Transcriber’s Note
Italic text displayed as: _italic_
ADVENTURES OF A DONKEY
[Illustration:
CADICHON,
THE DONKEY,
SPEAKS!!
]
THE
ADVENTURES OF A DONKEY
FROM THE FRENCH OF
_Mme. LA COMTESSE DE SÉGUR_.
BY P. S., A GRADUATE OF ST. JOSEPH’S, EMMITTSBURG, MD.
ILLUSTRATED.
BALTIMORE:
PUBLISHED BY JOHN B. PIET,
NO. 174 WEST BALTIMORE STREET,
1881.
COPYRIGHT, JOHN B. PIET, 1880.
_Press of John B. Piet, Baltimore._
TO MY LITTLE MASTER,
M. HENRI DE SÉGUR.
My little master, you have been good to me, but you have spoken
contemptuously of donkeys in general. To make you better acquainted
with them, I write and offer you this story of my adventures, from
which you will learn, my dear little master, how I, a poor donkey, and
my very many donkey friends, have been and are still unjustly treated
by men. You will see that we have much intelligence and many excellent
qualities; you will also see how wicked I was in my youth, that I was
severely punished for it, and how repentance changed me and restored
to me the friendship of my comrades and masters. In fine, you will
perceive on reading this book, that instead of saying “as stupid as a
donkey, as ignorant as a donkey, as headstrong as a donkey,” one should
say, “as intelligent as a donkey, as learned as a donkey, as docile as
a donkey,” and that you and your kindred might well be proud of these
eulogiums.
Hi! han! my good master, I hope no period of your life may resemble the
early years of your faithful servant,
CADICHON, THE LEARNED DONKEY.
ADVENTURES OF A DONKEY.
I do not remember my infancy; I was probably unhappy, like all infant
donkeys, pretty and graceful as we all are. I was certainly very
intelligent, since, even at my present time of life, being now somewhat
advanced in years, my mental endowments are far superior to those of
my comrades. More than once did I outwit my poor masters, who were
but men, and who, consequently, could not be expected to possess the
intelligence of a donkey.
I shall begin these Adventures by relating one of the tricks I played
upon them in my youth.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
I.—THE MARKET, 1
II.—THE PURSUIT, 8
III.—THE NEW MASTERS, 13
IV.—THE BRIDGE, 17
V.—THE CEMETERY, 24
VI.—THE HIDING PLACE, 32
VII.—THE LOCKET, 40
VIII.—THE FIRE, 46
IX.—THE DONKEY RACE, 53
X.—GOOD MASTERS, 66
XI.—CADICHON SICK, 75
XII.—THE ROBBERS, 78
XIII.—THE VAULTS, 86
XIV.—THERESA, 94
XV.—THE GUNNING PARTY, 111
XVI.—MEDOR, 122
XVII.—THE SCHOOL CHILDREN, 132
XVIII.—THE BAPTISM, 138
XIX.—THE LEARNED DONKEY, 147
XX.—THE FROG, 164
XXI.—THE PONY, 168
XXII.—THE PUNISHMENT, 180
XXIII.—THE REFORMATION, 194
XXIV.—THE ROBBERS, 218
XXV.—THE REPARATION, 239
XXVI.—THE BOAT, 254
Conclusion 272
THE ADVENTURES OF A DONKEY.
I.
THE MARKET.
Men not being supposed to be aware of all that donkeys know, you, who
read this book, are doubtless ignorant of what is well known to all my
donkey friends, namely: that every Tuesday in the town of Laigle there
is held a market, where vegetables, butter, eggs, cheese and other
excellent things are sold. This Tuesday is a day of torture for my poor
comrades; it was so for me before I was bought by my present good old
mistress, your grandmother. I belonged to a farmer’s wife, exacting and
cruel. Just imagine, my dear little master, that she carried her malice
so far as to collect all the eggs her hens laid, all the butter and
cheese from her cows’ milk, all the vegetables and fruits that ripened
during the week, to fill baskets which she placed upon my back.
And when I was so heavily laden that I could scarcely move, this wicked
woman seated herself upon the baskets and obliged me to trot thus
burdened, overwhelmed, indeed, to the market of Laigle, a league from
the farm. I was all this time in a rage I dared not show, for fear of
the stick my mistress carried, a very big one full of knots, that hurt
sorely when she beat me. Whenever I saw or heard these preparations for
market, I sighed, I groaned, I ever brayed, in hopes of softening the
hearts of my owners.
[Illustration]
“Shut your mouth, great idle thing,” said they, coming to get me, “shut
your mouth, and do not deafen us with your coarse, horrid voice. Hi!
han! hi! han! that is beautiful music you are giving us! Edward, my
boy, bring this lazy beast up to the door whilst your mother puts the
load on his back. Here is a basket of eggs—one more! The cheese—the
butter!—now the vegetables. That’s right! Here is a fine load, that is
going to bring us several five franc pieces. Mary, my daughter, bring
a chair for your mother to mount the donkey. Good-bye, a pleasant trip,
wife, and make this lazy beast move. Hold on, here is your stick, hit
him with it.”
Pan! Pan!
“That’s right, a few more caresses of that kind and he’ll go.”
Vlan! Vlan! The stick never ceased to belabor my sides, my legs, my
neck; I trotted, I almost galloped, yet the woman still beat me. I was
indignant at so much injustice and cruelty; I tried to kick and throw
her off, but I was too heavily burdened; I could only start and sway
from side to side, thus affording myself the satisfaction of feeling
her slipping down. “Wicked donkey! stupid animal! headstrong creature!”
said she, “I am going to teach you better, I’ll let you feel the weight
of my stick.”
And indeed, she beat me so I could scarcely reach the town. We arrived
at last. All the baskets were lifted off my poor skinned back and
placed on the ground. My mistress having tied me to a post, went to
breakfast, whilst I, who was dying of hunger and thirst, got not a
sprig of grass, or a drop of water. I found means of getting close to
the vegetables during her absence and refreshed myself by filling my
stomach with a basket of salad and cabbage. I had never eaten anything
so good in my life, but just as I was finishing the last cabbage and
the last salad, my mistress returned. She uttered a scream on seeing
her basket empty; I regarded her with such a satisfied insolent air,
that she immediately recognized me as the author of her loss. I shall
not repeat to you the names she called me. She was very high-tempered,
and when in a rage, she swore and said things that made me blush,
donkey as I am. Having loaded me with the most humiliating reproaches,
to which I made no reply, except by licking my lips and turning my back
upon her, she took her stick and began to beat me so cruelly, that I,
at last, lost all patience, and launched at her three kicks, the first
of which broke her nose and two teeth; the second, her wrist, and the
third, striking her in the stomach, knocked her over. Twenty persons
rushed upon me, overwhelming me with blows and vile words. They carried
my mistress off, I know not where, and left me attached to the post,
near which the marketing I had brought was displayed. Here I remained a
long time; seeing that no one thought of me, I ate a second basket of
excellent vegetables, and cutting with my teeth the cord that held me,
I quietly took the road home.
[Illustration]
Every one I passed on the way seemed astonished at seeing me alone.
“Look, there is a donkey with a broken strap! He has escaped,” said one.
“It must be a fugitive from the galleys,” said another. And they all
began to laugh.
“He doesn’t carry a heavy load on his back,” remarked a third.
“Very true,” exclaimed a youth, “he has been at some mischief.”
[Illustration]
“Catch him, husband,” said a woman, “let us put the little one in the
saddle.”
“He will carry you as well as the little boy,” replied the husband.
Wishing to give them a good opinion of my gentleness and condescension,
I very quietly approached the woman and stopped to let her mount.
“He doesn’t seem at all vicious,” said the man, helping his wife into
the saddle.
I smiled with pity at hearing this. Vicious! as if a donkey kindly
treated was ever vicious! We become ill-tempered, disobedient,
headstrong, only in retaliation for the blows and foul names heaped
upon us. When properly treated, we are good-natured—much better in this
respect than other animals.
I carried the wife and child home. The latter was a pretty little boy
about two years old, who caressed me fondly, thought me charming, and
wanted to keep me altogether. But I reflected that this would not be
honest; my masters had bought me, I belonged to them. I had already
revenged myself upon my mistress by breaking her nose, teeth, and
wrist, and giving her a good kick in the stomach. Seeing, then, that
the mother would yield to the little boy, whom she spoiled (I soon
perceived this whilst they were on my back), I jumped to one side, and
before the mother could seize my bridle, was off in a gallop towards
home.
Mary, my master’s daughter, saw me first.
“Oh! there is Cadichon. How early he has returned. Here, Edward, come
take off his saddle.”
“Wicked creature,” said Edward, in an angry tone, “one has always to be
bothered with you. But why has he returned alone? I’ll bet he has run
away. Vile beast!” he added, kicking me on the leg, “if I knew you had
escaped, I would give you a hundred licks of the stick!”
Once rid of my saddle and bridle, I went off galloping. Scarcely had I
entered the pasture when I heard loud cries proceeding from the house.
Approaching the hedge, I saw that the farmer’s wife had been brought
home, and I recognized the screams as those of the children. I listened
most intently, and heard Edward say to his father:
“Father, I am going to tie him to a tree, and take the big wagon, whip
and beat him till he falls to the ground!”
“Very well, my son, go, but do not kill him, for we would lose what he
cost us. I shall sell him at the next fair.”
I trembled with fright on hearing these words, and on seeing Edward
run to the stable for the whip. There was no time for hesitation, and
without any scruple now as to defrauding my owner of what he had paid
for me, I ran towards the hedge separating me from the fields, and
dashed against it with such force, that I broke the branches and made
my way through. I ran at full speed through the field, and I continued
to gallop a very long time, believing myself pursued. At last, unable
to go farther, I stopped; I listened, but heard nothing. I mounted a
slight eminence, I saw no one. Then I began to breathe freely, and
rejoice at having delivered myself from these wicked farmers.
But I now commenced to wonder what would become of me. If I remained
where was, I would be discovered, recognized and taken back to my
master’s. What should I do? where should I go?
I looked around, and finding myself solitary and unhappy, I was about
to shed tears over my sad fate, when I perceived that I was on the edge
of a magnificent woods, it was the forest of St. Evroult.
“What good luck!” I exclaimed, “In this forest I shall find tender
herbage, water, fresh moss; I shall remain here a few days, and then go
to another forest, farther, much farther from my master’s farm.”
I entered the forest; I ate with delight the tender grass and I drank
the water from a beautiful spring. Towards night, I lay down on the
moss at the foot of an old pine, and there slept peacefully till
morning.
II.
THE PURSUIT.
The next morning after eating and drinking, I thought over my happiness.
“Here,” said I, “they can never find me, I am saved. In two days,
however, when I shall have rested from my fatigue, I will go still
farther.”
Scarcely was this reflection finished, when I heard the distant barking
of a dog, then of another, and in a few minutes I distinguished the
sound of a whole pack of hounds. Anxious, and even somewhat frightened,
I arose and went towards a little stream that I had noticed in the
morning. Scarcely had I done so, ere I heard Edward saying to the dogs:
“Come, come, dogs, seek him well, find me this wicked donkey, bite him,
tear his legs to pieces and bring him to me, that I may lay my whip on
his back.”
[Illustration: Towards evening two men entered the meadow.—(Page 11.)]
I nearly sank to the ground from fright; but suddenly remembering that
I could throw the dogs off my track by walking in the water, I ran at
once to the stream, which fortunately was bordered on both sides with
very thick bushes. I walked a very long time without stopping; the
barking of the dogs died away in the distance, as well as the voice of
the wicked Edward.
Breathless and exhausted I stopped an instant to drink, and I ate a
few leaves from the bushes. My legs were stiff with cold, but I dared
not quit the water, for fear the dogs might return and get upon my
trail. When somewhat rested I began to run, following the stream all
the while, until I was out of the forest. I then found myself in a vast
meadow, where cows and oxen (over fifty in number) were pasturing. They
took no notice of me, so I lay down in the sun to rest in a corner of
the field.
Towards evening two men entered the meadow.
“Brother,” said the tallest of the two, “shall we not bring up the
cattle to-night? they say there are wolves in the woods.”
“Wolves! who told you that nonsense?”
“The Aigle folks. They tell how a donkey from the hedge farm was
carried off and devoured in the forest.”
“Bah! let it go, the people of that farm are so cruel, they have beaten
their donkey to death.”
“Why, then, would they say the wolves devoured it?”
“Because it is not known that they killed it.”
“Even so, it would be better to bring in the cattle.”
“Do as you wish, brother, I leave it to you.”
I did not stir in my corner, for fear of being discovered. The grass
was high and concealed me entirely, the cattle did not pass near me,
but were driven towards the gate and thence to their masters’ farm.
I had no fear of wolves, for I was the very donkey of whom the men
spoke; and in the forest where I had passed the night, I had not seen
even a wolf’s trail. So I slept delightfully, and was finishing my
breakfast when the cattle re-entered the field, led by two big dogs.
Whilst I was quietly looking at them, one of the dogs perceived me,
and barking fiercely, ran at me, followed by his companion. What would
become of me? how should I escape them? I rushed against the fence
enclosing the meadow; the stream I had followed crossed the lot, and I
was fortunate enough to clear this stream, also to hear the voice of
one of the men I had seen the evening before, calling back his dogs. I
quietly continued my walk until I had reached another forest, the name
of which I did not know. I must now have been more than ten leagues
from the hedge farm; consequently I was safe, no one knew me, and I
could show myself without fear of being taken back to my former owners.
III.
THE NEW MASTERS.
I lived peacefully in this forest one month. Sometimes I felt a little
lonesome, but I preferred solitude to misery. I was then tolerably
happy, when I began to perceive that the grass was getting scarce and
dry, the leaves falling, the water freezing, the ground growing damp.
“Alas! alas!” thought I, “what is to become of me? If I stay here I
shall perish of cold, of hunger and thirst, but where shall I go? who
is there that wants me?”
By dint of reflection, I devised a means of securing shelter. Leaving
the forest, I went to a little village near by. There I saw a small,
neat looking, isolated house, and a good woman seated at the door
spinning. I was touched with her sad, gentle appearance; I approached
her and put my head upon her shoulder. Much startled, the good woman
uttered a scream and jumped up from her chair. I did not stir, but
regarded her with a pitiful, supplicating air.
“Poor beast!” said she, at length, “you do not look wicked. If no one
owned you, I would be very much pleased to have you supply the place of
my poor old Grison, who died of old age. I could then continue to make
my living selling my vegetables at the market. But, no doubt, you have
a master,” she added, sighing.
“To whom are you talking, grandmother?” said a soft voice from the
inside of the house.
“I am talking to a donkey that has come here and put his head on my
shoulder, and he looks at me so pitifully that I haven’t the heart to
drive him away.”
“Let me see! let me see!” answered the soft voice. And immediately
there appeared on the threshold a handsome little boy six or seven
years of age, neatly but poorly clad. He looked at me with a curious,
half timid air.
“May I pet him, grandmother?” said he.
“Certainly, my George, but take care that he does not bite you.”
The little boy extended his arm, and not being able to reach me, he
advanced a step, then another, and began to smooth my back.
I did not stir for fear of frightening him; I only turned my head
towards him, and passed my tongue over his hand.
“Grandmother, grandmother, this poor donkey is so good-natured, he has
licked my hand.”
“It is very strange that he should be alone. Where is his master? Go,
George, to the village inn, where travelers stop, and make inquiries
about him. His master is probably worried about him.”
“Shall I take the donkey, grandmother?”
“He will not follow you; let him go where he wishes.”
George started off in a run; I trotted after him. When he saw that I
followed, he came to me, and petting me, said: “Say then, my pretty
donkey, since you follow me, you will surely let me ride you.” And he
mounted at once, exclaiming as he did so, “get up!” I went off in a
little gallop, which enchanted him. “Ho! ho!” said he before the inn,
I stopped immediately, and George dismounted. I remained opposite the
door, not stirring any more than if I had been tied.
“What is it, my boy?” said the inn-keeper.
“I came to know, Mr. Duval, if this donkey at the door belongs to you
or any of your customers?”
Mr. Duval came to the door and regarded me attentively. “No, my boy,”
said he, “it is not mine, nor that of any one I know. You will have to
inquire further.”
George remounted, and setting off again in a gallop, we went from house
to house, inquiring for my owner. No one knew me, and we returned to
the good grandmother, who was still sitting in the door spinning.
“Grandmother, the donkey belongs to no one about here. What are we to
do with him? He keeps close to me, but he jumps away when anybody else
tries to touch him.”
“In that case, my George, we must not let him stay out-doors all night;
something might happen to him. Lead him to our poor Grison’s stable,
give him a bundle of hay and a bucket of water. We can take him to
market to-morrow, and perhaps we may find his master.”
“And if we do not find him, grandmother?”
“We will keep the donkey till some one claims him. We could not let the
poor beast perish of cold this winter, or fall into the hands of wicked
people who would beat him, or cause his death from fatigue and hard
treatment.”
After giving me food and water, George caressed me and went out,
saying, as he shut the door:
“How I hope he has no master, so he may stay with us.”
Next day, having given me my breakfast, George put a halter on my neck
and led me up to the door; the grandmother next placed a very light
pack-saddle on my back and seated herself upon it. George then brought
a little basket of vegetables, which she took upon her knees, and we
set out for the market of Mamers. The good woman sold her vegetables at
a fair price, no one recognized me, and I returned with my new mistress.
I lived there four years; I was happy, injuring no one and making
myself very useful, for I loved my little master, who never beat me,
never worked me to death and always fed me well. However, I was no
glutton; in summer, remnants of vegetables and the herbs which neither
the horses nor cows ate; in winter a little hay and the skins of
potatoes, carrots and turnips, satisfied my wants, as is the case with
other donkeys.
There were some days I did not enjoy, those on which my mistress hired
me to the children in the neighborhood. Being poor, and not always
having enough work to keep me busy, she was very glad to make a little
something by hiring me to the children of the castle near by.
They were not always good children.
Listen to what happened on one of these excursions.
IV.
THE BRIDGE.
There were six donkeys drawn up in the yard; I was one of the
handsomest and strongest of the number. Three little girls brought
us oats in a bucket. Whilst eating I listened to the children’s
conversation.
“Come,” said Charles, “let us choose our donkeys, as for myself, I take
that one,” pointing to me with his finger.
“You always take the best,” answered the five children at once, “we
must draw lots.”
“How do you wish us to draw lots, Caroline,” replied Charles, “do we
put the donkeys in a bag and draw them out as one does balls?”
“Ah! ah! ah!” said Francis, “what an idiot, with his donkeys in a bag!
As if one could not number them 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, put the numbers in a
bag, and let each draw his number.”
“So we can,” cried the five others, “Ernest set down the numbers, while
we write them on the donkey’s backs.”
These children are dunces, said I to myself. If they had the sense of
a donkey, instead of tiring themselves writing numbers on our backs,
they would simply arrange us along the wall, the first would be 1, the
second, 2, and so on for the rest.
Meanwhile, Francis had brought a big piece of coal. I was the first,
so he made an enormous 1 on my back; whilst he wrote 2 on that of my
comrade, I gave myself a vigorous shake, to convince him that his
invention was not a famous one. Behold, the particles of coal flew off
and the 1 disappeared. “You dunce!” cried he, “I must commence over.”
Whilst he re-wrote his number 1, my comrade that had perceived my
doings, and was also mischievous, shook himself in turn. Behold the 2
disappear. Francis began to get angry; the others laughed and mocked
him. I made a sign to my comrades and we let him number us, no one
budged. Ernest returned with the numbers in his handkerchief; each one
drew. Whilst they were looking at what they had drawn I made another
sign to my comrades, and we all shook ourselves worse than ever. More
coal, more numbers, it must be commenced over, the children were
enraged. Charles was triumphant and giggled; Ernest, Albert, Caroline,
Cecilia and Louisa were indignant at Francis, who in turn, stamped
his foot, my comrades and I began to bray. The noise attracted the
papas and mamas. The cause was explained to them and one of the papas
suggested the plan of arranging us along the wall. He made the children
draw their numbers.
“One!” cried Ernest. It was myself.
“Two!” cried Cecilia. It was one of my friends.
“Three,” cried Francis, and so on to the last.
“Let us start now,” said Charles, “I go first.”
“Oh! I shall soon overtake you,” replied Ernest with animation.
“I bet not.”
“I bet I shall.”
Charles taps his donkey, which sets off at a gallop. Before Ernest has
time to touch me with a whip, I start also, and at such a pace that
Charles is speedily overtaken. Ernest is delighted, Charles is furious.
He taps and keeps tapping his donkey. Ernest has no need to tap me; I
run, I fly like the wind. I pass Charles in a minute, and I hear the
others who follow, laughing, and crying out:
“Bravo! donkey number 1, bravo! he runs like a horse.”
Self love gives me courage; I continue to gallop until we reach a
bridge. I stop suddenly, for I have just perceived that a large plank
in the bridge is rotten; I do not wish to fall in the water with
Ernest, but to return to the others who are far, far behind us.
“Ho there! ho there! donkey,” said Ernest to me. “On the bridge,
donkey, on the bridge.”
I resist, he gives me a touch with the switch.
I still continue to walk towards the others.
“Headstrong thing! stupid brute! will you turn and pass the bridge?”
I walk on towards my comrades and rejoin them, in spite of this wicked
boy’s cross words and blows.
“Why do you beat your donkey, Ernest?” cries Caroline, “he is
excellent, he went flying and you overtook Charles.”
“I beat him to make him go over the bridge, he is determined to turn
back.”
“Ah! bah! because he was alone; now that we are all together he will
pass the bridge like the rest.”
“Unfortunate creatures!” think I, “they are all going to fall into the
river. I must try to convince them of the danger.”
And I set off in a gallop towards the bridge, to Ernest’s great
satisfaction and amidst cries of joy from the other children.
I gallop up to the bridge; reaching it, I stop suddenly as if afraid,
Ernest astonished, urges me on, I recoil with an air of fright that
surprises Ernest still more. Silly boy! he sees nothing though the
rotten board is in full view. The others rejoin him, and enjoy the
spectacle of his efforts to make me go across and mine not to do so. At
last the whole party dismount from their donkeys, each one pushing and
beating me mercilessly, still I budge not.
“Pull him by the tail,” cries Charles, “donkeys are so headstrong that
if you want to make them go one way, they are sure to go the other.”
Behold them seize me by the tail. I defend myself with a kick; they all
beat me at once, and yet I will not move an inch.
“Wait Ernest,” says Charles, “let me go first and he will certainly
follow.”
He tries to advance, to prevent him I place myself crosswise before the
bridge, but by dint of blows he makes me fall back.
[Illustration: “A pole! a pole!” he cried.—(Page 23.)]
“Well,” said I to myself, “I’ll give up, if this bad boy wants to be
drowned, let him be, I have done my best to save him; since he is so
determined, let him taste a draught.”
Scarcely had his donkey touched the rotten plank, ere it gave way, and
both rider and animal were thrown into the water. There was no danger
for my comrade, as like the rest of his race, he knew how to swim, but
Charles struggled and screamed without the power of extricating himself.
“A pole! a pole!” he cried.
The children ran in every direction, at last Caroline found a long
pole, which she hastily held out to him; he seized it, but his weight
was dragging her in, and she called for help. Ernest, Francis and
Albert ran to her. At length, with a great deal of difficulty, they
succeeded in drawing to land the unhappy Charles, who had drank more
than he relished, and who was wet from head to foot. When assured of
his safety, they all began to laugh at his piteous plight; Charles got
angry, they jumped upon their donkeys, and with bursts of laughter
advised him to return to the house and change his clothes. Wet as he
was, he mounted his donkey. I laughed in my sleeve at his ridiculous
figure, the current had carried away his hat and shoes, the water was
running off him to the ground, his dripping hair clung to him, and his
countenance was furious—altogether he was a most ludicrous picture. The
children laughed, my comrades pranced and ran to express their delight.
I ought to add that Charles’ donkey was detested by the rest of us,
because he was quarrelsome, gluttonous and stupid, qualities very rare
among us.
At length Charles disappeared, and both children and donkeys became
more quiet. Every one caressed me and admired my spirit, and we all
started off again, I at the head of the band.
V.
THE CEMETERY.
We went at a brisk pace; and soon approached the village cemetery,
which is about a league from the castle. “Suppose we turn back and take
the forest road,” said Caroline.
“Why?” asked Cecilia.
“Because I do not like cemeteries.”
“Why do you not like them,” replied Cecilia with an air of derision.
“Are you afraid you will not get away?”
“No, but I think of the poor people who are buried there, and it makes
me sad.”
The children ridiculed Caroline and rode directly past the wall. They
were just about to keep on, when Caroline, who seemed disquieted,
stopped her donkey, leaped off, and ran to the cemetery gate.
“What are you doing, Caroline, where are you going?” exclaimed the
others.
Caroline did not answer, but hurriedly pushing open the gate, she
entered the cemetery, looked all around her, and ran towards a freshly
made grave.
Ernest, who had anxiously followed, had caught up with her, at the
moment when bending over the grave, she lifted up a poor little boy, of
about three years, whose moans had attracted her attention.
[Illustration]
“What is the matter, my poor little one? Why are you crying?”
The child could not answer for his sobs.
“Why are you here alone?” said Caroline again, noticing the child’s
beauty and miserable clothing.
“They left me here, I am hungry,” he answered sobbing.
“Who left you here?”
“The black men, I am hungry,” was the answer accompanied with another
sob.
“Ernest,” said Caroline, “run, and get our lunch, quick; we must give
this poor little fellow something to eat; he will tell us afterwards
why he weeps, and why he is here.”
Ernest ran to get the basket of provisions, whilst Caroline endeavored
to console the child. In a few minutes Ernest re-appeared, followed by
the whole band, whom curiosity had attracted to the spot. They gave the
child some cold chicken and some bread soaked in wine. As he ate, his
tears ceased to flow, his countenance became smiling. When he had eaten
heartily, Caroline again asked him why he was lying on this grave.
“Because they have put grandmother here. I want to wait till she comes
back.”
“Where is your papa?”
“I can’t tell, I don’t know him.”
“And your mama?”
“I don’t know, black men carried her off as they did grandmother.”
“But who takes care of you?”
“No one.”
“Who feeds you?”
“Nobody, I suck nurse.”
“Where is your nurse?”
“Down there at the house.”
“What does she do?”
“She walks, and she eats grass.”
“Grass?”
Here all the children looked at one another with surprise.
“Is she silly?” said Cecilia in an undertone.
“He does not know what he is saying,” replied Francis, “he is too
little.”
“Why,” continued Caroline, “does not your nurse take you home?”
“She can’t, she has no arms.”
The children’s surprise increased.
“How then can she carry you?”
“I get on her back.”
“Do you sleep with her?”
“Oh! no, I could not do that,” said the child smiling.
“Where then does she sleep? Hasn’t she a bed?”
The child began to laugh as he answered.
“Oh! no, she sleeps on straw.”
“What does he mean,” said Ernest, “let us ask him to take us to the
house, we shall see his nurse, and she can explain matters.”
“I must confess, it is all a mystery to me,” said Francis.
“Will you go back to your home, my little one?” asked Caroline.
“Yes, but not all alone; I am afraid of the black men, grandma’s room
was full of them.”
“We will all go with you, you must show us the way.”
Caroline remounted her donkey, and took the little boy upon her lap.
He showed us the way, and in five minutes we all reached the cabin
of mother Thibaut, who died the evening previous and was buried that
morning. The child ran to the house and called out “Nurse! Nurse!”
Immediately a goat bounded out of the open stable, and darting towards
the child, testified its joy at his return by a thousand gambols and
caresses. The child likewise fondled it, and then said “Suck Nurse.”
The goat immediately lay down on the ground, the little boy stretched
himself near her, and began to suck as if he had neither eaten nor
drunk.
“There, the nurse is explained,” said Ernest, at last. “What shall we
do with this child?”
“We have nothing to do with him, except leave him with his nurse,” said
Francis.
The others cried out with indignation.
“It would be wrong,” answered Caroline, “to abandon this poor little
one, he might soon die for want of care.”
“What do you wish to do with him,” said Francis, “are you going to take
him home with you?”
“Certainly; I shall ask mama to keep him at the house whilst she makes
inquiries as to who he is, and whether he has any relatives or not.”
“And our donkey party, are we to give that up and all return?”
[Illustration: The little boy stretched himself near the goat.—(Page
28.)]
“No, Ernest will be kind enough to accompany me, and the rest of you
can continue your excursion, there will still be four, so you can well
do without Ernest and me.”
“She is right,” said Francis, “let us mount and continue our ride.”
And they departed, leaving the kind Caroline with her cousin Ernest.
“How fortunate it is they tried to tease me by passing so near the
cemetery!” said she, “but for that, I would not have heard this poor
child, and he would have spent the entire night on the cold, damp
ground.”
It was I whom Ernest mounted. With my usual intelligence, comprehending
that we must reach the castle as promptly as possible, I set off at
a gallop, my comrade followed, and we were there in half an hour.
The family was startled at our unexpectedly early return. Caroline
recounted her adventure with the child. Her mama was puzzled as to what
arrangements could be made for him, when the porter’s wife offered
to raise him with her son, who was about the same age. The offer was
accepted. On sending to the village to make inquiries concerning his
name and parentage, Caroline’s mama learned that his father had been
dead a year, his mother six months; the child had been living with a
wicked, miserly old grandmother, who had just died the day before, that
following the coffin to the cemetery, he had been forgotten and left
there; moreover, that he was not poor, the grandmother having been in
comfortable circumstances. The porter’s wife raised him well, and he
became a fine fellow. I know him, his name is John Thibaut, he is
always kind to animals, which proves his good heart, and he is very
fond of me, which proves his sense.
The good goat was also brought to the porter’s and found a home there.
VI.
THE HIDING PLACE.
I have already said that I was happy, but my happiness was soon to end.
George’s father was a soldier and when he returned to his country,
bringing the money his dying captain had left him, and the cross given
him by his general, he bought a house at Mamers, to which he removed
his old mother and little son, and sold me to a neighboring farmer.
I was very sad at leaving my good, old mistress and my little master
George; both had been kind to me and I had been faithful to them.
[Illustration: Cadichon’s master says good-by to his friends.—(Page
35.)]
My new owner was not unkind, but he had a foolish fancy for making
everything about him work, and myself among the number. He used to
harness me to a little cart and make me haul earth, manure, apples, and
wood. I commenced to grow lazy, I did not like to be harnessed, and
market day I especially detested, not that they loaded me too heavily
or beat me, but because I had to stand without eating from the morning,
till three or four o’clock in the afternoon. When the heat was great,
I nearly died of thirst, waiting till everything was sold, till my
master had received his money and said good day to his friends, with
whom he must also take a glass.
I was not very good in those days; I wanted fair treatment, if denied
me I sought revenge. Here is one of my tricks, from which you will
perceive not only that donkeys are not stupid, but also that I had
become very bad.
On market day the family arose earlier than usual—the vegetables
were to be gathered, the butter churned, the eggs collected. In
summer, sleeping out-doors in a large meadow, I saw and heard these
preparations, and knew that at ten o’clock, they would come to harness
me to the little cart filled with all their marketable produce. I have
already said how tiresome and trying this market was to me, so having
noticed in the meadow a large ditch filled with briers and brambles,
here I determined if possible, to conceal myself in such a manner that
no one could find me at the moment of departure. Market day arrived;
as soon as I saw the farm folks beginning to move about, I very gently
descended into the ditch, and there buried myself so completely,
that discovery was almost impossible. I had been there an hour hid
away amongst the briers, when I heard the boy calling me, running in
every direction to find me, and at last returning to the farm-house.
Doubtless he had apprised the master of my disappearance, for in a few
minutes I heard the farmer’s voice calling his wife and all the other
farm folks to come help find me.
“He must have got through the hedge,” said one.
“How could he have got through, there is no break anywhere,” replied
the other.
“Some one has left the gate open,” said the master. “Run into the
fields boys, he cannot be far; go quick, and bring him, for time
passes, and we shall be too late.”
Every one started off into the fields or the woods, running and calling
me. I laughed to myself down in the hole, and took good care not to
make my appearance. After the lapse of an hour, they all returned
breathless and panting, from a fruitless search.
The master having sworn at me, and said no doubt I had been taken, put
one of his horses to the cart, and drove off in a very bad humor. When
I saw that all returned to their work, and no one could see me, lifting
up my head very cautiously, I looked around. Finding myself alone, I
suddenly emerged from the ditch, and running to the other end of the
field, to mislead their suspicions as to where I had been, I began to
bray with all my strength.
At this noise every one on the farm ran.
“Here he is come back,” cried the shepherd.
“Which way did he come?” said the mistress.
“Which way did he go?” replied the wagoner.
In my joy at having escaped the market, I ran to them. They were
delighted to see me, caressed me, said I was a good creature to have
escaped from the thieves, and paid me so many compliments that I was
ashamed, knowing full well how much more deserving I was of the stick
than caresses. They let me graze quietly, and I should have passed a
charming day, had not my conscience reproached me for having deceived
my poor master.
When the farmer came home and learned of my return, he was well
pleased, but very much surprised. Next day he went all around the
meadow, and carefully repaired even the slightest breach in the hedge.
“The donkey will be very smart to escape now,” said he, on finishing. I
have stopped even the smallest holes with stakes and brambles; there is
not room enough for a cat to get through.
The week passed quietly, my adventure was no longer thought of. But the
next market day I repeated the wicked trick, and again concealed myself
in the ditch, for so doing saved me so much fatigue and weariness. As
before, they sought me everywhere; their astonishment was greater than
ever, they were now fully convinced that a skillful thief had carried
me off by letting me through the gate.
“This time,” said my master sadly, “he is certainly lost. He will
not be able to escape again, and even if he should, he could not get
into the meadow, for I have repaired the breaches in the hedge too
carefully.”
He went off sighing, and one of the horses again took my place in the
cart. As on the preceding occasion, I emerged from my hiding place
when everybody had got out of the way, but I was prudent enough not to
announce my appearance with a hi han! as before.
When they found me quietly eating grass in the field, and my master
learned that I had returned a short time after his departure, I saw
that they had suspected me of some trick, for no one paid me any
compliments, everyone eyed me with distrust, and I fully perceived that
they watched me more closely than before. I laughed in my sleeve at
them and said to myself:
“Good friends, you will be very sharp if you discover the trick I have
played on you; I am smarter than you, and I intend to keep the game up.”
So I concealed myself a third time, very well pleased with my cunning.
But scarcely was I stowed away in the ditch, ere I heard the furious
barking of the big watch dog, and the voice of my master, saying:
“Seize him Caesar, seize him; go down into the ditch, bite his legs,
bring him! bravo my dog! seize him, seize him!”
Caesar indeed darted down, he bit my legs, my body, and he would have
devoured me, had I not decided to leave that ditch. I was about to run
towards the hedge, and try forcing a passage through, when the farmer
who was waiting for me, threw a slip knot over my head and brought
me to a stand. He was armed with a whip and he made me feel it most
sensibly; the dog continued to bite, the master to beat me, and I
repented bitterly of my idleness. At last the farmer called Caesar off,
put up his whip, exchanged the slip knot around my neck for a halter,
and led me all mortified and beaten unmercifully, to the little cart
which was in readiness for me.
I learned afterwards that one of the children, who had been stationed
near the gate, to open it if I returned, had perceived me coming out of
the ditch, and had carried the news to his father. The little traitor!
For a long time after, until my troubles and sad experience had taught
me better, I wished all manner of evil to him.
From that day I was treated more severely. They wished to keep me shut
up, but I found means of opening all the fastenings with my teeth; if
a latch, I lifted it; if a button, I turned it; if a bolt, I pushed it
aside. I went just where I pleased. The farmer swore, scolded and beat
me; he became harder on me, and I got to be worse and worse to manage.
I felt that I had brought all this unhappiness on myself. I compared
my present miserable life with that I had formerly led among the same
people; but instead of reforming me, the reflexion made me only more
headstrong and vicious. One day I went into the kitchen garden and
eat all the salad; another day I knocked down the little boy who had
betrayed me; another time, I drank a tub of cream they had placed out
to be churned. I tramped on their chickens and young turkeys, I bit
their pigs; in fine, I got so unmanageable that the mistress at last
asked her husband to sell me at the fair at Mamers, which was to take
place in fifteen days. I had become a very thin, miserable looking
object, by reason of blows and poor nourishment. But now, wishing to
put me in a good condition, (as the farmers say,) that I might sell to
advantage, everyone on the farm was forbidden to maltreat me. I was
released from work and was well fed. Very happy indeed was I during
those fifteen days. My master, at the expiration of that time, took
me to the fair and sold me for a hundred francs. I longed to give
him a good bite at parting, but fearing such an act might make a bad
impression on my new owner, I contented myself with turning my back
upon him with a gesture of contempt.
VII.
THE LOCKET.
I had been bought by the parents of a delicate little girl, aged about
twelve years, who living in the country and having no friends of her
own age, was greatly in need of diversion, for the father devoted very
little time to her, and the mother, though fond of her child, was
so jealous, she could not bear to see her attached to anything but
herself, not even animals. The physician having prescribed recreation
of some kind, the mother decided upon donkey rides. My little mistress
was named Pauline; she was a very kind, gentle, pretty child, of a sad,
quiet disposition. She was often sick, but every day when not unwell,
she went riding, and it was my delight to show her the prettiest paths
and woods I knew. At first, we were always accompanied by a domestic,
but when everyone saw what good care I took of her, we were allowed
to go alone. It was she who called me Cadichon, which name I have ever
retained.
“Go, take a stroll with Cadichon,” the father would say, “there is no
danger with a donkey like that, he has the intelligence of a man, and
he will always bring you safe home.”
So we would go out together. When my little mistress got tired of
walking, I used to stand near a slight elevation, or rather descend
into a hollow, that she might mount the more easily. I would also lead
her up to hazel trees filled with nuts, and stop to let her gather
them. She loved me much, and expressed it by kind attentions and
caresses. When bad weather prevented our promenades, she would come to
the stable, bringing me bread, fresh grass, salad leaves, carrots; she
would stay a long time, a very long time; and talking to me, though
believing that I did not understand her, she would tell me all her
little troubles, often with tears.
“Oh! my poor Cadichon,” she would say, “you are a donkey, and you
cannot understand me, yet you are my only friend, for it is only to you
I can say all I think. Mama loves me, but she is jealous, she wants me
to love nothing but herself. I have no childish friends, and I am so
lonesome.”
And then she would weep and caress me. I loved her too, and I pitied
the poor little thing. When she was near me, I was very careful not to
move, for fear of tramping on her.
One day she came running towards me in the greatest delight.
“Cadichon, Cadichon,” she cried, “mama has given me a locket with her
hair; I am going to mix some of yours with it, for you too are dear to
me, and I shall then have the hair of the two I love best in the world.”
She cut off a little of my mane and put it in the locket with her
mother’s hair.
It made me happy to see how much Pauline loved me and I was proud of
having my hair in a locket, but I must confess the effect was not very
pretty; coarse, stiff and grey as my mane was, it made her mother’s
tress look frightful. Pauline never perceived this, and she was turning
her locket in every direction, and admiring it extravagantly, when her
mother entered.
“What are you looking at,” said the mother.
“My locket mama,” answered Pauline concealing it somewhat.
“Why did you bring it here?”
“To show it to Cadichon.”
“What foolishness! Indeed Pauline, you are losing your head with
Cadichon! as if he could understand anything about a locket with hair!”
“I assure you, mama, he understands very well, he licked my hand
when—when—”
Here Pauline blushed and was silent.
“Well, why do you not finish? What made Cadichon lick your hand?”
“Mama, I would rather not tell you, I am afraid you will scold me,”
said Pauline, much embarrassed.
“What is it, at once?” replied her mother impatiently. “Speak, what
nonsense have you been at now?”
“It is not nonsense, mama, on the contrary—”
“Then why are you afraid to tell me? I suppose you have been giving
Cadichon oats to make him sick.”
“No, I have given him nothing, on the contrary—”
“On the contrary? You provoke me, Pauline—now listen to me, I wish to
know what you have been doing here for the last hour nearly.”
And indeed the arrangement of my hair in the locket had been rather
a long process; it was necessary to take off the paper back of the
locket, remove the glass, insert the memento of myself, and then put
the whole together again.
Pauline still hesitated, at last, she said in a very low tone and with
great embarrassment.
“I cut a little of Cadichon’s mane to—”
“To what?” said her mother impatiently, “finish now, you cut it for
what?”
“To put it in the locket,” was the very low answer.
“In what locket?” said her mother angrily.
“In the one you gave me.”
“In that I gave you with my hair!” replied the mother with increasing
anger. “And what have you done with my hair?”
“It is still there, see,” said poor Pauline, displaying the locket.
“My hair mixed with a donkey’s mane!” exclaimed the mother in a rage.
“Ah! it is too much! You do not deserve the present I gave you! To
class me with a donkey! To express the same affection for a donkey as
for me!”
[Illustration]
And snatching the locket from the hands of the unfortunate, stupefied
Pauline, she dashed it to the ground, trampled it under foot and broke
it into a thousand pieces. Then without noticing her daughter, she left
the stable, slamming the door violently.
Pauline surprised and frightened at this outburst of temper, was
motionless an instant, then breaking into sobs, and throwing herself
upon my neck, she exclaimed passionately:
“Cadichon, Cadichon, you see how I am treated! They do not want me to
love you, but I will love you in spite of them, and more than them,
because you are good to me—you never scold me, you never grieve me,
and you always try to amuse me in our promenades. Alas! Cadichon, how
unfortunate that you can neither understand me nor talk to me. Oh! what
I would tell you!”
Pauline was silent, she throw herself on the ground and continued to
weep gently. I was touched and distressed at her grief, but I could not
console her or even let her know that I understood her. I felt enraged
at this mother, who through stupid or excessive affection, could render
her child so unhappy. Had it been in my power, I would have told her
of the grief she caused Pauline, and the injury it did her already
delicate health, but Alas! I could not speak. I could do nothing but
look sadly on at the poor child’s flowing tears.
Scarcely a quarter of an hour had elapsed since her mother’s leaving
the stable, when a servant opened the door and called Pauline.
“Mademoiselle,” said she, “your mama has sent for you, she does not
wish you to stay in the stable with Cadichon, or even to come here at
all.”
“Cadichon, my poor Cadichon!” exclaimed Pauline, “they do not wish me
to see you any more!”
“Only when you go out riding, Mademoiselle, your mama says, the place
for you is in the parlor, not in the stable.”
Pauline made no answer; she knew her mother exacted obedience, but
embracing me again, and I felt her tears on my neck as she did so, she
left the stable to return no more.