that we owed her. This was the first time that he had
ever spoken to me about money. It was quite by chance that I had learned
that he had sold his watch to buy my sheepskin. Now he told me that he
had only fifty sous left. The only thing to do, he said, was to give a
performance that same day. A performance without Zerbino, Dulcie or
Pretty-Heart; why, that seemed to me impossible!
"We must get forty francs at once," he said. "Pretty-Heart must be
looked after. We must have a fire in the room, and medicine, and the
landlady must be paid. If we pay her what we owe her, she will give us
another credit."
Forty francs in this village! in the cold, and with such poor resources
at our command!
While I stayed at home with Pretty-Heart, Vitalis found a hall in the
public market, for an out-of-door performance was out of the question.
He wrote the announcements and stuck them up all over the village. With
a few planks of wood he arranged a stage, and bravely spent his last
fifty sous to buy some candles, which he cut in half so as to double the
lights.
From the window of our room I saw him come and go, tramping back and
forth in the snow. I wondered anxiously what program he could make. I
was soon enlightened on this subject, for along came the town crier of
the village, wearing a scarlet cap, and stopped before the inn. After a
magnificent roll of his drum he read out our program.
Vitalis had made the most extravagant promises! There was to be present
a world-renowned artist--that was Capi--and a young singer who was a
marvel; the marvel was myself. But the most interesting part of the
farce was that there was no fixed price for the entertainment. We relied
upon the generosity of the audience, and the public need not pay until
after it had seen, heard, and applauded.
That seemed to me extraordinarily bold. Who was going to applaud us?
Capi certainly deserved to be celebrated, but I ... I was not at all
convinced that I was a marvel.
Although Pretty-Heart was very ill at this moment, when he heard the
drum, he tried to get up. From the noise and Capi's barks, he seemed to
guess that it was to announce our performance.
I had to force him back on his bed; then he made signs to me to give him
his general's uniform--the red coat and trousers with gold braid, and
hat with the plume. He clasped his hands and went down on his knees to
beg me. When he saw that he could get nothing from me by begging, he
tried what anger would do, then finally melted into tears. It was
evident that we should have a great deal of trouble to convince him that
he must give up all idea of playing that night. I thought it would be
better not to let him know when we started.
When Vitalis returned, he told me to get my harp ready and all the
things we required for the entertainment. Pretty-Heart, who knew what
this meant, turned to his master and commenced his entreaties again. He
could not have better expressed his desires than by the sounds he
uttered, the twisting of his face, and the turns of his body. There were
real tears on his cheeks and they were real kisses that he imprinted on
Vitalis' hand. "You want to play?" asked Vitalis, who had not been told
what happened before.
"Yes, oh, yes!" Pretty-Heart's whole person seemed to cry out. He tried
to jump to show that he was no longer sick. We know very well that if we
took him out it would be his death.
It was time for us to start. Before going, I made up a good fire and
wrapped Pretty-Heart up in his coverlets. He cried again and embraced
me as much as he could, then we started.
As we tramped through the snow, my master told me what he expected of
me. We could not, of course, give our usual repertoire, as our principal
actors were missing, but Capi and I could vie with each other in doing
our best. We had to collect forty francs! Forty francs! It was terrible!
Impossible!
Vitalis had prepared everything. All we had to do now was to light the
candles, but this was an extravagance that we could not indulge in until
the room was filled, for our illuminations would not have to come to an
end before our entertainment.
Whilst we took possession of our theater, the town crier, with his drum,
came through the village streets for the last time. After I had dressed
Capi and myself, I went outside and stood behind a pillar to watch the
people arrive.
The roll of the drum became louder. It was approaching the market place
and I could hear a babble of voices. Behind the drum came a score of
youngsters, all keeping step. Without stopping the beating of his drum,
the town crier took up his place between the two large lamps that were
lit at the entrance of our theater. The public had only to walk in and
take their seats for the performance to commence.
Alas! how long they were coming, and yet the drum at the door continued
gayly its _rat ta ta ta_. All the boys in the village must have been
there. But it was not the youngsters who were likely to give us forty
francs. There would have to be some important people, open-handed and
generous.
At last Vitalis decided that we ought to commence, although the hall was
far from being full; but we could not wait longer, worried as we were by
the terrible question of candles.
I had to appear first and sing a few songs, accompanying myself on the
harp. I must confess the applause that I received was very weak. I had
never thought very much of myself as an entertainer, but the marked
coolness with which the audience received my efforts discouraged me. If
I did not please them they would certainly not give us anything. It was
not for the glory that I was singing; it was for poor Pretty-Heart. Ah,
how I wanted to stir this public, to make them enthusiastic.... But I
could see only too well that they did not consider me a marvel.
Capi was more successful. He received several encores. Thanks to Capi,
the entertainment ended in a burst of applause. Not only did they clap
their hands, but they stamped their feet.
The decisive moment had arrived. While Capi, with the cup in his jaws,
ran through the audience, I danced a Spanish dance on the stage, with
Vitalis playing an accompaniment. Would Capi collect forty francs? That
was the question which made my heart beat while I smiled at the public
in my pleasantest manner.
I was out of breath, but I still continued to dance, for I was not to
stop until Capi had returned. He did not hurry himself; when he found
that he did not receive a coin, he placed his paw against the person's
pocket. At last I saw him about to return, and thought that I might
stop, but Vitalis made me a sign to go on.
I continued to dance, and going a few steps nearer Capi, I saw that the
cup was not full; far from it. Vitalis had also seen this. Bowing to the
audience, he said:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I think that, without flattering ourselves, we
have conscientiously carried out our program, yet as our candles are
still burning, I will, if the public wishes, sing some songs myself. Our
dog, Capi, will make another quest and those who have not yet given will
perhaps give this time. Please have your money ready."
Although Vitalis had been my teacher, I had never really heard him sing,
or at least not as he sung that evening. He selected two songs, an air
from "Joseph" and one from "Richard the Lion Hearted."
Although I was only a little boy and was no judge as to whether one sang
with technique or without, Vitalis' singing stirred me strangely. I went
into a corner of the stage, for my eyes filled with tears as I listened
to his beautiful notes.
Through a mist, I saw a young lady, who occupied the first row, clap her
hands with all her might. I had already noticed that she was not a
peasant like the rest of the people in the hall. She was a lady, young
and beautiful, and from her handsome fur coat I took her to be the
richest woman in the village. She had with her a little child who had
applauded Capi heartily. It was probably her son for the likeness was
striking.
After the first song, Capi went the round again. I saw with surprise
that the lady had not put anything into his cup.
When my master had finished the air from the second opera, she beckoned
me to her.
"I want to speak to that gentleman," she said.
I was surprised, I thought she would have done better to have dropped
something into the cup. Capi returned. He had collected very little more
on this second round.
"What does the lady want?" asked Vitalis.
"To speak to you."
"I have nothing to say."
"She did not give anything to Capi, perhaps she would like to give it
now."
"Then it is for Capi to go to her, not for me."
However, he decided to go, and took the dog with him. I followed them.
By now a servant had appeared, carrying a lantern and a rug. He stood
beside the lady and the child. Vitalis bowed coldly to her.
"Forgive me for having disturbed you," she said, "but I wanted to
congratulate you."
Vitalis bowed, without saying a word.
"I am a musician," continued the lady; "I am telling you this so that
you will know how much I appreciate your superb talent."
Superb talent! My master! The dog trainer! I was amazed.
"An old man like me has no talent," he replied coldly.
"Do not think that I am inquisitive, but...." began the lady.
"I am quite willing to satisfy your curiosity, Madam," he said; "you are
surprised that a dog trainer is able to sing a little. But I have not
always been what I am now. When I was younger I was ... the servant of a
great singer, and like a parrot I imitated him. I began to repeat some
of the songs he practiced in my presence. That is all."
The lady did not reply. She looked hard at Vitalis. He seemed
embarrassed.
"Good-by, sir," she said at last, laying a stress on the word "sir."
"Good-by, and once more let me thank you for the exquisite delight you
have given me this evening." And leaning towards Capi she dropped a gold
piece in his cup.
I thought that Vitalis would escort her to the door, but he did nothing
of the kind, and when she was out of hearing I heard him swear softly in
Italian.
"She gave Capi a louis," I said.
I thought he was going to give me a blow, but he let his raised hand
fall to his side.
"A louis," he said, as though he were coming out of a dream. "Ah, yes,
poor Pretty-Heart. I had forgotten him. Let us go back to the little
creature at once."
I climbed the stairs of the inn first and went into the room. The fire
was not out, but there were no flames. I lit a candle quickly. I was
surprised not to hear any sound from Pretty-Heart. I found him, lying
under his coverlets, stretched out his full length, dressed in his
general's uniform. He appeared to be asleep. I leaned over him and took
his hand gently to wake him up. His hand was cold. Vitalis came into the
room. I turned to him.
"Pretty-Heart is cold," I said.
My master came to my side and also leaned over the bed.
"He is dead," he said. "It was to be. Ah, Remi, boy, I did wrong to take
you away from Mrs. Milligan. I am punished. Zerbino, Dulcie, and now
Pretty-Heart and ... this is not the end!"