Alfred’s words. They had all begun to leave off somewhat of the proud,
soldierly air with which they sallied forth as gunners.
They commenced to inquire the hour.
“I am hungry,” said Henry.
“I am thirsty,” said Alfred.
“I am tired,” said William.
As to the papas, they fired and killed, and had plenty of luck.
However, not forgetting their young companions, and not wishing to
fatigue them too much, they proposed a halt for breakfast, which met
with universal approbation. Calling in the dogs from the field to
rest for awhile, they all directed their steps towards a farm about a
hundred steps off, where the grandmother had sent the provisions.
They seated themselves on the ground under an old oak, and opened the
baskets, which displayed as usual on such occasions, a chicken pie, a
ham, hard eggs, cheese, marmalade, preserves, a big bun, an enormous
cake and several bottles of old wine. All the gunners, young and old,
had fine appetites, and ate enough to have astonished a spectator. Yet
the grandmother had provided so bountifully for the needs of the most
voracious, that half the provisions remained for the gamekeepers and
farm people. The dogs had the scraps to appease their hunger and pond
water to quench their thirst.
“You have not had much luck, children,” said Alfred’s papa. “Cadichon
does not move as if he were heavily laden.”
“It is no wonder, papa, we had no dogs, you had them all.”
“Ah! you think then that one, two or three dogs would have insured the
death of all the partridges that passed under your nose.”
“No, papa, they would not have killed the partridges, but they would
have sought and brought us those we had killed, and then—”
“Those you killed!” interrupted the father, with an air of
astonishment. “Do you really think you have killed any birds?”
“Certainly, papa, only as we did not see them fall, we could not pick
them up.”
“And do you suppose you would not have seen them if they had fallen?”
“No, papa, for our sight is not as keen as that of the dogs.”
At this, the father, the uncles, and even the gamekeepers, burst into a
loud laugh, whilst the children reddened with vexation.
“Now listen,” said William and Henry’s father, “since you lose your
game for want of dogs, we are going to let you have a dog, when we get
through breakfast and commence to gun again.”
“But, papa,” said William, “the dogs will not follow us, they do not
know us as well as they do you.”
“To make them follow you, we will give you the two attendants, and we
will not start for a half hour after you, and then the dogs will not be
tempted to rejoin us.”
“Oh! thanks, papa,” exclaimed William, radiant with joy. “With the dogs
we are sure to kill as many as you!”
Breakfast over and all rested, the young gunners were eager to set out
with the dogs and the guards.
“Now we look like real gunners,” said they, with an air of satisfaction.
And we tried the field again, I following them as before breakfast,
but always at a little distance. The guards had been told to keep near
the children in order to prevent any imprudence. The partridges flew
up on all sides as in the morning, the young gentlemen fired as in
the morning, and with like success. Yet the dogs did their duty, they
sought, they stopped the birds, but brought none, for this reason only,
there were none to bring. At last, Alfred impatient at firing to no
purpose and seeing one of the dogs standing the game, concluded that
he would fire before the partridges had flown up, and thus secure his
prize indeed. He aimed, he fired—the dog fell, struggling and uttering
a piercing howl.
“Zounds! it is our best dog!” exclaimed the gamekeeper rushing towards
it.
But the dog was dead ere he reached it, it had been shot in the head
and died almost instantly.
“You made a fine shot that time, master Alfred,” said the guard, laying
the poor animal down, “I suppose that ends the gunning.”
Alfred was motionless with consternation, William and Henry seemed much
affected at the dog’s death, whilst the gamekeeper concealed his wrath
and looked at the poor creature without saying a word.
I approached to see which dog had been the miserable victim of
Alfred’s awkwardness and conceit, and what was not my sorrow, my
anguish, on recognizing Medor, my friend, my dearest friend! and oh!
imagine my horror to see the guard lift Medor up, and put him in one of
the baskets on my back! Ah! behold the game I was condemned to carry,
Medor, my friend, murdered by a bad, stupid, conceited boy!
We returned to the farm not quite so merry as we left, the children not
speaking a word, the guard occasionally letting fall a furious oath,
and I feeling no consolation, except in the thought of the severe,
humiliating reprimand the murderer would surely receive.
On reaching the farm we found the papas still there, for not having
their dogs, they preferred to rest till the children’s return.
“Already!” they exclaimed at the sight of us.
“I really believe,” said William’s papa, “they have killed a big piece
of game of some sort. Cadichon walks as if he had a load, and one of
the baskets hangs as if it contained something heavy.”
They arose and came towards us, but the children, with rueful
countenances, lagged behind. Their parents were struck with their
demeanor, what could it mean?
“They certainly have not the air of victors,” said Alfred’s father,
laughing.
“Perhaps they have killed a calf or a sheep, mistaking it for a
rabbit,” answered William’s papa, also laughing.
The gamekeeper approached.
“What’s the matter, Michaud? you look as downcast as the gunners.”
“And with cause, sir, we bring a sad game.”
“Tell us what it is then, a sheep, a calf, a donkey?”
“Ah! sir, it is nothing to laugh at, it is your dog, Medor, the very
best of the band, that master Alfred has killed, taking him for a
partridge.”
“Medor! Oh! the awkward boy! if ever he guns here again—” exclaimed the
poor dog’s master.
“Come here, Alfred,” said his father, “you see now the result of your
conceit and ridiculous presumption. Say good-bye to your friends, sir;
you are going home immediately, and you will put your gun away in my
room, to touch it no more until you have learned a little sense and
modesty.”
“But, papa,” answered Alfred, assuming an air of indifference, “I don’t
know why you should get so angry, it often happens that the dogs are
killed on gunning parties.”
“The dogs! the dogs are killed!” exclaimed the stupefied father,
“indeed this is too much! You have beautiful notions of gunning, sir!”
“But, papa,” continued Alfred, still apparently indifferent, “everybody
knows that very often the best gunners kill their dogs accidentally.”
“My dear friends,” said his father, turning towards the other
gentlemen, “will you excuse me for having brought such an ill-mannered
boy here? I did not believe him capable of so much stupidity and
impudence.”
Then to his son:
“You have my orders, sir, go!”
“But, papa—”
“Silence! I tell you,” answered the father in a tone of severity, “not
one word, if you don’t want to make acquaintance with my ramrod!”
Alfred hung his head and went off, covered with confusion.
“You see, children,” said William and Henry’s papa to them, “you see
the result of presumption; that is, belief in a merit or quality which
one does not possess. What happened with Alfred, might have happened
with you also. You were all so convinced that nothing was easier than
to be an expert marksman, you had nothing to do but to take aim, and
the game was yours. You have all three been ridiculous since morning,
you have despised our counsels, our experience, and in fact, you are
all three guilty of poor Medor’s death. I see that you are both too
young for gunning. In a year or two you may try it again. Meantime,
return to your gardens and other childish amusements, it will be the
better for everyone.”
William and Henry hung their heads and made no answer, but sadly
returned to the house. My unfortunate friend Medor, whose history I
am going to relate to you, was buried in the garden by the children
themselves, who wished to perform this last mournful rite for their
pet. After reading the following sketch of his life, you will see why I
loved him so much.
XVI.
MEDOR.
I had known Medor a long time; I was young, and he still younger, when
we became acquainted and formed mutual and inalterable attachment. I
was then living miserably with those wretched farmers who had bought
me from a dealer in donkeys, and from whom I escaped so cleverly. I
was quite thin, for really they never gave me enough to eat. Medor
(presented to them as a good watch dog, and afterwards proving himself
a superb hunting dog) fared better than I; he amused the children,
who often gave him bread and scraps of their meals; moreover, as he
acknowledged to me himself, whenever it was possible, he used to slip
into the dairy with the mistress or servant, where he was always sure
to find some means of lapping a little milk or cream, and seizing the
particles of butter which fell from the churn. Medor was kind; my lean,
miserable appearance excited his pity, and one day he brought me a
piece of bread, presenting it with a most triumphant air.
“Eat, my poor friend,” said he, in his language, “I have bread enough
given me for my own sustenance, and you, you have only thistles and
poor grass, and hardly enough of these to keep you alive.”
“Good Medor,” said I, “I am sure you have deprived yourself of this for
me. I do not suffer so much as you think, for I am used to meagre fare,
little sleep, much work and hard beatings.”
“I am not hungry, my friend,” replied Medor, “I assure you, I am not
hungry. Prove your friendship for me by accepting my little present.
It is trifling I know, but I offer it willingly, and if you persist in
refusing, I shall feel quite grieved.”
“Then I accept, my kind Medor,” said I, “because I am fond of you, and
I must confess, that I shall relish it greatly, for I am hungry.”
And I ate the bread good Medor had brought me, he keenly enjoying the
eagerness with which I crunched and swallowed it. I felt thoroughly
revived by this unaccustomed repast, and said so to Medor, believing I
could thus best express my gratitude. The result was characteristic of
Medor, every day he brought me the biggest piece of bread given him. In
the evening, he used to come and lie down beside me under the tree or
bush I had selected for my night’s shelter, and we thus enjoyed many a
pleasant conversation. And no one suspected, or could have understood,
for we conversed without talking. We other animals, we do not pronounce
our words like men, but we understand one another by winks, motions
of the head, the ears, the tail, and we converse among ourselves as
readily as men.
One evening Medor came to me quite sad and dejected.
“My friend,” said he, “I fear I shall no longer be able to bring you a
part of my bread; my masters have decided that I am big enough to be
tied all day, and let loose only at night. Moreover, my mistress has
scolded the children for giving me so much bread; she has forbidden
them to feed me at all, because she wishes to feed me herself and that
sparely, to make me a good watch dog, she says.”
“My kind Medor,” said I, “if it is the thought of my losing the bread
that frets you, compose yourself, I no longer need it, for this morning
I discovered a hole in the side of the hay rack, from which I have
already helped myself to a little hay, and I find that I can easily do
so every day.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Medor, “I am so glad! but yet it gave me such
pleasure to share my bread with you. And then to be tied all day, and
see you only at night, it is really sad!”
We conversed a long time and it was very late when he left me.
“I shall have time enough to sleep during the day,” said he, “and you
too, as you are not kept very busy either at this season.”
All the next day passed indeed without my seeing poor Medor. Towards
evening, I was impatiently awaiting him, when his cries reached my
ears. Running to the hedge, I saw that wicked woman, the farmer’s wife
holding my kind friend by the skin of his neck, whilst Edward beat
him with a carriage whip. I dashed through a breach in the hedge,
caught Edward by the arm, and bit him in such a fashion that the whip
fell from his hands. The wicked woman released her hold on Medor, who
escaped; this was all I wanted, so I let go Edward’s arm, and was about
returning to my enclosure, when I felt myself seized by the ears. It
was the farmer’s wife, who in a rage called out to Edward:
“Give me the big whip, till I beat this vicious animal! There never was
a worse donkey in the world! Give it to me, or whack him yourself!”
[Illustration]
“I can’t lift my arm,” said Edward in tears, “it is numb.”
Seizing the whip that lay on the ground, she ran at me to avenge her
cruel son. I was not fool enough to wait for her, you may be sure. Just
as she had nearly caught me, I made a leap and left her some distance
behind, she continued to pursue me, and I to escape, taking great care
to keep myself out of reach of the whip. This race amused me very much;
I saw my mistress’s wrath increase in proportion to her fatigue. I
could run and sweat without doing myself the slightest harm, whilst
she, covered with perspiration, was completely exhausted, without
having had the pleasure of giving me even one lash of the whip. My
friend was sufficiently avenged when our promenade ended. I sought him
with my eyes (for I had seen him run towards my enclosure), but in
vain, he was afraid to show himself before the departure of his cruel
mistress.
[Illustration]
“You wretch!” cried the enraged woman as she turned to leave, “I will
pay you up for all this when I get you under the saddle!” and she went
towards the house, whilst I remained alone.
I now ventured to call Medor. He timidly lifted his head from the hole
in which he had sought refuge. I ran to him.
“Come,” said I, “she is gone. What did you do? why did Edward beat you?”
“Because I seized a piece of bread one of the children had dropped on
the ground. She saw me, darted at me, and calling Edward, told him to
beat me unmercifully.”
“Did no one try to defend you?”
“Defend me indeed! they all cried out, that’s right! whip him Edward,
so he won’t do it again.” ‘Keep quiet,’ said Edward, ‘I shall not go
half way in the matter, you’ll hear how I can make him sing.’ And at my
first cry, they all clapped their hands, exclaiming bravo! bravo!
“Wicked little creatures!” cried I. “But why did you take the bread,
Medor? Had they not given you your supper?”
“Yes indeed, I had already eaten, but the bread in my soup was in such
small pieces, that I could not get any of it out for you, but, if I
could have carried off that big piece the child dropped, you would have
had a delightful repast.”
“My poor Medor! and it was for me you were beaten! Thanks, my friend,
thanks; I shall never forget your kindness! But let me entreat you to
not repeat it! Do you suppose that that bread would have given me any
pleasure, if I had known what risks you ran to get it? I would rather a
hundred times live on thistles, knowing that you were well treated and
happy.”
We conversed a long time, and I made Medor promise never again to
incur the danger of a beating on my account; I also promised him that
I would play all sorts of tricks on these people, and I kept my word.
One day I knocked Edward and his sister into a puddle of water, and
then ran off, leaving them struggling in the mud. Another time, I ran
at the little three year old boy, as if I were going to bite him, how
his screams of terror rejoiced my heart! Again, pretending to have the
colic, I rolled on the ground with a heavy load of eggs on my back;
every egg was smashed. My mistress, though furious, did not dare strike
me, she believed I was really sick, that I was going to die, and they
would lose all the money I had cost them, so instead of beating me,
she led me back to the stable, and gave me some hay and bran. I never
played a better trick in my life, and that evening Medor and I almost
hurt ourselves laughing over it. Another time, seeing all their linen
spread out on the hedge to dry, I took every piece in my teeth, one by
one, and threw it into the barnyard pool. No one had seen me do this;
so when the mistress could not find her linen, and when, at last after
a search in every direction, it was discovered just where I have told
you, she flew into a terrible rage, and beat the servant, who beat the
children, who beat the cats, the dogs, the calves, the sheep! Oh! it
was a charming uproar to me, every body screamed and was furious. Medor
and I certainly passed a gay evening.
[Illustration: She flew into a terrible rage.—(Page 128.)]
In my subsequent reflexions upon these wicked deeds, I have sincerely
reproached myself, for I revenged upon the innocent the faults of the
guilty. Medor sometimes censured me and advised moderation, but no,
I would not listen, every day I got worse and worse, only however to
suffer for it, my evil conduct bringing its own punishment as you
will learn hereafter.
One day (and a sad day it was for me,) a gentleman who was passing took
a fancy to Medor and offered the farmer a hundred francs for him. The
farmer, believing him a dog of very little account, was delighted, and
my poor friend with a rope around his neck, disappeared with his new
master. He cast a sorrowful glance at me, and in vain did I run from
one side of the hedge to the other seeking a passage, every breach was
closed, and I had not even the consolation of bidding my dear Medor
farewell. From that day, life there was almost insupportable. Medor’s
departure was just before the little episode of market day, and my
subsequent flight into the forest of St. Evroult, which I have already
related. During the years that followed, I often, very often thought
of my friend, and the pleasure it would be to see him again, but where
seek him? for I knew his new master did not live in that part of the
country, but was only there on a visit to some friends.
Judge of my happiness, some time after little James had brought me
to your grandmother’s, at seeing arrive with your uncle and cousins
William and Henry, my friend, my dear friend Medor! He recognized
me at once, and covered me with caresses, I responding to them, and
following him everywhere. Our cordiality excited great surprise, but
all attributed it to Medor’s delight at being in the country, and mine
in finding a companion for my promenades. If they had been able to
understand our long conversation they would have known the cause of
our mutual affection.
Medor was much pleased at all I told him of my present calm and
peaceful life, of my master’s kindness, of my excellent and even
glorious reputation throughout this part of the country. He sympathized
with me in the recital of my pitiful adventures, and he laughed, though
blaming me, at the tricks I had played on the farmer who bought me
from George’s father. He actually was puffed up with pride when I told
him of my victory at the race; he deplored the ingratitude of poor
Pauline’s parents, and shed tears over the sad fate of that unhappy
child.
XVII.
THE SCHOOL CHILDREN.
One day Medor strayed off from the house where he had been born, and
had always lived quite comfortably. He was in pursuit of a cat that
had stolen a piece of meat given him by the cook, who thought it a
little tainted. Medor, not being so delicate, had just put it down
by his kennel, when a cat concealed near by, darted at the meat and
carried it off, much to my friend’s indignation, as he was not often
regaled on such luxuries. He pursued the thief with all the speed of
his limbs, and would soon have caught her, if, wicked cat that she was,
she had not bethought herself of climbing a tree. Medor, of course
could not follow, and he was tantalized with seeing her devour before
his eyes, the delicious morsel of which she had robbed him. Justly
irritated at such effrontery, he remained at the foot of the tree,
barking, growling and uttering a thousand reproaches. This attracted
the attention of some children just out of school, and they united with
Medor in annoying her. They even attacked her with stones until at last
it was a veritable shower. The cat climbed higher, and tried to conceal
herself in the thickest foliage. But this did not stop them, the shower
of stones continued, accompanied by loud hurrahs, whenever a plaintiff
mewing informed her persecutors that she had been hit.
Medor began to weary of this game; the enemy’s touching cries had
appeased his wrath and he feared that the children were too cruel. To
end their sport he commenced to bark at them, and pull them by the
blouse, but it had no effect, save that of causing a few stones to be
directed against himself. At last, a hoarse, horrible cry, followed by
a rustling among the branches, announced their success, the poor cat
was grievously wounded, and had fallen from the tree. One minute after,
she was not only wounded, but dead, her head having been crushed by a
stone. This was a source of rejoicing to the mischievous children, who
ought to have wept over their cruelty. As for Medor, he regarded his
enemy with compassion, and the boys with an air of keen reproach. Just
as he was about to return to the house, one of them exclaimed:
“Oh! let us give him a bath in the river, it would be so amusing!”
“Yes indeed, what a splendid idea,” cried the others, “catch him,
Frederick, there he goes!”
Behold Medor pursued by the cruel rascals, he and they running at
full speed. Unfortunately, there were about a dozen of them scattered
around, which obliged him always to run straight ahead, for if he
deviated in the least, to the right or left, he could be surrounded
and his flight retarded instead of hastened. At that time he was
very young, not more than four months old; he could run neither very
swiftly, nor any great distance without stopping, consequently his
pursuers captured him. One seized him around the body, one by the tail,
another by the paw, the neck, the ears, the back, they pulled him this
way and that, to amuse themselves with his cries. At last, putting a
cord around his neck almost tight enough to strangle him, they forced
him by dint of kicks to the river.
Two of them were about to remove the cord, and plunge him in, when the
biggest boy exclaimed:
“Wait, let’s tie two bladders to his neck, and make him swim; we can
push him to the mill, and make him pass under the wheel.”
[Illustration: They beat the boys—(Page 137.)]
Vainly did poor Medor struggle; what could he do against a dozen little
scamps, the youngest of them, at least, in his seventh year? Andrew the
most cruel of the band, tied the two bladders around his neck, and
then launched him into the very middle of the stream. My persecuted
friend, impelled by the current, and still more vigorously by the
poles in his tormentors’ hands, reached the place where the water
precipitates itself under the mill wheel. Once under the wheel, he
would certainly be ground to pieces.
The workmen returned from their dinner, and one of them hastened to
raise the barrier restraining the water. Perceiving Medor, he said:
“Another of your cruel tricks,” you rascals; said he looking at the
boys who waited in delightful anticipation of seeing Medor drawn under
the wheel. “Friends,” he added, speaking to his fellow workmen, “come
here and help punish these bad boys, who have been amusing themselves
trying to drown a poor dog.”
His comrades ran, and whilst he saved Medor by pushing a plank towards
the poor creature for him to climb upon, the others gave chase to the
boys, caught every one, and whipped them well, some with ropes, some
with whips, some with sticks. The cries of the chastised children
resounded far and near, for the workmen did not strike lightly. At
last the job was finished, and Medor’s persecutors retreated, crying,
sobbing and rubbing their smarting skins.
The strangling cord around Medor’s neck was cut, and he was put out in
the sun to dry upon some hay. He was soon dry, and ready to go home,
but when the blacksmith led him back, the people there said they did
not want him, they had too many dogs already, and they would throw him
in the water with a stone to his neck, if he were left. The blacksmith
was a kind man, and pitying Medor, took him to his own house. But at
sight of the dog his wife got angry, her husband would ruin them, she
said, they had not the wherewith to feed a worthless cur, and, besides,
there was a tax upon dogs.