governments, and to see something I have never seen before I would
gladly sit up the whole night!'
'There is no need for that--I can wake you at the right time.'
The next day at early dawn, Michel awoke me.
'I am ready, Michel,' said I, coming to the window.
'Wait, wait! let me open it very gently. If Pritchard suspects that he
is watched, he won't stir; you have no idea how deceitful he is.'
Michel opened the window with every possible precaution. From where I
stood, I could distinctly see the poultry-yard, and Pritchard lying in
his couch, his head innocently resting upon his two fore-paws. At the
slight noise which Michel made in opening the window, Pritchard
pricked up his ears and half opened his yellow eye, but as the sound
was not repeated he did not move. Ten minutes afterwards we heard the
newly wakened hens begin to cluck. Pritchard immediately opened both
eyes, stretched himself and stood upright upon his three feet. He then
cast a glance all round him, and seeing that all was quiet,
disappeared into a shed, and the next moment we saw him coming out of
a sort of little window on the other side. From this window Pritchard
easily got upon the sloping roof which overhung one side of the
poultry-yard. He had now only to jump down about six feet, and having
got into the inclosure he lay down flat in front of the hen-house,
giving a little friendly bark. A hen looked out at Pritchard's call,
and instead of seeming frightened she went to him at once and received
his compliments with apparent complacency. Nor did she seem at all
embarrassed, but proceeded to lay her egg, and that within such easy
reach of Pritchard that we had not time to see the egg--it was
swallowed the same instant. She then retired cackling triumphantly,
and her place was taken by another hen.
'Well, now, sir,' said Michel, when Pritchard had swallowed his fourth
egg, 'you see it is no wonder that Pritchard has such a clear voice.
You know great singers always eat raw eggs the first thing in the
morning.'
'I know that, Michel, but what I don't know is how Pritchard proposes
to get out of the poultry-yard.'
'Just wait and see what the scoundrel will do.'
Pritchard having finished his breakfast, or being a little alarmed at
some noise in the house, stood up on his hind leg, and slipping one of
his fore-paws through the bars of the gate, he lifted the latch and
went out.
'And when one thinks,' said Michel, 'that if anybody asked him why the
yard door was left open, he would say it was because Pierre had
forgotten to shut it last night!'
[Illustration: PRITCHARD AND THE HENS]
'You think he would have the wickedness to say _that_, Michel?'
'Perhaps not to-day, nor yet to-morrow, because he is not come to his
full growth, but some day, mind you, I should not be surprised to hear
him speak.'
VIII
Before going out to shoot that day, I thought it only right to give M.
Charpillon an account of Pritchard's proceedings. He regarded him,
therefore with mingled feelings, in which admiration was more
prominent than sympathy, and it was agreed that on our return the dog
should be shut up in the stable, and that the stable-door should be
bolted and padlocked. Pritchard, unsuspicious of our designs, ran on
in front with a proud step and with his tail in the air.
'You know,' said Charpillon, 'that neither men nor dogs are allowed to
go into the vineyards. I ought as a magistrate to set an example, and
Gaignez still more, as he is the mayor. So mind you keep in
Pritchard.'
'All right,' said I, 'I will keep him in.'
But Michel, approaching, suggested that I should send Pritchard home
with him. 'It would be safer,' he said. 'We are quite near the house,
and I have a notion that he might get us into some scrape by hunting
in the vineyards.'
'Don't be afraid, Michel; I have thought of a plan to prevent him.'
Michel touched his hat. 'I know you are clever, sir--very clever; but
I don't think you are as clever as that!'
'Wait till you see.'
'Indeed, sir, you will have to be quick, for there is Pritchard
hunting already.'
We were just in time to see Pritchard disappear into a vineyard, and a
moment afterwards he raised a covey of partridges.
'Call in your dog,' cried Gaignez.
I called Pritchard, who, however, turned a deaf ear.
'Catch him,' said I to Michel.
Michel went, and returned in a few minutes with Pritchard in a leash.
In the meantime I had found a long stake, which I hung crosswise round
his neck, and let him go loose with this ornament. Pritchard
understood that he could no longer go through the vineyards, but the
stake did not prevent his hunting, and he only went a good deal
further off on the open ground.
From this moment there was only one shout all along the line.
'Hold in your dog, confound him!'
'Keep in your Pritchard, can't you! He's sending all the birds out of
shot!'
'Look here! Would you mind my putting a few pellets into your brute of
a dog? How can anybody shoot if he won't keep in?'
'Michel,' said I, 'catch Pritchard again.'
'I told you so, sir. Luckily we are not far from the house; I can
still take him back.'
'Not at all. I have a second idea. Catch Pritchard.'
'After all,' said Michel, 'this is nearly as good fun as if we were
shooting.'
And by-and-bye he came back, dragging Pritchard by his stake.
Pritchard had a partridge in his mouth.
'Look at him, the thief!' said Michel. 'He has carried off M.
Gaignez's partridge--I see him looking for it.'
'Put the partridge in your game-bag, Michel; we will give him a
surprise.'
Michel hesitated. 'But,' said he, 'think of the opinion this rascal
will have of you!'
'What, Michel? do you think Pritchard has a bad opinion of me?'
'Oh, sir! a shocking opinion.'
'But what makes you think so?'
'Why, sir, do you not think that Pritchard knows in his soul and
conscience that when he brings you a bird that another gentleman has
shot, he is committing a theft?'
'I think he has an idea of it, certainly, Michel.'
'Well, then, sir, if he knows he is a thief, he must take you for a
receiver of stolen goods. Look at the articles of the Code; it is said
there that receivers are equally guilty with thieves, and should be
similarly punished.'
[Illustration: 'PRITCHARD REAPPEARED NEXT MOMENT WITH A HARE IN HIS
MOUTH']
'Michel, you open my eyes to a whole vista of terrors. But we are
going to try to cure Pritchard of hunting. When he is cured of
hunting, he will be cured of stealing.'
'Never, sir! You will never cure Pritchard of his vices.'
Still I pursued my plan, which was to put Pritchard's fore-leg through
his collar. By this means, his right fore-foot being fastened to his
neck, and his left hind-foot being cut off, he had only two to run
with, the left fore-foot and the right hind-foot.
'Well, indeed,' said Michel, 'if he can hunt now, the devil is in it.'
He loosed Pritchard, who stood for a moment as if astonished, but once
he had balanced himself he began to walk, then to trot; then, as he
found his balance better, he succeeded in running quicker on his two
legs than many dogs would have done on four.
'Where are we now, sir?' said Michel.
'It's that beast of a stake that balances him!' I replied, a little
disappointed. 'We ought to teach him to dance upon the tight-rope--he
would make our fortunes as an acrobat.'
'You are joking again, sir. But listen! do you hear that?'
The most terrible imprecations against Pritchard were resounding on
all sides. The imprecations were followed by a shot, then by a howl of
pain.
'That is Pritchard's voice,' said Michel. 'Well, it is no more than he
deserves.'
Pritchard reappeared the next moment with a hare in his mouth.
'Michel, you said that was Pritchard that howled.'
'I would swear to it, sir.'
'But how could he howl with a hare in his mouth?'
Michel scratched his head. 'It was he all the same,' he said, and he
went to look at Pritchard.
'Oh, sir!' he said, 'I was right. The gentleman he took the hare from
has shot him. His hind-leg is all over blood. Look! there is M.
Charpillon running after his hare.'
'You know that I have just put some pellets into your Pritchard?'
Charpillon called out as soon as he saw me.
'You did quite right.'
'He carried off my hare.'
'There! You see,' said Michel, 'it is impossible to cure him.'
'But when he carried away your hare, he must have had it in his
mouth?'
'Of course. Where else would he have it?'
'But how could he howl with a hare in his mouth?'
'He put it down to howl, then he took it up again and made off.'
'There's deceit for you, gentlemen!' exclaimed Michel.
Pritchard succeeded in bringing the hare to me, but when he reached me
he had to lie down.
'I say,' said Charpillon, 'I hope I haven't hurt him more than I
intended--it was a long shot.' And forgetting his hare, Charpillon
knelt down to examine Pritchard's wound. It was a serious one;
Pritchard had received five or six pellets about the region of his
tail, and was bleeding profusely.
'Oh, poor beast!' cried Charpillon. 'I wouldn't have fired that shot
for all the hares in creation if I had known.'
'Bah!' said Michel; 'he won't die of it.' And, in fact, Pritchard,
after spending three weeks with the vet. at St.-Germains, returned to
Monte Cristo perfectly cured, and with his tail in the air once more.
IX
Soon after the disastrous event which I have just related the
revolution of 1848 occurred in France, in which King Louis Philippe
was dethroned and a republic established. You will ask what the
change of government had to do with my beasts? Well, although,
happily, they do not trouble their heads about politics, the
revolution did affect them a good deal; for the French public, being
excited by these occurrences, would not buy my books, preferring to
read the 'Guillotine,' the 'Red Republic,' and such like corrupt
periodicals; so that I became for the time a very much poorer man. I
was obliged greatly to reduce my establishment. I sold my three horses
and two carriages for a quarter of their value, and I presented the
Last of the Laidmanoirs, Potich, and Mademoiselle Desgarcins to the
Jardin des Plantes in Paris. I had to move into a smaller house, but
my monkeys were lodged in a palace; this is a sort of thing that
sometimes happens after a revolution. Mysouff also profited by it, for
he regained his liberty on the departure of the monkeys.
As to Diogenes, the vulture, I gave him to my worthy neighbour
Collinet, who keeps the restaurant Henri IV., and makes such good
cutlets a la Bearnaise. There was no fear of Diogenes dying of hunger
under his new master's care; on the contrary, he improved greatly in
health and beauty, and, doubtless as a token of gratitude to Collinet,
he laid an egg for him every year, a thing he never dreamt of doing
for me. Lastly, we requested Pritchard to cease to keep open house,
and to discontinue his daily invitations to strange dogs to dine and
sleep. I was obliged to give up all thoughts of shooting that year. It
is true that Pritchard still remained to me, but then Pritchard, you
must recollect, had only three feet; he had been badly hurt when he
was shot by Charpillon, and the revolution of February had occasioned
the loss of one eye.
It happened one day during that exciting period, that Michel was so
anxious to see what was going on that he forgot to give Pritchard his
dinner. Pritchard therefore invited himself to dine with the vulture,
but Diogenes, being of a less sociable turn, and not in a humour to
be trifled with, dealt poor Pritchard such a blow with his beak as to
deprive him of one of his mustard-coloured eyes. Pritchard's courage
was unabated; he might be compared to that brave field marshal of whom
it was said that Mars had left nothing of him whole except his heart.
But it was difficult, you see, to make much use of a dog with so many
infirmities. If I had wished to sell him I could not have found a
purchaser, nor would he have been considered a handsome present had I
desired to give him away. I had no choice, then, but to make this old
servant, badly as he had sometimes served me, a pensioner, a
companion, in fact a friend. Some people told me that I might have
tied a stone round his neck and flung him into the river; others, that
it was easy enough to replace him by buying a good retriever from
Vatrin; but although I was not yet poor enough to drown Pritchard,
neither was I rich enough to buy another dog. However, later in that
very year, I made an unexpected success in literature, and one of my
plays brought me in a sufficient sum to take a shooting in the
department of Yonne. I went to look at this shooting, taking Pritchard
with me. In the meantime my daughter wrote to tell me that she had
bought an excellent retriever for five pounds, named Catinat, and that
she was keeping him in the stable until my return. As soon as I
arrived, my first care was to make Catinat's acquaintance. He was a
rough, vigorous dog of three or four years old, thoughtless, violent,
and quarrelsome. He jumped upon me till he nearly knocked me down,
upset my daughter's work-table, and dashed about the room to the great
danger of my china vases and ornaments. I therefore called Michel and
informed him that the superficial acquaintance which I had made with
Catinat would suffice for the time, and that I would defer the
pleasure of his further intimacy until the shooting season began at
Auxerre.
Poor Michel, as soon as he saw Catinat, had been seized with a
presentiment of evil.
'Sir,' he said, 'that dog will bring some misfortune upon us. I do not
know yet what, but something will happen, I know it will!'
'In the meantime, Michel,' I said, 'you had better take Catinat back
to the stable.' But Catinat had already left the room of his own
accord and rushed downstairs to the dining-room, where I had left
Pritchard. Now Pritchard never could endure Catinat from the first
moment he saw him; the two dogs instantly flew at one another with so
much fury that Michel was obliged to call me to his assistance before
we could separate them. Catinat was once more shut up in the stable,
and Pritchard conducted to his kennel in the stable-yard, which, in
the absence of carriages and horses, was now a poultry-yard, inhabited
by my eleven hens and my cock Caesar. Pritchard's friendship with the
hens continued to be as strong as ever, and the household suffered
from a scarcity of eggs in consequence. That evening, while my
daughter and I were walking in the garden, Michel came to meet us,
twisting his straw hat between his fingers, a sure sign that he had
something important to say.
'Well, what is it, Michel?' I asked.
'It came into my mind, sir,' he answered, 'while I was taking
Pritchard to his kennel, that we never have any eggs because Pritchard
eats them; and he eats them because he is in direct communication with
the hens.'
'It is evident, Michel, that if Pritchard never went into the
poultry-yard, he would not eat the eggs.'
'Then, do you not think, sir,' continued Michel, 'that if we shut up
Pritchard in the stable and put Catinat into the poultry-yard, it
would be better? Catinat is an animal without education, so far as I
know; but he is not such a thief as Pritchard.'
'Do you know what will happen if you do that, Michel?' I said.
'Catinat will not eat the eggs, perhaps, but he will eat the hens.'
'If a misfortune like that were to occur, I know a method of curing
him of eating hens.'
'Well--but in the meantime the hens would be eaten.'
Scarcely had I uttered these words, when a frightful noise was heard
in the stable-yard, as loud as that of a pack of hounds in full cry,
but mingled with howls of rage and pain which indicated a deadly
combat.
'Michel!' I cried, 'do you hear that?'
'Oh yes, I hear it,' he answered, 'but those must be the neighbours'
dogs fighting.'
'Michel, those are Catinat and Pritchard killing each other!'
'Impossible, sir--I have separated them.'
'Well, then, they have met again.'
'It is true,' said Michel, 'that scoundrel Pritchard can open the
stable-door as well as any one.'
'Then, you see, Pritchard is a dog of courage; he'll have opened the
stable-door for Catinat on purpose to fight him. Be quick, Michel, I
am really afraid one of them will be killed.'
Michel darted into the passage which led to the stable, and no sooner
had he disappeared than I knew from the lamentations which I heard
that some misfortune had happened. In a minute or two Michel
reappeared sobbing bitterly and carrying Pritchard in his arms.
'Look, sir! just look!' he said; 'this is the last we shall see of
Pritchard--look what your fine sporting dog has done to him. Catinat,
indeed! it is Catilina he should be called!'
I ran up to Pritchard, full of concern--I had a great love for him,
though he had often made me angry. He was a dog of much originality,
and the unexpected things he did were only a proof of genius.
'What do you think is the matter?' I asked Michel.
'The matter?--the matter is that he is dead!'
'Oh no, surely not!'
'Anyhow, he'll never be good for anything again.' And he laid him on
the ground at my feet.
'Pritchard, my poor Pritchard!' I cried.
At the sound of my voice, Pritchard opened his yellow eye and looked
sorrowfully at me, then stretched out his four legs, gave one sigh,
and died. Catinat had bitten his throat quite through, so that his
death was almost immediate.
'Well, Michel,' said I, 'it is not a good servant, it is a good friend
that we have lost. You must wash him carefully--you shall have a towel
to wrap him in--you shall dig his grave in the garden and we will have
a tombstone made for him on which shall be engraved this epitaph:
'Like conquering Rantzau, of courage undaunted,
Pritchard, to thee Mars honour has granted,
On each field of fight of a limb he bereft thee,
Till nought but thy gallant heart scatheless was left thee.'
As my habit was, I sought consolation for my grief in literary
labours. Michel endeavoured to assuage his with the help of two
bottles of red wine, with which, mingled with his tears, he watered
the grave of the departed. I know this because when I came out early
next morning to see if my wishes with regard to Pritchard's burial had
been carried out, I found Michel stretched upon the ground, still in
tears, and the two bottles empty by his side.
_THE ADVENTURES OF PYRAMUS_
Pyramus was a large brown dog, born of a good family, who had been
given, when a mere pup, to Alexandre Dumas, the great French novelist,
then quite a young man. Now the keeper to whom Pyramus first belonged
had also a tiny little fox-cub without any relations about the place,
so both fox-cub and dog-pup were handed over to the same mother, who
brought them up side by side, until they were able to do for
themselves. So when the keeper made young Dumas a present of Pyramus,
he thought he had better bestow Cartouche on him as well.
Of course it is hardly necessary to say that these fine names were not
invented by the keeper, who had never heard of either Pyramus or
Cartouche, but were given to his pets by Dumas, after he had spent a
little time in observing their characters.
Certainly it was a very curious study. Here were two animals, who had
never been apart since they were born, and were now living together in
two kennels side by side in the court-yard of the house, and yet after
the first three or four months, when they were mere babies, every day
showed some difference, and soon they ceased to be friends at all and
became open enemies.
The earliest fight known to have taken place between them happened in
this way. One day some bones were thrown by accident within the bounds
of Cartouche's territory, and though if they belonged to anybody, it
was clearly Cartouche, Pyramus resolved most unfairly to get hold of
them. The first time Pyramus tried secretly to commit this act of
piracy, Cartouche growled; the second time he showed his teeth; the
third time he bit.
It must be owned that Cartouche had shown some excuse for his violent
behaviour, because he always remained chained up, whereas Pyramus was
allowed certain hours of liberty; and it was during one of these that
he made up his mind to steal the bones from Cartouche, whose chain (he
thought) would prevent any attempt at reprisals. Indeed, he even tried
to make out to his conscience that probably the bones were not dainty
enough for Cartouche, who loved delicate food, whereas anything was
good enough for him, Pyramus. However, whether he wanted to eat the
bones or not, Cartouche had no intention of letting them be stolen
from him, and having managed to drive off Pyramus on the first
occasion, he determined to get safely hold of the bones before his
enemy was unchained again.
Now the chains of each were the same length, four feet, and in
addition to that, Pyramus had a bigger head and longer nose than
Cartouche, who was much smaller altogether. So it follows that when
they were both chained up, Pyramus could stretch farther towards any
object that lay at an equal distance between their kennels. Pyramus
knew this, and so he counted on always getting the better of
Cartouche.
But Cartouche had not been born a fox for nothing, and he watched with
a scornful expression the great Pyramus straining at his chain with
his eyes nearly jumping out of his head with greed and rage. 'Really,'
said Cartouche to himself, 'if he goes on like that much longer, I
shall have a mad dog for a neighbour before the day is out. Let me see
if _I_ can't manage better.' But as we know, being a much smaller
animal than Pyramus, his nose did not come nearly so close to the
bones; and after one or two efforts to reach the tempting morsel which
was lying about six feet from each kennel, he gave it up, and retired
to his warm bed, hoping that he might somehow hit upon some idea
which would enable him to reach the 'bones of contention.'
All at once he jumped up, for after hard thought he had got what he
wanted. He trotted merrily to the length of his chain, and now it was
Pyramus's turn to look on and to think with satisfaction: 'Well, if
_I_ can't get them, _you_ can't either, which is a comfort.'
[Illustration: CARTOUCHE OUTWITS PYRAMUS]
But gradually his grin of delight changed into a savage snarl, as
Cartouche turned himself round when he had got to the end of his
chain, and stretching out his paw, hooked the bone which he gradually
drew within reach, and before Pyramus had recovered from his
astonishment, Cartouche had got possession of all the bones and was
cracking them with great enjoyment inside his kennel.
It may seem very unjust that Cartouche was always kept chained up,
while Pyramus was allowed to roam about freely, but the fact was that
Pyramus only ate or stole when he was really hungry, while Cartouche
was by nature the murderer of everything he came across. One day he
broke his chain and ran off to the fowl-yard of Monsieur Mauprivez,
who lived next door. In less than ten minutes he had strangled
seventeen hens and two cocks: nineteen corpses in all! It was
impossible to find any 'extenuating circumstances' in his favour. He
was condemned to death and promptly executed.
Henceforth Pyramus reigned alone, and it is sad to think that he
seemed to enjoy it, and even that his appetite grew bigger.
It is bad enough for any dog to have an appetite like Pyramus when he
was at home, but when he was out shooting, and should have been doing
his duty as a retriever, this fault became a positive vice. Whatever
might be the first bird shot by his master, whether it happened to be
partridge or pheasant, quail or snipe, down it would go into Pyramus's
wide throat. It was seldom, indeed, that his master arrived in time to
see even the last feathers.
A smart blow from a whip kept him in order all the rest of the day,
and it was very rarely that he sinned twice in this way while on the
same expedition, but unluckily before the next day's shooting came
round, he had entirely forgotten all about his previous caning, and
justice had to be done again.