he find to censure in my comrades’ voices.” Poor comrades! they chanted
their deliverance.
We continued our inspection. One of the vaults was full of stolen
goods. In another, were the prisoners kept to wait on them, some
attended to the dishes, the cooking, the cleaning of the vaults, others
made the clothing and shoes. Some of these unhappy creatures had been
there for two years; they were chained by twos, and had little bells
to their arms and feet, so as to keep one always acquainted with their
movements. Two robbers remained constantly with them as guards, and
never more than two captives were allowed in the same vault, except
those who made the clothing. The latter were all together whilst
working, but during this time the end of their chain was attached to a
ring fastened in the wall.
I learned afterwards that these captives, about forty in number, were
the visitors to the ruins, who had been disappearing for the last two
years. They related how the robbers had killed before their eyes, three
of them, who were sick, and one who obstinately refused to work.
The soldiers delivered all these poor creatures, brought the donkeys
to the castle, carried the wounded men to the hospital, and put the
robbers in prison. The latter were judged and condemned; the captain
to death, the others to transportation to Cayenne. As for me, I was
the universal subject of admiration; wherever I went, I heard persons
saying:
“It is Cadichon! the famous Cadichon, worth all the donkeys in the
country!”
XIV.
THERESA.
My little mistresses, (for my masters and mistresses corresponded to
the number of the grandmother’s grandchildren,) had a cousin, of whom
they were very fond. She was near their age, and their most intimate
friend. Theresa was her name, and a good, kind little darling she was.
She never touched me with a switch, and never permitted anyone to do so
when she was on my back.
In one of our promenades, my young mistresses came upon a little girl
seated along the roadside. She rose at their approach and came limping
towards them, asking alms. They were all touched at her sad, dejected
appearance.
“Why do you limp, little one?” said Theresa.
“Because my shoes hurt me, miss.”
“Why don’t you ask your mamma to get you another pair?”
“I have no mamma, miss.”
“Ask your papa, then?”
“I have no papa, miss.”
“But with whom do you live?”
“With nobody, I live alone.”
“Who feeds you?”
[Illustration: A little girl asked alms from them.—(Page 94.)]
“Sometimes nobody, sometimes everybody.”
“How old are you?”
“I do not know, miss, about seven years perhaps.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“Wherever anybody takes me in; when everybody drives me away, I sleep
out-doors, under a tree, near a hedge, anywhere.”
“But in winter you must freeze.”
“I get cold, but I am used to it,”
“Have you had any dinner to-day?”
“I have not eaten since yesterday.”
“Oh! that is dreadful, dreadful,” said Theresa, with tears in her eyes.
“My dear cousins, wouldn’t your grandma give this poor little thing
something to eat and let her sleep in the castle?”
“Certainly,” answered the three cousins, “grandma would be delighted,
and, besides, she always does what we wish her to do.”
“But, Theresa,” said Beatrice, “how shall we get her to the house? see
how she limps.”
“Put her on Cadichon, and let us go on foot, instead of taking turns on
Cadichon, two by two, as we have been doing.”
“Oh, to be sure; what a good idea,” exclaimed the three cousins.
They put the little girl on my back, and Maud gave her a piece of bread
that had been left of their lunch. She was delighted to get a ride,
but so great were her fatigue and hunger, that she ate the bread with
avidity, and said nothing.
When we reached home, Maud and Elizabeth took the child into the
kitchen, whilst Beatrice and Theresa ran to their grandmother.
“Grandma,” said Beatrice, “will you let us give a good little girl that
we found on the road something to eat?”
“Certainly, my darling; but who is she?”
“I don’t know, grandma.”
“Where does she live?”
“Nowhere, grandma.”
“Nowhere! how is that? Her parents must live somewhere.”
“She has no parents, grandma, she is all alone.”
“And,” said Theresa, timidly, “will you let the poor little thing sleep
here?”
“If she really has no home, I could not turn her away; but I must see
her and speak to her.”
So saying, she arose and went to the kitchen where the little girl was
finishing her meal. She called the child, who came limping, questioned
her and obtained the same replies. It was truly an embarrassing
case. To send this child away, plunging her again into the state of
abandonment and suffering from which she had just been rescued, would
be impossible; but then what was to be done with her? who was to take
charge of and raise her?
“Listen, my dear,” said the grandmother, “you will eat and sleep here,
whilst I make inquiries as to the truth of your account, and in a few
days I will see what I can do for you.”
She then gave orders to prepare a bed for the child, and not to let
her want for anything; but the poor little creature was so filthy
that no one wished to touch her or even come near her. Theresa was in
despair; she could not insist upon her aunt’s servants doing what was
so repugnant to them.
“It was I,” thought she, “who brought her here, and I am the one to
have the care and trouble. But how shall I do?”
After a moment’s reflection, an idea presented itself.
“Wait, my dear,” said she, “I will be back presently.” And she ran to
her mamma.
“Mamma,” said she, “ought I not to take a bath?”
“Yes, Theresa, go now, your nurse is waiting for you.”
“Mamma, instead of taking a bath myself, would you let me give one to
the little girl we have brought here?”
“What little girl? I have not seen her.”
“A poor, poor little thing, who has no papa, no mamma, no one to take
care of her, who sleeps out-doors, and eats only what people give
her. Maud’s grandma says she may stay at the castle, but none of the
servants will touch her.”
“Why not?”
“Because she is so dirty, so dirty, she is disgusting; then mamma, if
you are willing, I will bathe her in my place, not to disgust nurse. I
will undress and soap her myself, and I will cut her hair, which is all
tangled and full of little white insects.”
“But, my little Theresa, won’t it disgust you too, to touch and wash
her?”
“A little, mamma, but when I think that if I were in her place, it
would make me so happy to have somebody care for me, I feel encouraged.
And mamma, when she is washed, will you let me put some of my old
clothes on her, till I buy her new ones?”
“Certainly, my dear little Theresa, but how can you buy her clothing?
You have only two or three francs, about enough to get her a chemise.”
“Oh! mamma, you forgot my twenty franc piece!”
“That you gave your papa to keep for you, so you would not spend it?
I thought you were saving that to buy a beautiful prayer book like
Maud’s.”
“I would rather do without the beautiful prayer book, mamma, I still
have my old one.”
“Do as you wish, my child, whenever there is a question of doing good,
I leave you free to use your own pleasure.”
Her mamma embraced her, and then went with her to see this little girl
that no one would touch.
“If she has any disease of the skin, that Theresa can catch, I shall
not let Theresa touch her,” said the mother.
[Illustration]
The little girl still waited at the door. A careful examination of
her hands and body revealed no traces of disease, but a great deal
of dirt. Her hair was so full of vermin, that making her sit on the
grass, Theresa’s mamma cut it close to her head, without touching it
with her hands. When it was all on the grass, she took it up on a
shovel, and told one of the servants to throw it away out of reach.
Then in a tub of tepid water, with Theresa’s assistance, she gave the
little beggar’s head a thorough washing and cleaning. Having wiped
it, she said to Theresa: “Now, my pet, whilst you give her a bath, I
will throw these rags in the fire.” Maud, Beatrice and Elizabeth came
to Theresa’s assistance; they all four led her into the bath room and
undressed her, in spite of the disgusting odor of her rags and dirt.
Then eagerly plunging her in the water, they soaped her from head to
foot. The operation was such a pleasant one to all parties, both the
little girl and her friends, that she was kept in somewhat longer than
necessity required. When the bathing was over, and she had expressed
her satisfaction, the four assisted her out of the bath tub. Then after
wiping and rubbing her skin until it was very red and as dry as a ham
bone, they arrayed her in a chemise, a petticoat and a dress belonging
to Theresa, all of which answered the purpose, because Theresa, like
other little girls in her station, wore her clothes very short, whilst
the little beggar’s were expected to reach her ankles. The waist was
somewhat long, but not being excessively particular, everyone was
pleased. When about to put on her shoes and stockings, the children
perceived a sore upon the instep. It was this which had made her limp.
Maud immediately ran to her grandmother for some salve. The grandmother
gave what was necessary, and Maud, assisted by her three friends, one
of whom steadied the little girl, whilst a second held her foot, and a
third unrolled the bandage and applied the liniment. They were nearly
one quarter of an hour arranging a compress and band; sometimes it was
too tight, sometimes not tight enough; the band was too high, or the
compress too low; they disputed and jerked the sore foot first this way
and then that, the owner, meanwhile, not daring to object or utter a
complaint. At last, however, the bandage was arranged satisfactorily, a
pair of Theresa’s old stockings and slippers put on her feet, and the
little beggar relieved of her kind waiting maids’ attentions. When she
returned to the kitchen no one recognized her.
“This is certainly not the little fright that just went out of here,”
said one servant.
“It is the same child,” replied another servant, “but no one would know
it, she looks so genteel now.”
“It is all lost time for Madame d’Arbe and the children to fix her up
like that. As for me, I would not have touched her if they had given me
twenty francs,” said the cook.
“And she smelt so bad,” said the kitchen girl.
[Illustration: “Come, come,” interposed the cook, “don’t go too
far.”—(Page 105.)]
“You ought not to have such a sensitive nose, my fair one,” replied
the coachman, “you who have your gridirons, your saucepans and all such
things to clean.”
“My gridirons and saucepans are not strong of the stable, like some
people I know,” was the kitchen girl’s answer, somewhat piqued.
“Ah! ah! ah! she is angry, take care of the broom!” said the other
servants.
“If she takes hers, I know very well where to find mine,” said the
coachman, “and the pitchfork and curry-comb.”
“Come, come,” interposed the cook, “don’t go too far; she is
passionate, and you know you must not irritate her.”
“What is that to me? if she gets angry, so will I.”
“But I do not want that here; madam does not like disputes; it is very
certain that we all would come in for a share of the blame.”
“Le Vatel is right,” said another servant. “Hush, Thomas, you are
always getting up a quarrel. Besides, this is not your place.”
“Indeed! my place is anywhere, when I have no stable work to do.”
“But you have work to do,” replied the cook. “Look at Cadichon, not yet
unsaddled, and walking up and down like a countryman waiting for his
dinner.”
“I believe Cadichon listens at the doors; he is more cunning than
he seems; he is a real scamp of a donkey,” said the coachman, as he
called me, and taking hold of my bridle, led me to the stable. Having
unbridled and unsaddled me, he left me alone, that is, with two horses
and another donkey, with none of whom I ever deigned to converse.
I know not what took place that evening at the castle, but the next
afternoon I was saddled, and with the little beggar on my back, my four
little mistresses following on foot, we all went to the village. I
learned from their conversation that they were on a shopping expedition
for their protégé. Theresa wished to furnish the outfit entire,
the others insisted on paying their share, and the dispute grew so
animated, that had I not stopped at the store of myself, they would
have passed it. In helping the little girl to get down, they nearly
pitched her face foremost on the ground, for all darted at her at once;
one caught her by the legs, another by the arms, a third by the waist,
whilst Elizabeth, who was stronger than two or three of the others put
together, pushed them away so that she could help the child off all by
herself. Pulled here and there, the poor thing began to cry of fright,
until she attracted the attention of passers by. The store-keeper
opened the door:
“Good morning, young ladies, let me help you, you are not strong enough
to lift this little girl.”
My young mistresses, satisfied at not having yielded to one another,
relinquished their hold on the child and the store-keeper immediately
lifted her off my back.
“What will you have, young ladies?” said Madam Juivet.
“We want to get materials for clothing for this little girl,” answered
Beatrice.
“Oh, certainly; is it a dress, a petticoat, or undergarments you wish?”
“We want materials for all, Madam Juivet,” answered Maud; “let us have
enough to make three chemises, one petticoat, one dress, one apron, one
neckerchief, two bonnets.”
“Let me speak, Maud,” whispered Theresa, “since I am going to pay.”
“No, you are not going to pay all, we wish to pay part,” was the
whispered answer.
“But I would rather pay alone,” said Theresa in the same tone, “she is
my girl.”
“No, she isn’t, she belongs to us all,” said Maud.
“What materials do you prefer?” interrupted Madam Juivet, impatient to
sell.
Whilst Maud and Theresa continued their dispute in an undertone,
Beatrice and Elizabeth took advantage of the opportunity to make the
purchases.
“Good-bye, Madam Juivet,” said they, “send it home as soon as possible,
and enclose the bill also.”
“How is that!” exclaimed Maud and Theresa, “have you already bought the
things?”
“Yes,” answered Beatrice, with a mischievous air, “we selected all that
was necessary whilst you two were talking.”
“But you ought to have consulted our tastes too,” replied Maud.
“Certainly, since I am the person who pays,” said Theresa.
“We’ll all pay, we’ll all pay!” cried the other three in chorus.
“How much is it?” inquired Theresa.
“Thirty-two francs, miss.”
“Thirty-two francs!” exclaimed the frightened Theresa, “but I have only
twenty.”
“Ah! we’ll pay the rest,” said Maud.
“So much the better, as we will then have all helped to clothe her,”
said Elizabeth.
“So thanks to Madam Juivet, we are at last agreed, and it was not such
an easy matter,” said Beatrice laughing.
Through the open door, I had heard all, and was indignant at Madam
Juivet, for she had charged my kind little mistresses at least double
the value of their goods. I hoped their mammas would not consent to
the imposition. We returned home, every one pleased, thanks to Madam
Juivet, as Beatrice had innocently remarked.
It was beautiful weather, and all were seated on the lawn in front of
the house when we arrived. William, Henry, Louis and James had been
fishing in one of the ponds, during our trip to the village, and had
just returned with three fine fishes and a number of little ones.
Whilst Louis and James took off my saddle and bridle, the four little
girls gave their mammas an account of their purchases.
“What did they come to?” said Theresa’s mamma. “How much is left of
your twenty franc piece?”
Theresa was a little embarrassed, and blushed slightly as she answered:
“Nothing, mamma.”
“Nothing! twenty francs to dress a child six or seven years old!” said
Maud’s mamma. “That is dreadfully high! what have you bought?”
Theresa could not tell, she could only say that Beatrice and Elizabeth
had made the selection.
But the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Madam Juivet
with the package, much to the delight of Beatrice and Elizabeth, who
were beginning to think they had made a bad bargain.
“Good day, Madam Juivet,” said the grandmother, “open your package here
on the lawn and let us see what these little girls have bought.”
Making a salutation, Madam Juivet laid down her bundle, undid it, and
after taking from it the bill, which she handed Beatrice, proceeded to
display the goods.
Beatrice had blushed on receiving the bill; her grandmother took it
from her hands and uttered an exclamation of surprise.
“Thirty-two francs to dress a little beggar! Madam Juivet,” added she,
in a severe tone, “you have taken advantage of my grandchildren’s
ignorance; you know very well that these materials are entirely too
expensive for our purpose. You will take them all back, and know that
hereafter we deal no more with you.”
“Madam,” said Madam Juivet, with restrained wrath, “these young ladies
consulted their own tastes, I did not make the selection of a single
article.”
“But you ought to have shown them only what was suitable, and not have
tried to palm off on them your old merchandise that no one wants.”
“Madam, these young ladies having bought my goods, ought to pay for
them.”
“They will pay for none of them,” replied the grandmother, in a tone
of severity, “and you may take them all back. Go, immediately; I shall
send my maid to make the necessary purchases of Madam Jourdan.”
Madam Juivet retired in a terrible rage. I accompanied her to the road,
braying triumphantly and frisking around her, much to the children’s
amusement and her own terror, for feeling guilty, she feared my
vengeance, as everybody considered me somewhat of a sorcerer, and
consequently evil doers stood greatly in awe of me.
The mammas scolded the children, the boys laughed at them; as for me,
I quietly nibbled the grass, and watched them run, skip and play.
Listening meantime to all that was said (for I always took good care to
keep within hearing distance). I learned that next day there was to be
a gunning party, that Henry and William were to have little muskets for
the occasion, and also, that one of their young neighbors was invited
to join them.
XV.
THE GUNNING PARTY.
As I have already remarked there was to be a gunning expedition next
day, William and Henry were ready before anyone else—it was their
first appearance as gunners—so equipped with guns and game bags, their
eyes sparkling with pleasure, they strutted around in a proud, defiant
manner, as if they expected to shoot all the game in the country. I
followed at a distance, and observed all their preparations for the
expedition.
“William,” said Henry in a thoughtful manner, “when our game bags are
full, where shall we put the rest of our game?”
“That is just what I was thinking of,” answered William, “I will ask
papa to let us take Cadichon.”
This idea did not please me at all; I knew that young gunners fired a
little at random and in aiming at a partridge, they might send the load
into me, so I anxiously awaited the result of the request.
“Papa,” said William to his father who approached, “may we take
Cadichon?”
“For what?” answered the father laughing, “do you wish to gun on donkey
back, and pursue the partridges in their flight? If so, you must first
put wings to Cadichon.”
“No, papa,” said Henry, a little vexed, “we want him to carry our game
when our pouches are too full.”
“To carry your game!” replied his father greatly surprised and still
laughing. “You think then, poor innocents, you are going to kill not
only something, but a great deal!”
“Certainly papa,” was Henry’s piqued reply, “I have twenty cartridges
in my vest, and I shall kill fifteen pieces of game, at least.”
“Ah! ah! ah! that is really a good joke! Do you know what you will
kill, you two and your friend Alfred?”
“What papa?”
“Time and nothing else.”
“Well papa,” said Henry, very much annoyed, “why do you give us guns,
and take us out gunning, if you think us so stupid and awkward as to
kill nothing?”
“To teach you to gun, little dunces, nobody is a successful gunner at
first, one becomes so only by dint of practice.”
Here the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Alfred, also
ready to shoot all he came across. William and Henry were still flushed
with indignation when Alfred joined them.
“Papa thinks we are not going to shoot anything, Alfred,” said William,
“we’ll convince him that we are better gunners than he thinks.”
“Don’t worry about it; we shall kill more than themselves,” replied
Alfred.
“Why more?” inquired Henry.
“Because we are young, active and nimble, whilst our papas are getting
a little old.”
“Yes indeed,” said Henry, “my papa is forty-two years old, whilst
William is fifteen and I thirteen. What a difference!”
“And between my papa and me too! He is forty-three, whilst I am but
fourteen!” said Alfred.
“Listen to me,” said William, “without telling papa, I am going to have
Cadichon saddled and the panniers put on him. He will follow us, and we
will make him carry our game.”
“Oh, that is splendid!” replied Alfred, “but put on the big panniers,
for if we were to kill a buck it would take up a great deal of room.”
Henry was charged with the commission. I laughed to myself at their
foresight, for I was very sure not only of not being loaded with a
buck, but of returning with panniers as empty as at my departure.
“Ready!” said the papas. “We will go ahead, and you boys keep near. We
will disband on getting into the field.”
“What does this mean, Cadichon following us?” said William’s father in
great surprise, “Cadichon ornamented with two enormous baskets!”
“Those baskets,” said the gamekeeper laughing, “are to carry the young
gentlemen’s game.”
“Ah! ah! they wish to put him at their head—I would prefer Cadichon’s
following (if he has nothing else to do,) instead of taking the lead,”
replied William’s father.
And he smiled as he glanced at William and Henry, who tried to look
very indifferent.
“Is your gun cocked, William?” inquired Henry.
“Not yet, it is so hard to cock and uncock, that I prefer waiting till
a partridge starts up.”
“We are now in the field,” said their papa, “keep in a line and shoot
ahead, straight ahead of you, not to the right or the left, unless you
want to kill some of us.”
The partridges flew up on all sides; I remained prudently behind, and
even at a little distance, finding it advisable, for more than one dog
that happened to be in the way, got a few grains of shot. The dogs
scented the game, started it up, and did their duty in every respect,
reports of muskets were heard all along the line. I did not lose sight
of my three young boasters, they fired often, but got nothing, none
of the three even touched a hare or partridge. Their impatience was
so great that they always fired out of range, either too far or too
near; sometimes all three aimed in vain at the same partridge. The
papas on the contrary, were having fine sport, each report of the gun
representing an addition to their game bags. In about two hours, Henry
and William’s papa came up to them.
“Well, children,” said he, “is Cadichon very heavily laden? Is there
still room for me to empty my game bag? for it is too full.”
There was no answer; the boys knew from their father’s mischievous
manner, that he was making sport of them. As for me, I came running up,
and turned one of the baskets towards him.
“How is this?” said he, “empty! your game bags will burst if you cram
them.”
The game bags were flat. Laughing at the young gunners’ discomfited
air, he emptied his birds into one of my baskets and hastened to his
dog which was starting more game.
“I see how your father kills so many partridges,” said Alfred; “he has
two dogs that scare up the game and bring it to him, when he kills it;
as for us, they have not left us even one dog.”
“That is true,” replied Henry, “perhaps we have killed a number of
partridges, but have lost them for want of a dog to bring them to us.”
“But I have not seen any fall,” said William.
“Because a partridge does not fall as soon as it is shot,” said Alfred,
“It flies a little and falls some distance off.”
“But when papa and my uncles shoot,” persisted William, “their
partridges fall immediately.”
“It seems so to you,” explained Alfred, “because you are some ways off,
but if you were in their place, you would notice the difference.”