HOW FATHER LUSTUCRU CONFIDES HIS ODIOUS PLANS
TO NICHOLAS FARIBOLE.
Father Lustucru searched for an accomplice. He at first thought of
finding one among the domestics of the household; but he reflected that
they all were devoted to Mother Michel, and were capable of betraying
him, and causing him to be shamefully turned out of the mansion, in which
he held so honorable and lucrative a post. However, he had great desire
for an accomplice. In what class, of what age and sex, and on what terms
should he select one?
Occupied with these thoughts, Lustucru went out one morning at about
half-past six, to take a walk on the quay. As he crossed the threshold,
he noticed on the other side of the street a large woman, dry and
angular, clothed in cheap, flashy colors. This woman had sunken eyes, a
copper-colored complexion, the nose of a bird of prey, and a face as
wrinkled as an old apple. She was talking with a boy of thirteen or
fourteen, covered with rags, but possessing a sharp, intelligent
countenance.
[Illustration: The old Woman and the Boy.]
Father Lustucru thought he recognized the old woman, but without
recalling where he had seen her. If he had been less occupied he would
have searched longer into his memory; but the idea of making away with
the cat absorbed him entirely, and he continued his route with a
thoughtful air, his head bent forward, his arms crossed upon his breast,
and his eyes fixed upon the ground, as if the accomplice he wanted might
possibly spring up out of the earth.
Thus he wandered for some time; the breeze of the morning failed to cool
his blood, heated with evil passions. Neither the spectacle of the pure
skies, nor the songs of the birds, who enjoyed themselves on the border
of the river, awoke in him those calm and sweet emotions with which they
inspire honest people.
[Illustration: Lustucru is absorbed.]
At the moment when he returned, the old woman was no longer to be seen;
but the boy remained in the same place, seated upon a stone post, with
his nose in the air, regarding the mansion of Madame de la Grenouillere
very attentively. Lustucru approached him and addressed him in these
terms:--
"What are you doing there, youngster?"
"I? Nothing. I am looking at that mansion."
"I believe that without difficulty; but why do you look at it?"
"Because I find it handsome, and would like to live in it; one ought to
be happy there."
"Yes, indeed," answered the steward, with emphasis; "they pass the days
there happily enough. Who is that woman with whom you were speaking a
while since?"
"It was Madame Bradamor."
[Illustration: The Boy on the Stone Post.]
"Madame Bradamor, the famous fortune-teller, who lives below, at the
other end of the street?"
"The same."
"You know her?"
"A little; I sometimes do errands for her."
"Ah, ah!... And what did the old wizard say to you?"
"She said that if I could enter that house as a domestic, I should have a
very agreeable existence."
"Madame de la Grenouillere is absent, my little friend, and, besides, her
house is full."
"That is a pity," said the boy, drawing a deep sigh.
Father Lustucru made several steps as if to re-enter, rested his hand
upon the knocker of the door, then turned abruptly and walked up to the
boy.
"What is your name?"
"Nicholas Langlume, the same as my father's; but I am more generally
known under the nickname of Faribole."
"What do you do?"
"Nothing; my father works on the quay, and I,--I live from day to day,
gaining my bread as I can. I run errands, I sell May-bugs and black-birds
and sparrows, I pick up nails in the gutters and sell them, I open the
doors of carriages, I fish for logs in the Seine, I sing verses in the
streets, I light lamps, and sometimes I play in the pantomimes at the
theatre of Nicolet. These trades, sir, are not worth much; and I have
all I can do to get something to eat every day."
"You interest me," replied Father Lustucru, "and I've a wish to help you
on in the world. Tell me, Faribole, have you a taste for cooking?"
"Rather! I love the tid-bits, but my means do not allow me"--
"I did not ask you if you were fond of eating, stupid! I asked you if you
had the taste, the inclination, to do cooking."
"I don't know; I never tried."
[Illustration: The Steward engages Faribole.]
"Well, then, Faribole, I will give you lessons. Come, follow me; I will
clothe you and take care of you at my own expense, in awaiting the
arrival of Madame de la Grenouillere. She is a good lady, and will
doubtless retain you; but if she does not, your education will be
commenced, and you'll be able to place yourself elsewhere."
"You are, then, in the service of the Countess?"
"I am her steward," said Father Lustucru, with dignity.
The eyes of Faribole sparkled with pleasure; he bowed respectfully before
the steward, and said with warmth:--
"Ah, how much I owe to you!"
[Illustration: A little awkward at first.]
Faribole was installed that same day, and cordially received by the other
servants of the household. He was a good-natured boy, serviceable and
quick, and, although a little awkward in his new clothes and at his new
duties, he showed plenty of willingness.
"Faribole," said the steward to his protege, several days afterward, "It
is well to let you know the ways of the house. There is an individual
here, all-powerful, who reigns as sovereign master, whose will is obeyed,
whose whims are anticipated,--and that individual is a cat. If you wish
to make your way in the world, it is necessary to seek to please
Moumouth; if the cat Moumouth accords you his affections, you will also
have that of Madame de la Grenouillere and her companion, Mother
Michel."
[Illustration: The Cat and the Boy become Friends.]
"The cat shall be my friend, and I will be the friend of the cat,"
responded the young fellow, confidently.
In effect, he showered on Moumouth so many kindnesses and caresses and
attentions, that the cat, although naturally suspicious, conceived a
lively attachment for Faribole, followed him with pleasure, teased him,
and invited him to frolics. Mother Michel was nearly jealous of the small
boy; Father Lustucru, who had ideas of his own, laughed in his sleeve,
and rubbed his hands together.
The steward, one evening, ordered Faribole to come to his chamber, and
after closing the door carefully and assuring himself that no one was
listening, he said:--
"Moumouth is your friend; you have followed my recommendations exactly."
"I shall remain in the house--is it not so?"
"Probably. You find yourself very well here?"
"Without doubt! I, who lived on black bread, I make four good meals a
day. I had a wretched blouse, full of holes, and patched trousers, and
now I am dressed like a prince. I suffer no more from cold, and, instead
of lying out under the stars, I go to sleep every night in a comfortable
bed, where I dream of gingerbread and fruit-cake."
Father Lustucru rested his chin on the palm of his right hand, and fixing
his piercing eyes upon Faribole, said to him:--
"Suppose you were obliged to take up again with the vagabond life from
which I lifted you?"
"I believe I should die with shame!"
"Then you would do anything to preserve your present position?"
"I would do anything."
[Illustration: Lustucru and Faribole.]
"Anything?"
"Anything, absolutely."
"Very well. Now, this is what I demand of you imperatively: Moumouth
follows you willingly; to-morrow, just at night-fall, you will lead him
into the garden; you will put him into a sack which I have made
expressly, and tightly draw the cords of the sack"--
"And then?" said Faribole, who opened his eyes wide.
"We will each arm us with a stick, and we will beat upon the sack until
he is dead."
"Never! never!" cried the poor boy, whose hair stood up with fright.
"Then pack your bundle quickly, and be off; I turn you away!"
"You turn me away!" repeated young Faribole, lifting up his hands to the
sky.
"I do not give you five minutes to be gone; you depend upon me here,
solely on me."
The unhappy Faribole began to weep, and the steward added, in a savage
voice,--
"Come, now! no faces! Take off your clothes, and put on your rags, and
disappear!"
Having pronounced these words, Lustucru took from a closet the miserable
vestments which Faribole had worn the day of his installation. The
steward seized them disdainfully between his thumb and forefinger, and
threw them upon the floor.
[Illustration: Faribole's Old Clothes.]
The boy looked with an air of despair at the habits he had on, compared
them with those which he was obliged to resume, and the comparison was so
little to the advantage of the latter, that he broke into loud sobs.
However, he was decided not to purchase handsome clothes at the price of
a perfidy and a horrible murder. He resolutely threw off his vest, then
his neckerchief; but at the idea of giving up his new shoes, of walking
barefoot, as formerly, over roads paved with gravel and broken glass, the
luckless Faribole had a moment of hesitation.
Father Lustucru, who observed him closely, profited by this circumstance
with consummate cunning.
"Foolish fellow!" said he; "you refuse happiness when it would be so easy
for you to retain it. If I proposed to you the death of a man, I could
understand, I could even approve of your scruples; but I propose that of
a cat--a simple cat! What do you find in that so terrible? What is a cat?
Nothing--less than nothing; one doesn't attach the least value to the
lives of cats. Inn-keepers give them to their customers to eat; the most
celebrated surgeons massacre them in making certain experiments. Cats are
thought so little of, that when a litter of six or seven are born, only
one is kept; the rest are tossed into the river."
[Illustration: "Only one is kept; the rest are tossed into the River."]
"But Moumouth is large, Moumouth is fully grown," said Faribole in a
plaintive tone; "and then, you do not know, I love him."
"You love him! you dare to love him!" cried the steward with
inexpressible rage. "Very well! I--I detest him, and I wish his death!"
"But what has he done to you, then?"
"What business is that to you? I desire his death, and that's enough."
"Mercy for him!" cried Faribole, throwing himself at the feet of
hard-hearted Lustucru.
[Illustration: "Get up! Depart!"]
"No mercy!" replied Lustucru, hissing the words through his clenched
teeth. "No mercy, neither for him nor for you. Get up, depart, be off
this very instant! It rains in torrents; you will be drenched, you will
die of cold this night,--so much the better!"
A beating rain, mixed with hailstones, pattered against the window-panes,
and the wind swept with a mournful sound through the halls of the house.
Then poor Faribole thought of the cold that would seize him, of the
privations which awaited him, of his few resources, of his immense
appetite, and how disagreeable it was to sleep on the damp earth. His
evil genius took possession of him, and whispered into his ear these
words of Father Lustucru: "What is a cat?"
"Monsieur Lustucru," said he, weeping, "do not send me away, I will do
all that you wish."
"To-morrow, at night-fall, you will lead Moumouth into the garden?"
"Yes, Monsieur Lustucru."
"You will put him into this sack?"
"Yes, Monsieur Lustucru."
"And you will beat it with me?"
The response to this question was long coming; Faribole turned pale, his
legs bent under him; finally he bowed his head, letting his arms droop at
his sides, as if he had sunk under the weight of his destiny, and
murmured, in a stifled voice:--
"Yes, Monsieur Lustucru."