peace sake got rid of Medor, by giving him to the cruel farmer with
whom I then lived, and who had been wanting a watch dog.
You now know how Medor and I became acquainted, and also, why we were
so fondly attached to each other.
XVIII.
THE BAPTISM.
William and Maud were to stand sponsors for a new born child, whose
mother had been Maud’s nurse. Maud wanted them to call the baby after
her.
“Not at all,” said William, “since I am godfather, I have the right to
name her, and I wish to call her Pierrette.”
“Pierrette!” exclaimed Maud, “that’s a frightful name! I don’t want her
named Pierrette, she shall be called Maud; as I am the godmother, I am
the one who has the right to name her.”
“No, you haven’t, the godfather has the best right, and I shall call
her Pierrette.”
“If she is to be named that, I won’t be godmother.”
“If she is to be named Maud, I won’t be godfather.”
“Just as you please about that, I can ask papa to take your place.”
“And I, Miss, can ask mamma to take your place.”
“Besides, I am quite sure aunt would not like her called Pierrette, it
is too frightful and ridiculous.”
“And I am sure uncle would not like her called Maud, it is too horrible
and stupid.”
“How did he happen to call me Maud then? Go to him and tell him you
think it is a horrible, stupid name, go, my good man, and you will see
how you will be received!”
“Well, you may say what you please, but I say I will not be godfather
for any Maud.”
“Papa,” said Maud mischievously, running to her father, “will you stand
godfather with me for little Maud?”
“What Maud, dear pet? I know no Maud but you.”
“My little godchild, papa, that I want called Maud when she is baptized
to-day.”
“But William is to stand with you, and there cannot be two godfathers.”
“Papa, William does not wish to be godfather.”
“Why? what is the meaning of this whim?”
“Because he thinks Maud a horrible stupid name, and wants to call her
Pierrette.”
“Pierrette! that would be horrible and stupid indeed!”
“It is just what I told him papa, but he would not believe me.”
“Listen, my daughter, try to reason with your cousin, and if he insists
upon not being godfather unless the baby is named Pierrette, I will
cheerfully stand in place of him.”
During Maud’s conversation with her father, William had run to his
mother.
“Mamma,” said he, “will you stand godmother with me in Maud’s place,
for the little girl that is to be baptized to-day.”
“Why is not Maud going to stand? it was a request of the baby’s mother
that she would.”
“Mamma, Maud wants the baby named after her, I think her name too ugly,
and as I am godfather, I want the baby called Pierrette.”
“Pierrette! that is frightful, William is pretty, but Pierrette is
ridiculous!”
“Oh! mamma, please call her Pierrette—At any rate, I don’t want her
called Maud.”
“But if neither of you will give up, how will you fix matters?”
“Mamma, that is why I came to ask you to stand for little Pierrette in
place of Maud?”
“My poor William, I must tell you frankly, that I want no more of this
Pierrette, the name is too ridiculous, besides, the child’s mother was
Maud’s nurse, not yours, and you know very well, that she desires most
particularly to have Maud for godmother. For my part, I think she
would be pleased to have the baby called Maud.”
“Then, I can’t be godfather.”
At this instant Maud ran up, exclaiming:
“Well, William, have you decided? We start in an hour, and must have a
godfather.”
“I am willing for her not to be called Pierrette, but I am not willing
for her to be called Maud.”
“Well, since you have given up Pierrette, I will give up Maud. But let
us ask nurse what name she wants baby called.”
“You are right; go ask her.”
Maud went running off to the baby’s mother and soon came back.
“William, William,” she exclaimed, “nurse wants her little daughter
named Marie Maud.”
“Did you inquire if she ought not to be called Pierrette, as I am
godfather?”
“Yes, I asked her, and she burst out laughing; mamma laughed too; they
both said it was impossible, Pierrette was too ugly.”
William blushed slightly, however, as he himself had began to think
Pierrette ridiculous, he sighed and said nothing more on that subject.
“Where are the sugar plums?” he asked.
“In a big basket that will be taken to the church, the boxes and
wrappings are left here. They are all ready, let us see how many there
are.” And they ran to the hall where everything was in readiness.
“What are these pennies for?” inquired William, “there seem to be
nearly as many as sugar plums.”
“They are to be thrown to the school children,” said Maud.
“The school children? Are we going to the school after the baptism?”
“No, we are to throw these from the church door, where all the school
children collect on such occasions; we throw them by the handful, and
the children catch them or pick them up from the ground.”
“Did you ever see it done?”
“Never, but I have heard that it is very amusing.”
“I do not think I would like it, for I know very well the children
fight and get hurt; besides I do not like the idea of flinging things
to children as if they were dogs.”
“Maud, William, come see the baby, it has just arrived; we start
shortly,” cried Beatrice, out of breath.
Both of them ran, trying to reach the baby first.
“Oh! how fine our godchild is!” said William.
“Yes, indeed,” replied Maud, “she has a dress embroidered all around, a
lace bonnet, and a cloak lined with pink silk.”
“Did you give her all those pretty things?”
“Oh! no, I had not enough money; mamma paid for everything except the
bonnet and I paid for it.”
All was ready; though the weather was fine the carriage was brought out
for the baby and its nurse, and the sponsors only. Maud and William
were in the carriage like important personages. They started. I,
harnessed to the children’s little conveyance waited for them. Louis,
Helen, James and Ruth took the back seats, Beatrice and Elizabeth the
front to drive, whilst Henry climbed behind. The mammas, papas and
nurses started at different intervals, so that some of them might be
near us in case of accident; but this was only an excess of prudence,
for with me they knew there was nothing to fear.
I set off in a gallop, notwithstanding my load, self-love excited me
to overtake and even pass the carriage. I went like the wind and the
children were enchanted.
“Bravo!” they cried. “Courage, Cadichon, keep on galloping! Hurrah for
Cadichon, the king of donkeys!”
They clapped their hands and applauded.
“Bravo!” cried people whom I passed on the road. “Look at that donkey,
he runs like a horse! Good luck and no upsets!”
The papas and mammas trudging along, were not so encouraging however,
but wanted me to relax my speed, instead of which, I only galloped
the faster. I was not very long in overtaking the carriage, and
triumphantly did I dash past the horses, they looked at me with
surprise. Feeling mortified at being overtaken by a donkey, especially
as they had started first, they attempted a gallop, but the driver
tightened his reins, and obliged them to relax their speed, whilst I
hurried on faster than ever, so that when they reached the church door,
my little masters and mistresses had all descended from the vehicle,
whilst I, very warm and out of breath, was standing quietly hitched
near the hedge for shade.
The parents on arriving, admired my swiftness, and complimented the
children on their equipage.
The fact is we made quite a sensation, my carriage and I, I being
well rubbed and curried, and decorated with variegated dahlias of red
and white behind my ears, the harness polished and embellished with
red mountings, and the vehicle repaired and varnished. We certainly
presented a dashing appearance.
Through the open window, I witnessed the baptismal ceremony, the infant
screamed as if it were being murdered, Maud and William, somewhat
embarrassed at their honors, got confused in repeating the Creed,
and the priest was obliged to prompt them. Poor little godfather and
godmother, their eyes were suffused with tears, and their faces as red
as cherries! However, their mistake was no unusual occurrence, and
often happens with grown people.
Little Marie Maud being baptized, they went out of the church to throw
sugar plums and pennies to the children collected around the door. As
soon as the godfather and godmother appeared, all exclaimed; “Hurrah
for the godmother! hurrah for the godfather!”
The basket of sugar plums was ready, it was handed Maud, whilst William
received the basket of pennies. Taking a handful of the former, Maud
let them fall in a shower among the children. This was the signal for a
general battle, a faithful representation of starving dogs.
All rushed to the same spot, disputing every handful, both of sugar
plums and pennies, as it was thrown; they tore one another’s hair,
they struggled, they rolled over on the ground, and half the coveted
articles were lost, crushed under foot or hidden in the grass. William
did not laugh; nor Maud, after the first handful, for she saw that
these battles were serious. For several of the children were crying,
and others were badly scratched.
“You were right, William,” said she, as soon as they took their seats
in the carriage, “the next time I am godmother, I shall give the
children sugar plums, not throw them.”
“Nor I, the pennies,” said William, “I shall give them like you do the
sugar plums.”
The carriage started off, and I did not hear the rest of their
conversation.
My party now began to crowd in their vehicle, accompanied by the papas
and mammas.
“Cadichon,” said Maud’s mamma, “has already produced a sensation, so
now he can afford to return more quietly and take us with him.”
“Mamma,” said Beatrice, “do you like this custom of throwing the
children sugar plums and pennies?”
“No, dear child, I find it a very ignoble custom, the children
reminding one of dogs fighting for a bone. If ever I am godmother in
this part of the country, I shall distribute the sugar plums among the
children, instead of throwing them, and I shall give to the poor, the
amount of money wasted in pennies flung at random.”
“You are right, mamma; please let me be godmother to do as you say.”
“As an absolute necessity for your fulfilling that office, we must have
a baby to be baptized,” said the mamma, smiling, “and I know of none.”
“Oh, how provoking! I could be godmother with Henry. What would you
call your godson, Henry.”
“Henry, of course, what would you call him?”
“Madelon.”
“Oh horror! Madelon! In the first place it is not a name.”
“It is as much of a name as Pierrette.”
“Pierrette is prettier, and besides you see that William yielded.”
“I could give up too,” replied Beatrice, “but we have time enough to
think of it.”
We reached the castle, all got out of the carriage and hastened to lay
aside their holiday attire; my trinkets and dahlias were also taken off
and I was turned out to pasture, whilst the children ate their lunch.
XIX.
THE LEARNED DONKEY.
One day I saw the children run into the meadow where I was quietly
grazing very near the castle. Louis and James were playing around
me, finding amusement in getting on my back. They thought themselves
as nimble as gymnasts, whilst they were, in reality, I must confess,
somewhat clumsy, little James especially, who was plump, chunkier than
his cousin. Louis at last, by holding on to my tail, managed to climb
(he called it jumping) up on my back. James made prodigious efforts to
follow his example, but the poor little fat fellow slipped, fell and
got out of breath, and it was very evident that he could not succeed
without the assistance of his cousin somewhat older than himself. To
spare them so much fatigue, I went towards a piece of rising ground.
Louis had already shown his agility, and James had just succeeded with
a great effort in seating himself, when we heard the whole joyous
band crying out: “James, Louis, we are going to the fair day after
to-morrow, to see the learned donkey!”
“The learned donkey? what is that?” inquired James.
“A donkey,” replied Elizabeth, “that plays all manner of tricks.”
“What tricks?”
“Well tricks—tricks of—tricks I mean,” said Beatrice.
“He can’t beat Cadichon, I know.”
“Pshaw! Cadichon!”, said Henry, “Cadichon is a very fine animal and
very intelligent of his kind, but he is nothing in comparison with the
learned donkey at the fair!”
“I am very sure,” answered Maud, “that if Cadichon were shown these
tricks he could do them.”
“Let us see what this learned donkey does, and then we can judge better
as to whether he is more learned than our Cadichon,” said William.
“William is right,” replied Maud, “let us wait till after the fair.”
“And what will we do after the fair?” said Elizabeth.
“We will dispute,” replied Beatrice laughing. James and Louis after
whispering a few words to each other, had kept silence until the rest
went away. When assured that these were out of sight and hearing, they
commenced to dance around me, laughing and singing:
“Cadichon, Cadichon,
To the fair you will go,
And the learned donkey show
That as smart as he may be,
You are smarter still than he;
Every one will honor you,
Every one will praise you too,
And we shall be proud, so do
Your best, Cadichon, Cadichon.”
“What we are singing is very pretty,” said James, stopping suddenly.
“That is because they are rhymes,” answered Louis. “I really think they
are pretty.”
“Rhymes? I thought it was very difficult to make rhymes.”
Very easy as you see,
Though difficult apparently.
“There are some more.”
“Let us run and say them to our cousins.”
“No, no, if they heard our verses, they would guess what we are going
to do; we must take them by surprise at the fair.”
“But do you believe papa and uncle will let us take Cadichon to the
fair?”
“Certainly, when we tell them in confidence, we want him to see the
learned donkey.”
“Let us run quick to ask them.”
They were running at full speed towards the house just as the papas
were coming to the meadow to see what the children were doing. “Papa,
papa!” cried they, “come quick; we have something to ask you.”
“Speak children, what is it?”
“Not here, papa, not here,” was the mysterious answer, each one drawing
his father aside.
“What is the matter?” said Louis’s papa, laughing. “Into what
conspiracy do you wish to drag me?”
“Sh sh, papa, here is what it is: you know that day after to-morrow
there will be a learned donkey at the fair.”
“No, I did not know it, but what have we to do with learned donkeys,
we, who have Cadichon?”
“That is precisely what we say, papa, that Cadichon is smarter than
any of them. My sisters and cousins are going to the fair to see this
educated donkey, and we would like very much to take Cadichon, so that
he may see what this donkey does and imitate him.”
“What?” said James’s papa, “would you put Cadichon in the crowd to look
at the donkey?”
“Yes, papa, instead of going in the carriage, we can ride Cadichon, and
get very near the circle in which the learned donkey plays his tricks.”
“I would not ask anything better myself, but I do not believe Cadichon
could learn much in one lesson.”
“Can’t you, Cadichon, do as many smart tricks as that silly, educated
donkey?”
In addressing this question, James looked at me so anxiously, that to
reassure him, I began braying, laughing all the while at his fears.
“Do you hear that, papa,” said James triumphantly, “Cadichon says yes.”
The two papas laughed, caressed their little boys, and turned away,
promising not only that I should go to the fair, but that they would
accompany us there.
“Ah!” said I to myself, “they doubt my capacity! It is astonishing how
much more intelligent these children are than their fathers.”
The great day arrived. One hour before our departure, my toilet was
made, and Louis and James having curried and rubbed me to the verge of
vexation; after which, they decorated me with a perfectly new bridle
and saddle, and then announced their readiness to start, as they wished
to set out a little in advance, for fear of being late.
“Why do you wish to go so early?” asked Henry, “and how are you going?”
“We are going on Cadichon, and want to start early, because we can’t go
fast,” said Louis.
“Are you two going alone?” inquired Henry.
“No, papa and uncle will accompany us.”
“It will certainly be tiresome, if you are going at a gait to suit
their walk.”
“Oh! we never find it tiresome in our papa’s company.”
“I prefer going in the carriage, we will get there long before you.”
“No, you will not, for we will start so much sooner.”
As they finished speaking, I was led out all saddled and decorated—the
fathers were ready; they put their little boys on my back, and I
started very slowly, so as not to make their fathers run.
In an hour we reached the fair ground, where we found many persons
already collected around the rope marking out a circle, within which
the educated donkey was to display his ability. The fathers of the two
little boys I had brought, stationed us very near the rope, and my
other masters and mistresses soon rejoined us.
The sound of a drum was the signal for my learned friend’s appearance.
All eyes were fixed upon the curtain, which rose at last, and he came
forth, a thin, sad, miserable looking creature. His master called him;
he approached, but with an air of fear, and I saw at once that the poor
thing’s learning had been instilled by hard beatings.
“Gentlemen and ladies,” said the master, “I have the honor of
presenting to you Mirliflore, the prince of donkeys. He is not like the
rest of his race, he is a learned donkey, more learned indeed than many
of us, he is the donkey par excellence, and without an equal. Come,
Mirliflore, show what you can do, but first salute these gentlemen and
ladies like a well raised donkey.”
This discourse touched my pride, and made me very angry; I resolved to
be revenged before the end of the exhibition.
Mirliflore advancing three steps, made an inclination of his head with
a melancholy air.
“Go, Mirliflore, go give this bouquet to the prettiest lady here.”
I laughed at seeing every hand half extended to receive the bouquet.
Mirliflore went all around the circle, and stopping before a fat, ugly
woman that I afterwards learned was the master’s wife, and who held a
little sugar in her hand, lay down his flowers.
[Illustration: “Mirliflore, the prince of donkeys.”—(Page 152.)]
This want of taste enraged me; leaping over the rope to the great
surprise of every one present, and making a graceful salutation, to
those on my right, my left, before and behind me, I walked resolutely
up to the fat woman, snatched the bouquet from her hands, and laid
it on Maud’s lap. I then returned to my place, amidst the plaudits
of the multitude. Every one inquired the meaning of this apparition;
some believed it was all arranged beforehand, and that there were two
learned donkeys; whilst others who had seen me with my little masters
recognizing me, were delighted at my intelligence.
[Illustration]
Mirliflore’s master seemed quite vexed, but the animal himself appeared
so indifferent to my triumph, that I began to believe him really
stupid, which is a quality very rare among us donkeys. When silence was
re-established, the master called Mirliflore out again.
“Come Mirliflore, show these gentlemen and ladies that you not only
know how to distinguish beauty, but likewise stupidity; take this cap
and put it on the most stupid person here.”
Saying this, he gave Mirliflore a magnificent dunce-cap, ornamented
with bells and variegated ribbons. Mirliflore, taking it between
his teeth, went towards a fat, red faced boy, who inclined his head
in advance to receive it. From his resemblance to the fat woman, so
falsely declared the most beautiful person present, it was easy to
recognize this boy as her son, and the master’s assistant.
“Now,” thought I, “is the moment to revenge this fool’s insulting
words!”
And before anyone could think of preventing me, I again darted into the
arena, ran to my comrade, snatched the dunce-cap from him at the moment
he was about to place it on the fat boy’s head, and ere the master had
time to defend himself, rushing at him, at putting my fore feet upon
his shoulders, I tried to place the cap upon his head. He repulsed
me violently, and grew furious, as peals of laughter and applause
resounded on all sides.
“Bravo donkey!” they cried, “this one is the real learned donkey.”
Emboldened by the applause of the multitude, I made a new effort to
fit the cap; as he recoiled I advanced, and we finished by a flying
race, the man running at full speed, I after him, not getting near
enough to him to ornament him with the cap, and not wishing to do him
any harm. At last I jumped behind him, and placing my fore feet upon
his shoulders, let him feel my weight; he fell and I profited by it,
to bury his head up to his very chin in the dunce’s cap. I retired
immediately; the man arose, but being somewhat confused and stunned
by the fall, and unable to see clearly, he began to turn and jump. And
I to complete the farce pretended to do the same, interrupting this
burlesque imitation, by approaching him and braying in his ear, then
standing on my hind feet, jumping like him, sometimes to one side, some
times before him.
[Illustration]
To depict the laughter, the bravos, the joyful stamping of feet,
would be an impossibility. Never had a donkey in the world such
success, such a triumph! The ring was invaded by hundreds of persons
wishing to touch, to caress, to approach me. Those who knew me were
proud of what I had done, and told my name to those not acquainted
with me. Numberless anecdotes, both true and false, were related,
in which I played a magnificent part. One time, said my admirers, I
had extinguished a fire, working a pump all alone; I had ascended
to the third story, opened my mistress’s door, seized her asleep in
bed, and all hope of escape by the stairs being cut off, I had jumped
from the third story, having first carefully placed my mistress on my
back—that neither she nor I had been hurt, because her guardian angel
had sustained us in the air and we had gently descended to the ground.
Another time, unassisted, I had killed fifty brigands, strangling them
one by one with a single bite, so that none awakened to alarm the
rest. I had afterwards liberated one hundred and fifty prisoners these
robbers had kept chained in the caves for the sake of their services,
making the poor creatures work to feed and enrich their masters. Again,
at a race, I had beaten the best horses in the country, and finally, in
five hours, I had made twenty-five leagues without stopping.
The admiration for me increased in proportion to the circulation of
these stories. I was surrounded, almost smothered, and the soldiers
were obliged to drive off the crowd. Happily, the parents of James,
Louis, and all my other masters had led their children away, whilst the
crowd collected around me. I had much difficulty in escaping from my
admirers, who wished to carry me in triumph—even the assistance of the
soldiers was not sufficient to prevent such an honor, and I, in order
to force my way through the crowd, was obliged to give a few bites, and
attempted kicks, taking care, however, to hurt no one.
[Illustration: The soldiers were obliged to drive off the crowd.—(Page
158.)]
Once rid of the crowd, I sought Louis and James, but in vain. Not
wishing my dear little masters to return home on foot, I ran to the
stable where our horses were always kept to see if they were still
there, and, not finding them, I knew Louis and James had gone. Then,
taking the road to the castle, and running at full speed, I soon caught
up with the two carriages packed with parents and children to the
number of fifteen.
“Cadichon! there is Cadichon!” exclaimed all the children when they saw
me.
The carriages were stopped; James and Louis asked permission to get
out, as they wished to compliment and caress me, and return home on
foot. Their example was followed by Ruth and Helen, then by William and
Henry, and at last by Elizabeth, Beatrice and Maud.
“So you see,” said Louis and James, “we knew Cadichon better than you!
How he did distinguish himself! He easily understood all the tricks of
that stupid Mirliflore and his foolish master.”