IN WHICH THE CAT CONTENDS
SUCCESSFULLY AGAINST
HIS ENEMY.
The events we have recorded indicate very clearly the position of our
personages. Fearing to lose both the well-beloved cat and the advantages
she was ambitious to obtain, Mother Michel redoubled her vigilance and
attention.
Moumouth, knowing henceforth with whom he had to deal, promised himself
to avoid the steward, or to fight him, if need be, with tooth and nail.
As to Father Lustucru, it was enough that his projects had been defeated,
in order that he should persist in them with desperation. He now wished
the destruction of the poor and innocent cat, not only on account of his
jealousy of Mother Michel, but because he hated the cat itself.
"Oh, what humiliation!" he said to himself, with bitterness. "I ought to
hide myself, retire to a desert, and bury me in the bowels of the earth!
What! I, Jerome Lustucru, a grown man, a man of knowledge and experience,
a man--I dare say it--charming in society, I am vanquished, scoffed at,
taken for a dupe, by a cat of the gutter!... I leave him at the bottom of
a river, and find him at the top of a house! I wish to separate him from
his guardian, and I am the means of bringing them together! I lead Mother
Michel to the garret to torture her, and there I witness her transports
of joy! The cat I believed dead reappears to defy me!... He shall not
defy me long!"
And Father Lustucru remained absorbed in deep meditation.
[Illustration: Lustucru meditates.]
Moumouth had not yet dined that day, and he made it plain by expressive
miauing that he would very willingly place something under his teeth.
Presently, Mother Michel said to him--for she spoke to him as if he were
an intelligent being,--
"Have patience, sir; we are going to attend to you."
She descended to the parlor, which she habitually occupied since the
departure of Madame de la Grenouillere, and the cat, who accompanied
Mother Michel, was clearly displeased at seeing her take the road to the
chamber of Lustucru. Nevertheless, he went in with her, persuaded that in
the presence of that faithful friend the steward would not dare to
undertake anything against him.
At the moment she knocked at the door, Father Lustucru was taking from
the shelf a green package which bore this label: _Death to Rats_.
"This is the thing," he said to himself, thrusting the paper into his
vest. "_Death to Rats_ should also be _Death to Cats_. Our dear Moumouth
shall make the trial.... What can one do to serve you, my good Mother
Michel?"
"It is five o'clock, M. Lustucru, and you forget my cat."
[Illustration: The Green Package.]
"I forget him!" cried the steward, clasping his hands as if very much
hurt by the suspicion, "I was just thinking of him.... I am going to
prepare for him such a delicious hash that he will never want another!"
"Thanks, Monsieur Lustucru! I shall inform Madame, the Countess, of your
care for her favorite. I have received a letter from her this very day;
she sends me word that she shall return shortly; that she hopes to find
Moumouth in good condition, and that she has in reserve for me a very
handsome reward. You comprehend my joy, Monsieur Lustucru! My sister is
left a widow with four children, to whom I hand over my little savings
each year. Until now this assistance has not been much; but, thanks to
the gifts of Madame, the Countess, the poor children will be able to go
to school and learn a trade."
In pronouncing these words the eyes of Mother Michel were moist and
bright with the most sweet joy,--that which one experiences in performing
or meditating good actions. The steward, however, was not affected. He
had so given himself up to his evil passions that they completely
mastered him, and had by degrees stifled all generous sentiments in his
soul, as the tares which one lets grow choke the good grain.
[Illustration: "Come, let us go!"]
One would have said that Moumouth understood this man. The cat approached
Mother Michel, who had seated herself to chat awhile, and looking at her
with supplicating eyes, pulled at the skirt of her robe, as if to say to
her:--
"Come, let us go!"
"Take care!" said the good creature, "you will tear my dress."
Moumouth began again.
"What is it? Do you want to get out of here?" asked Mother Michel.
Moumouth made several affirmative capers in the air.
"Decidedly," she added, "this cat is not contented anywhere but in the
parlor."
She rose and withdrew, preceded by Moumouth, who bounded with joy.
A quarter of an hour afterward the steward had prepared a most appetizing
hash composed of the breast of chicken, the best quality of bread, and
other ingredients justly esteemed by dainty eaters. After adding a large
dose of the "Death to Rats," he set the hash down in an adjoining room,
and, opening the parlor door, cried:
"Monsieur is served!!"
[Illustration: Moumouth is pleased to see the Hash.]
On beholding this delicate dish, Moumouth thrilled with pleasure, for, to
tell the truth, he was rather greedy. He stretched his nose over the
plate, and then suddenly retreated, arching his back. A sickening and
infectious odor had mounted to his nostrils. He made a tour round the
plate, took another sniff, and again retreated. This animal, full of
sagacity, had scented the poison.
"Well, that is very extraordinary," said Mother Michel; and, having
vainly offered the food to her cat, she went to find Lustucru, to inform
him what had occurred.
[Illustration: He sniffs with Disgust.]
The traitor listened with inward rage.
"What!" said he, "he has refused to eat it? It is probably because he is
not hungry."
"So I suppose, Monsieur Lustucru; for your hash looks very nice. I should
like it myself, and I've half a mind to taste it, to set Moumouth an
example." At this, Father Lustucru, in spite of his hardness, could not
help trembling. For a minute he was horrified at his crime, and cried
hastily:--
[Illustration: "Don't touch it, I beg of you."]
"Don't touch it, I beg of you!"
"Why not? Is there anything wrong in the hash?"
"No, certainly not," stammered Father Lustucru; "but what has been
prepared for a cat should not serve for a Christian. It is necessary to
guard propriety, and not trifle with the dignity of human nature."
Mother Michel accepted this reasoning, and said, a little snappishly:--
"Very well; Moumouth may suit himself! I do not wish to yield to all his
fancies, and I shall not give him anything else."
The following day the hash was still uneaten.
The steward had hoped that the cat, pressed by hunger, would have thrown
himself upon the poisoned food; but Moumouth knew how to suffer. He put
up with abstinence, lived on scraps and crumbs of bread, and recoiled
with terror every time that his guardian offered him the fatal plate,
which finally remained forgotten in a corner of the closet in the
antechamber.
[Illustration: The Fatal Plate remains forgotten.]
Father Lustucru, seeing that his plot had not succeeded, was more
irritable than ever. The desire to rid himself of Moumouth became a fixed
idea with him, a passion, a monomania; he dreamed of it day and night.
Each letter in which Madame de la Grenouillere demanded news of the cat
and repeated her promise of recompense to Mother Michel, each sign of
interest given by the Countess to her two favorites, increased the blind
fury of their enemy. He thought of the most infernal plans to demolish
Moumouth without risk to himself, but none of them seemed sufficiently
safe and expeditious. Finally he decided on this one:--
[Illustration: Louis XIV.]
On a heavy pedestal, in the chamber of Mother Michel, was a marble bust
of Louis XIV., represented with a Roman helmet and a peruke interlaced
with laurel-leaves. Behind this bust was a round window, which looked
upon the staircase; and just in front of the pedestal was the downy
cushion that served as a bed for Moumouth, who would certainly have been
crushed if the bust had taken it into its head to topple over.
One night Lustucru stole noiselessly into the chamber of Mother Michel,
opened the round window, which he was careful to leave ajar, and retired
silently. At midnight, when everybody was asleep in the house, he took
one of those long brooms, commonly called a wolf-head, placed himself on
the staircase opposite the small window, rested his back firmly against
the banister, and, with the aid of the wolf-head, pushed over the bust,
which tumbled with a loud crash on the cushion beneath.
[Illustration: Downfall of Louis XIV.]
The wicked man had expected this result of his movement; it was for him
the signal of his triumph and the death of Moumouth. However, when he
heard the bust roll heavily on the floor, he was seized by a panic, and,
with trembling steps, regained his chamber. Mother Michel awoke with a
start; she was in complete darkness, and unable to procure a light, for
German chemical matches were not yet invented. Surprise and fright had
taken away her faculties for an instant, then she cried, "Stop thief!"
with all the strength of her lungs. Very soon the whole house was roused,
and all the servants came running in to learn what was the matter.
[Illustration: Lustucru appears.]
Lustucru appeared last, with a cotton night-cap on his head, and, for the
rest, very simply clad.
"What has happened?" he demanded.
"I see now," answered Mother Michel; "it is the bust of Louis XIV. that
has fallen down."
"Bah!" said Father Lustucru, playing astonishment. "But, in that case,
your cat must have received it on his head."
As he said these words, Moumouth came out from under the bed and threw
himself before Mother Michel, as if to implore her aid and protection.
Lustucru stood amazed.
[Illustration: Moumouth comes forth.]
Everybody knows how light is the slumber of cats. Moumouth, who had the
habit of sleeping with only one eye, had risen quickly on hearing a
rustling behind the round window. Like nearly all animals, he was
curious, and sought to understand anything that astonished him; so he
camped himself in the middle of the chamber, the better to observe with
what intention the wolf-head advanced at that unseasonable hour by so
unusual a route. Startled by the fall of the bust, he had fled for refuge
to the bottom of the alcove.
They gave Mother Michel, to revive her, a glass of sugar and water,
flavored with orange-flower; they picked up the great king, who had
smashed his nose and chin, and lost half of his beautiful peruke; then
everybody went to bed once more.
"Saved again!" said Father Lustucru to himself. "He always escapes me! I
shall not be able, then, to send him to his fathers before the return of
the Countess! Mother Michel will get her pension of fifteen hundred
livres, and I shall remain a nobody, the same as before. That rascally
cat distrusts me; everything I undertake alone against him fails....
Decidedly, I must get somebody to help me!"
[Illustration: Mother Michel is revived.]