was proceeded with. Michel was appointed Chief Justice and Nogent
Saint-Laurent was counsel for the prisoner. I may remark that the jury
were inclined to find a verdict of guilty, and after the first speech
of the Judge, the capital sentence seemed almost certain. But the
skilful advocate, in a long and eloquent speech, brought clearly
before us the innocence of Mysouff, the malice of the monkeys, their
quickness and incessant activity compared with the less inventive
minds of cats. He showed us that Mysouff was incapable of
contemplating such a crime; he described him wrapped in peaceful
sleep, then, suddenly aroused from this innocent slumber by the
abandoned creatures who, living as they did opposite the aviary, had
doubtless long harboured their diabolical designs. We saw Mysouff but
half awake, still purring innocently, stretching himself, opening his
pink mouth, from which protruded a tongue like that of a heraldic
lion. He shakes his ears, a proof that he rejects the infamous
proposal that is being made to him; he listens; at first he
refuses--the advocate insisted that the prisoner had begun by
refusing--then, naturally yielding, hardly more than a kitten,
corrupted as he had been by the cook, who instead of feeding him on
milk or a little weak broth, as she had been told to do, had
recklessly excited his carnivorous appetite by giving him pieces of
liver and parings of raw chops; the unfortunate young cat yields
little by little, prompted more by good nature and weakness of mind
than by cruelty or greed, and, only half awake, he does the bidding of
the villainous monkeys, the real instigators of the crime. The
counsel here took the prisoner in his arms, showed us his paws, and
defied any anatomist to say that with paws so made, an animal could
possibly open a door that was bolted. Finally, he borrowed Michel's
Dictionary of Natural History, opened it at the article 'Cat,'
'Domestic Cat,' 'Wild Cat'; he proved that Mysouff was no wild cat,
seeing that nature had robed him in white, the colour of innocence;
then smiting the book with vehemence, 'Cat!' he exclaimed, 'Cat! You
shall now hear, gentlemen, what the illustrious Buffon, the man with
lace sleeves, has to say about the cat.
'"The cat," says M. de Buffon, "is not to be trusted, but it is kept
to rid the house of enemies which cannot otherwise be destroyed.
Although the cat, especially when young, is pleasing, nature has given
it perverse and untrustworthy qualities which increase with age, and
which education may conceal, but will not eradicate." Well, then,'
exclaimed the orator, after having read this passage, 'what more
remains to be said? Did poor Mysouff come here with a false character
seeking a situation? Was it not the cook herself who found him--who
took him by force from the heap of sticks behind which he had sought
refuge? It was merely to interest and touch the heart of her master
that she described him mewing in the cellar. We must reflect also,
that those unhappy birds, his victims--I allude especially to the
quails, which are eaten by man--though their death is doubtless much
to be deplored, yet they must have felt themselves liable to death at
any moment, and are now released from the terrors they experienced
every time they saw the cook approaching their retreat. Finally,
gentlemen, I appeal to your justice, and I think you will now admit
that the interesting and unfortunate Mysouff has but yielded, not only
to incontrollable natural instincts, but also to foreign influence. I
claim for my client the plea of extenuating circumstances.'
The counsel's pleading was received with cries of applause, and
Mysouff, found guilty of complicity in the murder of the quails,
turtle-doves, and other birds of different species, but with
extenuating circumstances, was sentenced only to five years of
monkeys.
VI
The next winter, certain circumstances, with which I need not trouble
my readers, led to my making a journey to Algiers. I seldom make any
long journey without bringing home some animal to add to my
collection, and accordingly I returned from Africa accompanied by a
vulture, which I bought from a little boy who called himself a
Beni-Mouffetard. I paid ten francs for the vulture, and made the
Beni-Mouffetard a present of two more, in return for which he warned
me that my vulture was excessively savage, and had already bitten off
the thumb of an Arab and the tail of a dog. I promised to be very
careful, and the next day I became the possessor of a magnificent
vulture, whose only fault consisted in a strong desire to tear in
pieces everybody who came near him. I bestowed on him the name of his
compatriot, Jugurtha. He had a chain fastened to his leg, and had for
further security been placed in a large cage made of spars. In this
cage he travelled quite safely as far as Philippeville, without any
other accident than that he nearly bit off the finger of a passenger
who had tried to make friends with him. At Philippeville a difficulty
arose. It was three miles from Stora, the port where we were to
embark, and the diligence did not go on so far. I and several other
gentlemen thought that we would like to walk to Stora, the scenery
being beautiful and the distance not very great; but what was I to do
about Jugurtha? I could not ask a porter to carry the cage; Jugurtha
would certainly have eaten him through the spars. I thought of a plan:
it was to lengthen his chain eight or ten feet by means of a cord; and
then to drive him in front of me with a long pole. But the first
difficulty was to induce Jugurtha to come out of his cage; none of us
dared put our hands within reach of his beak. However, I managed to
fasten the cord to his chain, then I made two men armed with pickaxes
break away the spars. Jugurtha finding himself free, spread out his
wings to fly away, but he could of course only fly as far as his cord
would permit.
Now Jugurtha was a very intelligent creature; he saw that there was an
obstacle in the way of his liberty, and that I was that obstacle; he
therefore turned upon me with fury, in the hope of putting me to
flight, or devouring me in case of resistance. I, however, was no less
sagacious than Jugurtha; I had foreseen the attack, and provided
myself with a good switch made of dogwood, as thick as one's
forefinger, and eight feet long. With this switch I parried Jugurtha's
attack, which astonished but did not stop him; however, a second blow,
given with all my force, made him stop short, and a third caused him
to fly in the opposite direction, that is, towards Stora. Once
launched upon this road, I had only to use my switch adroitly to make
Jugurtha proceed at about the same pace as we did ourselves, to the
great admiration of my fellow-travellers, and of all the people whom
we met on the road. On our arrival at Stora Jugurtha made no
difficulty about getting on board the steamer, and when tied to the
mast, waited calmly while a new cage was made for him. He went into it
of his own accord, received with gratitude the pieces of meat which
the ship's cook gave him, and three days after his embarkation he
became so tame that he used to present me with his head to scratch, as
a parrot does. I brought Jugurtha home without further adventure, and
committed him to the charge of Michel.
It was not until my return from Algiers on this occasion that I went
to live at Monte Cristo, the building of which had been finished
during my absence. Up to this time I had lived in a smaller house
called the Villa Medicis, and while the other was building, Michel
made arrangements for the proper lodging of all my animals, for he
was much more occupied about their comfort than he was about mine or
even his own. They had all plenty of room, particularly the dogs, who
were not confined by any sort of enclosure, and Pritchard, who was
naturally generous, kept open house with a truly Scottish hospitality.
It was his custom to sit in the middle of the road and salute every
dog that passed with a little not unfriendly growl; smelling him, and
permitting himself to be smelt in a ceremonious manner. When a mutual
sympathy had been produced by this means, a conversation something
like this would begin:
'Have you a good master?' asked the strange dog.
'Not bad,' Pritchard would reply.
'Does your master feed you well?'
'Well, one has porridge twice a day, bones at breakfast and dinner,
and anything one can pick up in the kitchen besides.'
The stranger licked his lips.
'You are not badly off,' said he.
'I do not complain,' replied Pritchard. Then, seeing the strange dog
look pensive, he added, 'Would you like to dine with us?'
The invitation was accepted at once, for dogs do not wait to be
pressed, like some foolish human beings.
At dinner-time Pritchard came in, followed by an unknown dog, who,
like Pritchard, placed himself beside my chair, and scratched my knee
with his paw in such a confiding way that I felt sure that Pritchard
must have been commending my benevolence. The dog, after spending a
pleasant evening, found that it was rather too late to return home, so
slept comfortably on the grass after his good supper. Next morning he
took two or three steps as if to go away, then changing his mind, he
inquired of Pritchard, 'Should I be much in the way if I stayed on
here?'
[Illustration: DUMAS ARRIVES AT STORA WITH HIS VULTURE]
Pritchard replied, 'You could quite well, with management, make
them believe you are the neighbour's dog, and after two or three days,
nobody would know you did not belong to the house. You might live here
just as well as those idle useless monkeys, who do nothing but amuse
themselves, or that greedy vulture, who eats tripe all day long, or
that idiot of a macaw, who is always screaming about nothing.'
The dog stayed, keeping in the background at first, but in a day or
two he jumped up upon me and followed me everywhere, and there was
another guest to feed, that was all. Michel asked me one day if I knew
how many dogs there were about the place. I answered that I did not.
'Sir,' said Michel, 'there are thirteen.'
'That is an unlucky number, Michel; you must see that they do not all
dine together, else one of them is sure to die first.'
'It is not that, though,' said Michel, 'it is the expense I am
thinking of. Why, they would eat an ox a day, all those dogs; and if
you will allow me, sir, I will just take a whip and put the whole pack
to the door, to-morrow morning.'
'But, Michel, let us do it handsomely. These dogs, after all, do
honour to the house by staying here. So give them a grand dinner
to-morrow; tell them that it is the farewell banquet, and then, at
dessert, put them all to the door.'
'But after all, sir, I cannot put them to the door, because there
isn't a door.'
'Michel,' said I, 'there are certain things in this world that one
must just put up with, to keep up one's character and position. Since
all these dogs have come to me, let them stay with me. I don't think
they will ruin me, Michel. Only, on their own account, you should be
careful that there are not thirteen.'
'I will drive away one,' suggested Michel, 'and then there will only
be twelve.'
'On the contrary, let another come, and then there will be fourteen.'
Michel sighed.
'It's a regular kennel,' he murmured.
It was, in fact, a pack of hounds, though rather a mixed one. There
was a Russian wolfhound, there was a poodle, a water spaniel, a spitz,
a dachshund with crooked legs, a mongrel terrier, a mongrel King
Charles, and a Turkish dog which had no hair on its body, only a tuft
upon its head and a tassel at the end of its tail. Our next recruit
was a little Maltese terrier, named Lisette, which raised the number
to fourteen. After all, the expense of these fourteen amounted to
rather over two pounds a month. A single dinner given to five or six
of my own species would have cost me three times as much, and they
would have gone away dissatisfied; for, even if they had liked my
wine, they would certainly have found fault with my books. Out of this
pack of hounds, one became Pritchard's particular friend and Michel's
favourite. This was a dachshund with short crooked legs, a long body,
and, as Michel said, the finest voice in the department of
Seine-et-Oise. Portugo--that was his name--had in truth a most
magnificent bass voice. I used to hear it sometimes in the night when
I was writing, and think how that deep-toned majestic bark would
please St. Hubert if he heard it in his grave. But what was Portugo
doing at that hour, and why was he awake while the other dogs
slumbered? This mystery was revealed one day, when a stewed rabbit was
brought me for dinner. I inquired where the rabbit came from.
'You thought it good, sir?' Michel asked me with a pleased face.
'Excellent.'
'Well, then, you can have one just the same every day, sir, if you
like.'
[Illustration: 'IT'S A REGULAR KENNEL']
'Every day, Michel? Surely that is almost too much to promise.
Besides, I should like, before consuming so many rabbits, to know
where they come from.'
'You shall know that this very night, if you don't mind coming out
with me.'
'Ah! Michel, I have told you before that you are a poacher!'
'Oh, sir, as to that, I am as innocent as a baby--and, as I was
saying, if you will only come out with me to-night--'
'Must I go far, Michel?'
'Not a hundred yards, sir.'
'At what o'clock?'
'Just at the moment when you hear Portugo's first bark.'
'Very well, Michel, I will be with you.'
I had nearly forgotten this promise, and was writing as usual, when
Michel came into my study. It was about eleven o'clock, and a fine
moonlight night.
'Hallo!' said I, 'Portugo hasn't barked yet, has he?'
'No, but I was just thinking that if you waited for that, you would
miss seeing something curious.'
'What should I miss, Michel?'
'The council of war which is held between Pritchard and Portugo.'
I followed Michel, and sure enough, among the fourteen dogs, which
were mostly sleeping in different attitudes, Portugo and Pritchard
were sitting up, and seemed to be gravely debating some important
question. When the debate was ended, they separated; Portugo went out
at the gate to the high road, turned the corner, and disappeared,
while Pritchard began deliberately, as if he had plenty of time before
him, to follow the little path which led up to a stone quarry. We
followed Pritchard, who took no notice of us, though he evidently knew
we were there. He went up to the top of the quarry, examined and smelt
about over the ground with great care, and when he had found a scent
and assured himself that it was fresh, he lay down flat and waited.
Almost at the same moment, Portugo's first bark was heard some two
hundred yards off. Now the plan the two dogs had laid was clear to us.
The rabbits came out of their holes in the quarry every evening to go
to their feeding ground; Pritchard found the scent of one; Portugo
then made a wide circuit, found and chased the rabbit, and, as a
rabbit or a hare always comes back upon its former track, Pritchard,
lying in ambush, awaited its return. Accordingly, as the sound of
Portugo's barking came closer, we saw Pritchard's yellow eyes light up
and flame like a topaz; then all of a sudden he made a spring, and we
heard a cry of fright and distress.
'They've done it!' said Michel, and he went to Pritchard, took out of
his mouth a nice plump rabbit, gave it a blow behind the ears to
finish it, and, opening it on the spot, gave the inside to the two
dogs, who shared their portion contentedly, although they probably
regretted Michel's interference. As Michel told me, I could have eaten
a stewed rabbit every day for dinner, if such had been my desire.
But after this, events of a different kind were taking place, which
obliged me to leave my country pursuits, and I spent about two months
in Paris. The day before I returned to St.-Germains I wrote and told
Michel to expect me, and found him waiting for me on the road half way
from the station.
'I must tell you, sir,' he said, as soon as I was within hearing,
'that two important events have happened at Monte Cristo since you
went away.'
'Well, Michel, let me hear.'
'In the first place, Pritchard got his hind foot into a snare and
instead of staying where he was as any other dog would have done, he
bit off his foot with his teeth, and so he came home upon three legs.'
'But,' said I, much shocked, 'is the poor beast dead after such an
accident?'
'Dead, sir? Was not I there to doctor him?'
'And what did you do to him then?'
'I cut off the foot properly at the joint with a pruning knife. I then
sewed the skin neatly over it, and now you would never know it was
off! Look there, the rascal has smelt you and is coming to meet you.'
[Illustration: JUGURTHA BECOMES DIOGENES]
And at that moment Pritchard appeared, coming at full gallop, so that,
as Michel had said, one would hardly have noticed that he had only
three feet. My meeting with Pritchard was, as may be supposed, full of
deep emotion on both sides. I was sorry for the poor animal. When I
had recovered a little, I asked Michel what his other piece of news
was.
'The latest news, sir, is that Jugurtha's name is no longer Jugurtha.'
'What is it then?'
'It is Diogenes.'
'And why?'
'Look, sir!'
We had now reached the little avenue of ash-trees which formed the
entrance to the villa. To the left of the avenue the vulture was seen
walking proudly to and fro in an immense tub, which Michel had made
into a house for him.
'Ah! now I understand,' said I. 'Of course, directly he lives in a
tub----'
'That's it!' said Michel. 'Directly he lives in a tub, he cannot be
Jugurtha any more; he _must_ be Diogenes.'
I admired Michel's historical learning no less than I did his surgical
skill, just as the year before, I had bowed before his superior
knowledge of natural history.
VII
In order to lead to more incidents in the life of Pritchard I must now
tell my readers that I had a friend called Charpillon, who had a
passion for poultry, and kept the finest hens in the whole department
of Yonne. These hens were chiefly Cochins and Brahmapootras; they laid
the most beautiful brown eggs, and Charpillon surrounded them with
every luxury and never would allow them to be killed. He had the
inside of his hen-house painted green, in order that the hens, even
when shut up, might fancy themselves in a meadow. In fact, the
illusion was so complete, that when the hen-house was first painted,
the hens refused to go in at night, fearing to catch cold; but after a
short time even the least intelligent among them understood that she
had the good fortune to belong to a master who knew how to combine the
useful with the beautiful. Whenever these hens ventured out upon the
road, strangers would exclaim with delight, 'Oh! what beautiful hens!'
to which some one better acquainted with the wonders of this fortunate
village would reply, 'I should think so! These are M. Charpillon's
hens.' Or, if the speaker were of an envious disposition, he might
add, 'Yes indeed! hens that _nothing_ is thought too good for!'
When my friend Charpillon heard that I had returned from Paris, he
invited me to come and stay with him to shoot, adding as a further
inducement that he would give me the best and freshest eggs I had ever
eaten in my life. Though I did not share Charpillon's great love of
poultry, I am very fond of fresh eggs, and the nankeen-coloured eggs
laid by his Brahma hens had an especially delicate flavour. But all
earthly pleasures are uncertain. The next morning Charpillon's hens
were found to have only laid three eggs instead of eight. Such a thing
had never happened before, and Charpillon did not know whom to
suspect; however he suspected every one rather than his hens, and a
sort of cloud began to obscure the confidence he had hitherto placed
in the security of his enclosures. While these gloomy doubts were
occupying us, I observed Michel hovering about as if he had something
on his mind, and asked him if he wanted to speak to me.
'I should be glad to have a few words with you, sir.'
'In private?'
'It would be better so, for the honour of Pritchard.'
'Ah, indeed? What has the rascal been doing now?'
'You remember, sir, what your solicitor said to you one day when I was
in the room?'
'What did he say, Michel? My solicitor is a clever man, and says many
sensible things; still it is difficult for me to remember them all.'
'Well, sir,' he said, 'find out whom the crime benefits, and you will
find the criminal.'
'I remember that axiom perfectly, Michel. Well?'
'Well, sir, whom can this crime of stolen eggs benefit more than
Pritchard?'
'Pritchard? You think it is he who steals the eggs? Pritchard, who
brings home eggs without breaking them!'
'You mean who _used_ to bring them. Pritchard is an animal who has
vicious instincts, sir, and if he does not come to a bad end some day,
I shall be surprised, that's all.'
'Does Pritchard eat eggs, then?'
'He does; and it is only right to say, sir, that that is _your_
fault.'
'What! my fault? My fault that Pritchard eats eggs?'
Michel shook his head sadly, but nothing could shake his opinion.
'Now really, Michel, this is too much! Is it not enough that critics
tell me that I pervert everybody's mind with my corrupt literature,
but you must join my detractors and say that my bad example corrupts
Pritchard?'
'I beg pardon, sir, but do you remember how one day, at the Villa
Medicis, while you were eating an egg, M. Rusconi who was there said
something so ridiculous that you let the egg fall upon the floor?'
'I remember that quite well.'
'And do you remember calling in Pritchard, who was scraping up a bed
of fuchsias in the garden, and making him lick up the egg?'
'I do not remember him scraping up a bed of fuchsias, but I do
recollect that he licked up my egg.'
'Well, sir, it is that and nothing else that has been his ruin. Oh! he
is quick enough to learn what is wrong; there is no need to show it
him twice.'
'Michel, you are really extremely tedious. How have I shown Pritchard
what is wrong?'
'By making him eat an egg. You see, sir, before that he was as
innocent as a new-born babe; he didn't know what an egg was--he
thought it was a badly made golf ball. But as soon as you make him eat
an egg, he learns what it is. Three days afterwards, M. Alexandre came
home, and was complaining to me of his dog--that he was rough and tore
things with his teeth in carrying them. "Ah! look at Pritchard," I
said to him, "how gentle _he_ is! you shall see the way he carries an
egg." So I fetched an egg from the kitchen, placed it on the ground,
and said, "Fetch, Pritchard!" Pritchard didn't need to be told twice,
but what do you think the cunning rascal did? You remember, some days
before, Monsieur ---- the gentleman who had such a bad toothache, you
know. You recollect his coming to see you?'
'Yes, of course I remember.'
'Well, Pritchard pretended not to notice, but those yellow eyes of his
notice everything. Well, all of a sudden he pretended to have the same
toothache that that gentleman had, and crack! goes the egg. Then he
pretends to be ashamed of his awkwardness--he swallows it in a hurry,
shell and all! I believed him--I thought it was an accident and
fetched another egg. Scarcely did he make three steps with the egg in
his mouth than the toothache comes on again, and crack! goes the
second egg. I began then to suspect something--I went and got a third,
but if I hadn't stopped then he'd have eaten the whole basketful. So
then M. Alexandre, who likes his joke, said, "Michel, you may possibly
make a good musician of Pritchard, or a good astronomer, but he'll
never be a good incubator!"'
'How is it that you never told me this before, Michel?'
'Because I was ashamed, sir; for this is not the worst.'
'What! not the worst?'
Michel shook his head.
'He has developed an unnatural craving for eggs; he got into M.
Acoyer's poultry-yard and stole all his. M. Acoyer came to complain to
me. How do you suppose he lost his foot?'
'You told me yourself--in somebody's grounds where he had forgotten to
read the notice about trespassing.'
'You are joking, sir--but I really believe he can read.'
'Oh! Michel, Pritchard is accused of enough sins without having _that_
vice laid to his charge! But about his foot?'
'I think he caught it in some wire getting out of a poultry-yard.'
'But you know it happened at night, and the hens are shut up at night.
How could he get into the hen-house?'
'He doesn't need to get into the hen-house after eggs; he can charm
the hens. Pritchard is what one may call a charmer.'
'Michel, you astonish me more and more!'
'Yes, indeed, sir. I knew that he used to charm the hens at the Villa
Medicis; only M. Charpillon has such wonderful hens, I did not think
they would have allowed it. But I see now all hens are alike.'
'Then you think it is Pritchard who----'
'I think he charms M. Charpillon's hens, and that is the reason they
don't lay--at least, that they only lay for Pritchard.'
'Indeed, Michel, I should much like to know how he does it!'
'If you are awake very early to-morrow, sir, just look out of your
window--you can see the poultry-yard from it, and you will see a sight
that you have never seen before!'