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THE STORY OF A CAT

Translated from the French of

EMILE DE LA BÉDOLLIÈRE

by

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH

With Silhouettes by L. Hopkins







Boston and New York
Houghton Mifflin Company
The Riverside Press Cambridge

Copyright, 1878, by Houghton, Osgood and Company
Copyright, 1906, by T. B. Aldrich
Copyright, 1910, by Mary Elizabeth Aldrich

All Rights Reserved, Including the Right to Reproduce
This Book or Parts Thereof in Any Form




PREFACE.


M. Bédollière's charming story of Mother Michel and her cat was turned
into English for the entertainment of two small readers at the writer's
fireside. Subsequently the translation was fortunate enough to find a
larger audience in the pages of a popular juvenile magazine. The
ingenious and spirited series of silhouettes with which Mr. Hopkins has
enriched the text is the translator's only plea for presenting in book
form so slight a performance as his own part of the work.




THE STORY OF A CAT.




CHAPTER I.

HOW MOTHER MICHEL MADE THE ACQUAINTANCE OF
HER CAT.


There lived in Paris, under the reign of King Louis XV., a very rich old
countess named Yolande de la Grenouillère. She was a worthy and
charitable lady, who distributed alms not only to the poor of her own
parish, Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois, but to the unfortunate of other
quarters. Her husband, Roch-Eustache-Jérémie, Count of Grenouillère, had
fallen gloriously at the battle of Fontenoy, on the 11th of May, 1745.
The noble widow had long mourned for him, and even now at times wept over
his death. Left without children, and almost entirely alone in the world,
she gave herself up to a strange fancy,--a fancy, it is true, which in no
manner detracted from her real virtues and admirable qualities: she had
a passion for animals. And an unhappy passion it was, since all those she
had possessed had died in her arms.

[Illustration: The Countess distributes Alms.]

The first, in date, in her affections had been a green parrot, which,
having been so imprudent as to eat some parsley, fell a victim to
frightful colics. An indigestion, caused by sweet biscuits, had taken
from Madame de la Grenouillère a pug-dog of the most brilliant promise. A
third favorite, an ape of a very interesting species, having broken his
chain one night, went clambering over the trees in the garden, where,
during a shower, he caught a cold in the head, which conducted him to the
tomb.

[Illustration: The Ape fatally exposes himself.]

Following these, the Countess had birds of divers kinds; but some of them
had flown away, and the others had died of the pip. Cast down by such
continuous disasters, Madame de la Grenouillère shed many tears. Seeing
her inconsolable, the friends of the Countess proposed successively
squirrels, learned canaries, white mice, cockatoos; but she would not
listen to them; she even refused a superb spaniel who played dominoes,
danced to music, ate salad, and translated Greek.

[Illustration: Her Friends propose Squirrels, Canaries, Mice, etc.]

"No, no," she said, "I do not want any more animals; the air of my house
is death to them."

[Illustration: The Boys after the Cat.]

She had ended by believing in fatality.

One day, as the Countess was leaving the church, she saw a crowd of boys
hustling and elbowing each other, and giving vent to peals of joyous
laughter. When, seated in her carriage, she was able to overlook the
throng, she discovered that the cause of this tumult was a poor cat to
whose tail the little wretches had tied a tin saucepan.

The unfortunate cat had evidently been running a long time, for he seemed
overcome with fatigue. Seeing that he slackened his speed, his tormentors
formed a circle around him, and began pelting him with stones. The
luckless creature bowed his head, and, recognizing that he was surrounded
by none but enemies, resigned himself to his hard fate with the heroism
of a Roman senator. Several stones had already reached him, when Madame
de la Grenouillère, seized with deep compassion, descended from her
carriage, and, pushing the crowd aside, exclaimed: "I will give a louis
to whoever will save that animal!"

These words produced a magical effect; they transformed the persecutors
into liberators; the poor cat came near being suffocated by those who now
disputed the honor of rescuing him safe and sound. Finally, a sort of
young Hercules overthrew his rivals, brought off the cat, and presented
it half dead to the Countess.

[Illustration: The Luckless Creature bowed his Head.]

"Very well," she said; "here, my brave little man, is the reward I
promised." She gave him a bright golden louis just out of the mint, and
then added, "Relieve this poor animal of his inconvenient burden."

[Illustration: "Dear me, how homely he is!"]

While the young Hercules obeyed, Madame de la Grenouillère regarded the
creature she had rescued. It was a true type of the street-cat. His
natural hideousness was increased by the accidents of a long and
irregular career; his short hair was soiled with mud; one could scarcely
distinguish beneath the various splashes his gray fur robe striped with
black. He was so thin as to be nearly transparent, so shrunken that one
could count his ribs, and so dispirited that a mouse might have beaten
him. There was only one thing in his favor, and that was his physiognomy.

[Illustration: The Cat is presented, half dead, to the Countess.]

"Dear me, how homely he is!" said Madame de la Grenouillère, after
finishing her examination.

At the moment she stepped into the carriage, the cat fixed his great
sea-green eyes upon her and gave her a look, strange, indefinable, full
at the same time of gratitude and reproach, and so expressive that the
good lady was instantly fascinated. She read in this glance a discourse
of great eloquence. The look seemed to wish to say,--

"You have obeyed a generous impulse; you saw me feeble, suffering,
oppressed, and you took pity on me. Now that your benevolence is
satisfied, my deformity inspires you with contempt. I thought you were
good, but you are not good; you have the instinct of kindness, but you
are not kind. If you were really charitable you would continue to
interest yourself in me for the very reason that I am homely; you would
reflect that my misfortunes are owing to my ugly appearance, and that the
same cause,--should you leave me there in the street, at the mercy of the
wicked boys,--the same cause, I say, would produce the same effects. Go!
you needn't pride yourself on your half-way benevolence!--you have not
done me a service; you have only prolonged my agony. I am an outcast, the
whole world is against me, I am condemned to die; let my destiny be
accomplished!"

Madame de la Grenouillère was moved to tears. The cat seemed to her
superhuman--no, it was a cat; it seemed to her superanimal! She thought
of the mysteries of transformation, and imagined that the cat, before
assuming his present form, had been a great orator and a person of
standing. She said to her maid, Mother Michel, who was in the
carriage,--

"Take the cat and carry him."

"What, you will bring him with you, madame?" cried Mother Michel.

"Certainly. As long as I live that animal shall have a place at my
fireside and at my table. If you wish to please me, you will treat him
with the same zeal and affection you show to myself."

"Madame shall be obeyed."

"That is well,--and now for home!"

[Illustration: Mother Michel is told to take the Cat.]




CHAPTER II.

HOW THE CAT WAS INSTALLED WITH MADAME DE LA
GRENOUILLÈRE, AND CONFIDED TO THE CARE OF
MOTHER MICHEL.


[Illustration: Mother Michel.]

Madame de la Grenouillère inhabited a magnificent mansion situated on the
corner of the streets Saint-Thomas-du-Louvre and Orties-Saint-Louis;
there she led a very retired life, on almost intimate terms with her two
principal domestics,--Madame Michel, her maid and companion, and M.
Lustucru, the steward. These servants being elderly persons, the
Countess, who was possessed of a pleasant humor, had christened them
Mother Michel and Father Lustucru.

The features of Mother Michel bore the imprint of her amiable
disposition; she was as open and candid as Father Lustucru was sly and
dissimulating. The plausible air of the steward might deceive persons
without much experience; but close observers could easily discover the
most perverse inclinations under his false mask of good nature. There
was duplicity in his great blue eyes, anger concentrated in his nostrils,
something wily in the end of his tapering nose, and malice in the shape
of his lips.

However, this man had never, in appearance, at least, done anything to
forfeit his honor; he had been able to guard an outside air of honesty,
hiding very carefully the blackness of his nature. His wickedness was
like a mine to which one has not yet applied the match,--it waited only
for an occasion to flash out.

[Illustration: Father Lustucru.]

Lustucru detested animals, but, in order to flatter the taste of his
mistress, he pretended to idolize them. On seeing Mother Michel bearing
in her arms the rescued cat, he said to himself:

"What, another beast! As if there were not enough of us in the house!"

He could not help throwing a glance of antipathy at the new-comer; then,
curbing himself quickly, he cried, with an affected admiration,--

"Oh, the beautiful cat! the pretty cat! that cat hasn't his equal!"--and
he caressed it in the most perfidious fashion.

"Truly?" said Madame de la Grenouillère; "you do not find him too
homely?"

[Illustration: "Oh, the Beautiful Cat!"]

"Too homely! But, then, he has charming eyes. But, if he was frightful,
your interesting yourself in him would change him."

"He displeased me at first."

"The beings who displease at first are those one loves the most after
awhile," replied Father Lustucru, sententiously.

They proceeded at once to make the toilet of the cat, who, in spite of
his instinctive horror of water, submitted with touching resignation to
being washed; he seemed to understand that it improved his personal
appearance. After giving him a dish of broken meat, which he ate with
great relish, they arranged the hours for his meals, the employment of
his days, and the place where he was to sleep.

[Illustration: The Cat is washed.]

They thought also to give him a name. Mother Michel and Father Lustucru
proposed several that were quite happy, such as Mistigris, Tristepatte,
etc.; but the Countess rejected them all successively. She desired a name
that would recall the circumstances in which the cat was found. An old
scholar, whom she consulted the next day, suggested that of Moumouth,
composed of two Hebrew words which signify _saved from saucepans_.

[Illustration: The Cat grows Fat.]

[Illustration: The Old Scholar looks for a Name.]

At the end of a few days, Moumouth was unrecognizable. His fur was
polished with care; nourishing food had filled out his form; his
mustaches stood up like those of a swordsman of the seventeenth century;
his eyes shone as emeralds. He was a living proof of the influence of
good fare upon the race. He owed his excellent condition chiefly to
Mother Michel, whom he held in affectionate consideration; he showed, on
the other hand, for Father Lustucru a very marked dislike. As if he had
divined that here he had to do with an enemy, he refused to accept
anything presented by the steward. However, they saw but little of each
other. The days passed very happily with Moumouth, and everything
promised a smiling future for him; but, like the sword of Damocles,
troubles are ever suspended above the heads of men and of cats. On the
24th of January, 1753, an unusual sadness was observed in Moumouth; he
scarcely responded to the caresses which Madame de la Grenouillère
lavished upon him; he ate nothing, and spent the day crouched on a corner
of the hearth, gazing mournfully into the fire. He had a presentiment of
some misfortune, and the misfortune came.

[Illustration: He will take Nothing from the Steward.]

[Illustration: He crouches in a Corner of the Hearth.]

That night a messenger, sent from the Château de la Gingeole in Normandy,
brought a letter to the Countess from her younger sister, who, having
broken a leg in getting out of her carriage, begged the Countess, her
only relative, to come to her at once. Madame de la Grenouillère was too
sympathetic and kind-hearted to hesitate an instant.

"I depart to-morrow," said she.

At these words, Moumouth, who followed his benefactress with his eyes,
gave a melancholy _miau_.

[Illustration: "In her Youth she caressed a Kitten."]

[Illustration: "I depart To-morrow!"]

"Poor cat!" resumed the lady, with emotion, "it is necessary that we
should be separated! I cannot bring you with me, for my sister has the
weakness to hate animals of your species; she pretends they are
treacherous. What slander! In her youth she caressed a kitten, who, too
much excited by marks of affection, scratched her involuntarily. Was it
from wickedness? No, it was from sensibility. However, since that day my
sister has sworn an eternal hatred for cats."

Moumouth regarded his mistress with an air which seemed to say,--

"But you, at least, you do us justice, truly superior woman!"

After a moment of silence and meditation, the Countess added,--

"Mother Michel, I confide my cat to you."

"We will take good care of him, madame," said Father Lustucru.

"Don't you trouble yourself about him, I pray you," interrupted the
Countess. "You know that he has taken a dislike to you; your presence
merely is sufficient to irritate him. Why, I don't know; but you are
insupportable to him."

"That is true," said Father Lustucru, with contrition; "but the cat is
unjust, for I love him and he doesn't love me."

[Illustration: "Mother Michel, I confide my Cat to you."]

"My sister is also unjust. Cats, perhaps, love her, and she does not love
them. I respect her opinion. Respect that of Moumouth." Having pronounced
these words in a firm tone, Madame de la Grenouillère addressed herself
to Mother Michel.

"It is to you, Mother Michel, and to you alone, that I confide him.
Return him to me safe and sound, and I will cover you with benefits. I am
sixty-five years of age, you are ten years younger; it is probable that
you will live to close my eyes"--

"Ah, madame! why such sorrowful ideas?"

"Let me finish. To guard against mischance, I have already thought to
provide for you comfortably; but, if you keep Moumouth for me, I will
give you a pension of fifteen hundred livres."

"Ah, madame!" said Mother Michel, in an impressive tone, "it is not
necessary to hire my services; I love the cat with all my heart, and I
will always be devoted to him."

"I am sure of it, and I shall also know how to reward your zeal." During
this conversation, Father Lustucru employed all his forces to conceal the
expression of his jealousy.

"Everything for her, and nothing for me!" he said to himself. "Fifteen
hundred livres a year! It is a fortune, and she will have it! Oh, no! she
shall not have it."

[Illustration: The Post-chaise is ready.]

The next morning, at half-past seven, four lively horses were harnessed
to the post-chaise which was to convey the excellent old lady to
Normandy. She said a last adieu to her favorite, pressed him to her
heart, and stepped into the carriage.

Until then, Moumouth had felt only a vague uneasiness; but at this moment
he understood it all! He saw his benefactress ready to depart; and,
trembling at the thought of losing her, he made one bound to her side.

"It is necessary for you to stay here," said Madame de la Grenouillère,
making an effort to restrain her tears.

Will it be believed?--the cat also wept!

[Illustration: The Cat wishes to go with the Carriage.]

To put an end to this painful scene, Mother Michel seized the cat by the
shoulders and detached him from the carriage-cushion, to which he clung;
the door closed, the horses gave a vigorous pull, and started off at a
speed of not less than three leagues an hour. Moumouth rolled in a
convulsion, and then fainted.

[Illustration: Moumouth faints.]

Madame de la Grenouillère, her head stretched out of the post-chaise,
waved her handkerchief, crying:--

"Mother Michel, I commend my cat to you!"

[Illustration: "He shall die!"]

"Be tranquil, madame; I swear you shall find him large and plump when you
return."

"And I," muttered Father Lustucru, in a deep voice, "I swear he shall
die!"




CHAPTER III.

IN WHICH ARE SHOWN THE GOODNESS OF MOTHER
MICHEL AND THE WICKEDNESS OF FATHER
LUSTUCRU.


Mother Michel, worthy of the confidence which had been reposed in her,
displayed for Moumouth a truly maternal tenderness; she tended him,
coddled him, took such pains with him, in short, that he became one of
the most beautiful cats in that quarter of the town where the cats are
magnificent. She watched over him constantly, gave him the choicest bits
to eat, and put him to bed at night on the softest of eider-down quilts.

Fearing that he might fall ill some day, and wishing to inform herself
concerning the maladies to which cats are liable, she procured various
books on that important subject; she even went so far in her devotion as
to read the "History of Cats," by François-Auguste Paradis de Moncrif, a
member of the French Academy.

The conduct of Mother Michel had no low motive of personal interest. She
gave scarcely a thought to herself, the good old soul! Content with
little, she would always have enough to live on; she required nothing but
a small room, brown bread, a supply of wood in winter, and a
spinning-wheel. But she had nephews and nieces, god-children, whom she
hoped to be able to help; it was to them that she destined in advance the
gifts of Madame de la Grenouillère.

The continually increasing prosperity of Moumouth exasperated Father
Lustucru. He saw with a sort of dread the approach of the hour when the
faithful guardian would be rewarded; he dreamt day and night of the means
to prevent it,--to carry off her four-footed pupil, and bring down on her
the wrath of their mistress. By dint of indulging his hatred and envy in
solitary reflections, he ceased at last to draw back at the prospect of
committing a crime.

"How," he said, "how rid the house of that miserable cat? What arms shall
I use against him? Fire, poison, or water? I will try water!"

This resolution taken, he thought of nothing but to put it into
execution. It was difficult to get possession of Moumouth, of whom Mother
Michel rarely lost sight; and Moumouth, too, not having the slightest
confidence in the steward, was always on the defensive. Lustucru watched
during several days for a favorable occasion.

One night, after making an excellent supper, Moumouth curled himself up
near the fire in the parlor, at the feet of Mother Michel, and slept the
sleep of the just with good digestion. In the midst of this, Father
Lustucru came into the room.

"Good!" he thought. "The cat sleeps. Let us get the guardian out of the
way."

"How amiable of you to come and keep me company!" said Mother Michel,
politely. "You are quite well this evening?"

[Illustration: Father Lustucru's Stratagem.]

"Perfectly; but everybody is not like me. Our porter, for example, is in
a deplorable state; he is suffering excessively from his rheumatism, and
would be very happy to see you a moment. You have gentle words to console
the afflicted, and excellent receipts to cure them. Go, then, and pay a
little visit to our friend Krautman; I am persuaded that your presence
will help him."

[Illustration: The Porter.]

Mother Michel got up at once and descended to the apartment of the
porter, who was, indeed, suffering from a violent rheumatic pain.

"Now for us two!" cried Father Lustucru to himself.

[Illustration: The Steward seizes Moumouth.]

He went stealthily into an adjoining room, walking upon the tips of his
toes, and took a covered basket which he had hidden in the bottom of a
closet. Then he returned to Moumouth, whom he seized roughly by the neck.
The unfortunate animal awoke with a start, and found himself suspended in
the air face to face with Father Lustucru, his enemy. In that horrible
situation he would have cried, and struggled, and called for assistance,
but he had no time. The odious steward plunged the poor cat into the
basket, quickly clapped down the solid cover, and ran rapidly to the
staircase, his eyes haggard and his hair standing on end, like a man who
commits a crime.

[Illustration: The Cat is plunged into the Basket.]

It was a beautiful night in February, with a clear sky and a dry, cold
atmosphere. The moon shone with all her brightness; but, at intervals,
great clouds drifted over her face and rendered the obscurity complete.
Father Lustucru was obliged to cross the garden, in order to pass out by
a small door, of which he had taken the key. He glided from bush to bush,
carefully avoiding the paths, except when the clouds veiled the moon. He
had half-opened the door, when he heard a sound of footsteps and voices
outside. He started back involuntarily, then stood still and listened.

[Illustration: The Steward hurries away.]

"What foolishness!" he said, after a moment of silent observation. "I had
forgotten that it was carnival-time; those are masqueraders passing."

[Illustration: He dances with Delight.]

It was, in effect, a band of masqueraders from the Palais Royal. Lustucru
waited until they were gone; then he hurried out. When he reached the
quay, in the joy of success, he began to whistle a dancing-tune and cut
capers; his transports resembled those of a cannibal who dances around
his victim.

[Illustration: The Cat is thrown into the River.]

He went up the Seine as far as the bridge of Notre Dame, in the middle of
which he halted, and holding the basket over the parapet, turned it
suddenly upside down, and launched the luckless Moumouth into the icy
waters of the river. The cat, in dropping through space, gave a cry that
seemed to come from a human voice. The assassin shuddered, but his
emotion did not last long. He thrust his hands into his pockets and said,
in a tone of bitter mockery,--

"Pleasant voyage to you, dear Moumouth; endeavor to arrive all right! By
the way," added he, "I think cats know how to swim; that brigand is
capable of getting himself out of this business. Bah! it is a long
distance from the bridge of Notre Dame to Saint-Thomas-du-Louvre!"

Reassured by this reflection, Lustucru continued on his way home,
re-entered by the door of the garden, climbed cautiously up to his room,
and held himself in readiness to enjoy the lamentations of Mother
Michel.

Mother Michel was detained some time by the porter; finally, she left
him, to give her cat the cup of milk and sugar with which she regaled him
every night.

She ascended to the parlor with measured steps, calmly, not anticipating
any catastrophe. Failing to see Moumouth in the place he had occupied,
she simply believed that he had smuggled himself behind the cushions of
the sofa. She looked there, and beneath the sofa, and searched under the
other pieces of furniture. Then, running to the staircase, she called:
"Moumouth! Moumouth!"

[Illustration: Mother Michel looks for the Cat.]

"He doesn't answer me," said she. "But when I went down-stairs, Lustucru
was here; may be he can tell me what has become of the cat."

She knocked without delay at the door of the steward, who pretended to
rouse himself from a deep slumber, and, in a gruff voice, demanded what
was wanted.

"Isn't Moumouth with you?"

"Does your cat ever come where I am? You know very well that he can't
bear me."

"Alas! where is he? I left him in the parlor, near the fire, and I cannot
find him."

[Illustration: She knocks at the Steward's Door.]

"Can he be lost?" said Father Lustucru, feigning the most lively
anxiety.

"Lost! Oh, no, it is impossible! He is somewhere in the house."

"He ought to be found," said the villain, gravely. "He ought to be
searched for this very instant. Moumouth is a precious animal, whose
merit makes it well worth while to wake up the servants."

All the inmates of the house were soon on foot, each armed with a candle.
They ransacked the nooks and corners, from the cellar to the garret, from
the court to the garden. Lustucru directed the operations with apparent
zeal. After ineffectual searches, Mother Michel, exhausted by emotion and
fatigue, threw herself helplessly into an arm-chair.

[Illustration: Every Nook and Corner is ransacked.]

"Alas!" said she, "I left him only an instant, and it was to do a good
action."

"I begin to believe that your cat is really lost," replied Lustucru, in a
severe tone. "It is a great misfortune for you! What will Madame de la
Grenouillère say when she comes back? She is capable of turning you out
of doors!"

[Illustration: The Shock is too much for Mother Michel.]

"Turn me out of doors!" cried Mother Michel, suddenly drawing herself up
to her full height. Then she sunk down again, her face grew pallid, her
eyes closed, and she fell back without consciousness.

Father Lustucru regarded her with a dry eye, and without feeling the
slightest remorse. He laughed, the infamous man!




CHAPTER IV.

IN WHICH THE CAT DISPLAYS INTELLIGENCE BEYOND
HIS STATION IN LIFE, AND BEHAVES HANDSOMELY
IN ADVERSITY.


We lost sight of Moumouth at the moment when, precipitated from the
parapet of the bridge of Notre Dame, he found himself struggling in the
water.

Luckily for him, the piles of the principal arch had a wide ledge, to
which he was able to attach himself. From this place he cast a glance
around him. The Seine appeared to him a boundless ocean, which it was
beyond his strength to cross; rather than attempt to reach the shores
that seemed to recede before him, he prepared to stay where he was, at
the risk of perishing with hunger or cold, or being swept away by a wave.
He mewed at first in sign of distress, but very soon, believing himself
hopelessly lost, he judged it useless to tire his lungs, and awaited the
end with a resignation which formed the basis of his character.

Toward five o'clock in the morning, two gentlemen from the island of
Saint-Louis,--two very skillful amateur fishermen,--came to throw their
lines from the top of the bridge of Notre Dame.

"You are early, neighbor Guignolet," said the person who arrived last;
"it appears that we have both had the same idea."

"And we have done well, neighbor Groquemouche; there was a rise in the
river last night, great numbers of fish have descended from the upper
Seine, and one will have to be dreadfully awkward not to take them."

[Illustration: "Agreed!" said M. Guignolet.]

"Will you enter into an agreement, neighbor Guignolet? Let us fish in
partnership, divide the catch, and dine together to-day."

"Agreed!" said M. Guignolet, and as each held his line in his right hand,
they clasped their left hands together in token of the treaty.

On seeing the two cords descend Moumouth conceived some hope. As soon as
they were within his reach he grappled them, and the fishermen, feeling
the unusual weight, cried out with one voice, "A bite! a bite!" and
hastened to haul in their lines.

[Illustration: The Fishermen pursue the Cat.]

"I bet I have caught a wattle," said M. Guignolet, regretting that he
couldn't rub his hands together to testify his satisfaction.

"I must have an immense carp," replied M. Groquemouche. He had scarcely
finished the sentence when Moumouth leaped over the parapet.

"Treason!" cried the two fishers, who started in pursuit of the quadruped
that had come so miraculously out of the water; but Moumouth ran faster
than they did and easily escaped them.

[Illustration: Moumouth grapples the Lines.]

When he was alone, he took breath, examined the houses, and, not finding
one that resembled his, naturally concluded that it was not there. It was
necessary, however, to find shelter; shivering with cold and panting with
his exertions, he could not remain a moment longer in the street without
exposing himself to an inflammation of the chest. Guided by a light, he
made his way into the basement of a baker's shop, and, hiding himself
behind a pile of bread-baskets, went quietly to sleep.

He was awakened by hunger.

Moumouth was born of poor parents who had abandoned him in his earliest
infancy; he had been brought up in the streets, obliged to procure his
own living, and trained in the school of adversity. Thus he was very
skillful in the art of catching rats and mice,--a useful art, too often
neglected by cats belonging to the first families.

[Illustration: The Imprudent Mouse.]

He placed himself on the watch, and surprised a mouse that had stolen out
of its hole to eat some flour. He dropped upon the imprudent mouse, in
describing what is called in geometry a parabola, and seized it by the
nose, to prevent it from crying out. This feat, although performed with
address and in silence, attracted the attention of the baker's boy. "Hi!
a cat!" cried the apprentice, arming himself with a scoop.

[Illustration: "Don't hurt him!" said the Baker.]

The master-baker turned his eyes towards Moumouth, saw him devouring the
mouse, and said to the boy:--

"Don't hurt him; he is doing us a service."

"But where did he come from?"

"What does that matter, provided he is useful here?" answered the baker,
who was a man of intelligence. "Eat, eat, my friend," he continued,
stooping down to gently caress Moumouth; "eat as many mice as possible,
there will always be enough left."

Our cat profited by the permission accorded to him, and, having satisfied
his hunger, had a desire to set out in search of the mansion of Madame de
la Grenouillère; but the baker barred the passage.

[Illustration: Moumouth jumps out of the Window.]

"Wait a minute!" he said. "I wanted a good cat; Heaven sent me one, and I
shall not forgive myself if I let him escape. Hulloo! Jacques, shut up
all the openings, and if this rogue makes a show of running off, give him
three or four smart blows with the broom."

Thus the host of Moumouth became his tyrant; so true is it that personal
interest depraves the best natures. Our cat, as if comprehending what was
passing, leaped without hesitation upon the shoulders of the baker's boy,
and thence into the street.

[Illustration: All the Street Dogs pursue Moumouth.]

There a new danger awaited him. Surprised by this unexpected apparition,
an enormous bull-dog planted himself directly in front of Moumouth.
Moumouth had a lively desire to avoid an unequal contest, but the dog
kept an eye on him, and did not lose one of his movements, going to the
right when Moumouth went to the left, and to the left when Moumouth moved
to the right, and growled all the while in a malicious fashion. For an
instant they stood motionless, observing each other,--the dog with paws
extended, teeth displayed, and body drawn back, and the cat with open
mouth, his back arched and his head thrust forward.

[Illustration: He meets a Bull-dog.]

Neither seemed disposed to begin hostilities. Finally the dog rushed upon
his adversary, who avoided him adroitly, passed underneath him, and fled
in the direction of the quay, the bull-dog giving chase. Away they went,
darting among the crowd of pedestrians and in and out between the
carriages. In a natural spirit of imitation, the wandering dogs that
encountered them running joined in the race, and at the end of a minute
Moumouth had more than thirty-seven dogs in pursuit of him.

"I am lost," he says to himself, "but at least I shall sell my life
dearly."

[Illustration: He climbs a Wall.]

He backs against a wall, and braces himself haughtily on his feet; his
teeth gnashing, his hair bristling, he faces his numerous enemies with
so terrible an eye that they recoil like a single man. Profiting by their
hesitation, he turns suddenly and scrambles to the top of the wall. He is
soon beyond the reach of the dogs, but he is not yet in safety; if he
makes a false step, if his strength gives out, if the plaster crumbles
under his claws, twenty yawning mouths, hungry for slaughter, are there
to tear him to pieces!

In the meanwhile, Mother Michel had passed the night in lamentation. She
could not control her grief, for the loss of Moumouth; she called him
continually in a plaintive voice, and--if we may credit the popular
song--the neighbors heard her cry at the window: "Who will bring him back
to me?"

[Illustration: Mother Michel laments.]

The next morning, at the rising of the smiling sun, the perfidious
Lustucru presented himself before Mother Michel in order to say to
her:--

"Well, my dear companion, have you found him?"

"Alas, no!" she murmured. "Have you any news of him?"

"Nothing positive," replied the steward, who wished to torment the poor
woman; "but I dreamed of him all night long; he appeared to me in a
dream, with his face pale and an exhausted air, like a cat who did not
feel very well."

[Illustration: Father Lustucru dreams.]

"In what place was he?"

"He seemed to be in a garden, at the foot of a lilac-bush."

Mother Michel instantly ran to the garden, where, as you may imagine, she
did not find Moumouth.

During the whole day Lustucru amused himself by giving her false
exultations, which were followed by increased despondency.

"Mother Michel," said he, "just now, in passing the store-room, I thought
I heard a kind of meyowing."

Mother Michel hastened to visit the store-room.

Presently he came to her out of breath, and said:--

[Illustration: Illustration: Mother Michel encounters nothing but Rats.]

"We have him at last! I am nearly certain that he is rummaging in the
cellar."

And Mother Michel ventured into the gloomy vaults of the cellar, where
she encountered nothing but rats.

It was near the close of the day that Lustucru pronounced these words,
which a popular song has happily preserved for us:--

                      "Oh, Mother Michel,
                      Your cat is not lost;
                      He is up in the garret
                      A-hunting the rats,
                      With his little straw gun
                      And his sabre of wood!"

The words were full of a bitter raillery, which Father Lustucru was
unable to disguise. To pretend that Moumouth was hunting rats with his
little straw gun and his wooden sword was to suppose something quite
unlikely, for nobody ever saw a cat make use of such arms. But the
agonies of Mother Michel had so confused her mind, that she noticed only
what could give her a gleam of hope.

"He is in the garret!" she cried, without paying attention to the rest of
the verse. "Let us hasten there, my dear sir; let us search for him. Give
me your arm, for I am so nervous, so troubled, so harassed by fatigue,
that I have not the strength to get up alone."

[Illustration: She searches the Attic.]

The two mounted to the garret, and Mother Michel, lantern in hand,
searched in the attic and under the roof. Silence and solitude reigned
everywhere.

"You are again mistaken," murmured Mother Michel.

"No, no," replied the malicious man; "let us continue to hunt, we shall
finish by finding. We haven't looked there--behind those fagots."

The credulous Mother Michel advanced in the direction indicated, and--to
the great stupefaction of Lustucru--the cat, which he believed drowned,
appeared in full health and strength, and fixed its gaze upon him
indignantly.

[Illustration: "It is he! It is he!" cried Mother Michel.]

"It is he! it is he!" cried Mother Michel, seizing Moumouth in her arms.
"Ah, my dear Lustucru! my good and true friend, how I thank you for
conducting me here!"

The steward had scarcely any taste for compliments which he so little
merited. Pale-faced and cold, he hung his head before his victim, whose
preservation he could not explain to himself. It was, however, a very
simple thing: Moumouth, pursued by the dogs, succeeded in leaping from
the wall, and, passing from gutter to gutter, from garden to garden, from
roof to roof, had reached his domicile; but, dreading the resentment of
his enemy, he had not dared to appear, and had hidden himself in the
garret.

"Am I the dupe of a nightmare?" said Father Lustucru to himself. "Is it
really that rascal of a Moumouth that I have there under my eyes, in
flesh and bone? Isn't it his ghost that has come back to torment me? This
cat, then, is the evil one in person!"

The cat was not the evil one--Providence had protected him.




CHAPTER V.

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, Jérôme 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 Grenouillère, 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 Grenouillère 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.]




CHAPTER VI.

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 Grenouillère
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 Grenouillère 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 Langlumé, 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 Grenouillère. 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 protégé, 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 Grenouillère 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."




CHAPTER VII.

IN WHICH FATHER LUSTUCRU IS ON THE POINT OF
ACCOMPLISHING HIS PURPOSE, AND MOTHER MICHEL'S
CAT IS IN AN UNPLEASANT PREDICAMENT.


Lustucru had fixed the following day for the cruel execution of Moumouth,
for he knew that Mother Michel on that day was to carry to the express
office a package destined for her sister.

All the forenoon and afternoon Faribole was plunged in the darkest
despondency, and when the fatal hour sounded, he was assailed by the
irresolutions of the previous day. When Mother Michel, before going out,
said to him, "I leave Moumouth in your charge; you must take care of him,
and make him play, so that he will not fret too much during my absence,"
the poor lad felt his heart fail, and his natural loyalty revolted.

"Come, we have not a minute to lose," said Father Lustucru to Faribole;
"here is the sack; go look for the beast!"

Faribole once more appealed to the pity of the steward; he was eloquent,
he had tears in his voice, he pronounced a most touching plea, but
without being able to gain his cause. The executioner was immovable; he
insisted on the death of the cat; and the boy, overpowered by this evil
spirit, saw himself forced to obey.

Moumouth allowed himself to be enticed into the garden; he followed his
treacherous friend with the confidence of the lamb following the butcher,
and, at the very moment when he least thought of it, he found himself
fastened in the sack that was to be his tomb. Lustucru, who was hiding,
appeared suddenly, bearing two enormous cudgels; he handed one to his
accomplice, and taking hold of the sack, cried:--"Now!--to work, and no
quarter!"

Faribole heard him not; the boy was struck with stupor--his eyes rolled
wildly in their sockets, his face was livid, his mouth open, his arms
without strength.

Father Lustucru, animated by the nearness of his vengeance, did not
remark what passed in the mind of his companion. Having thrown the sack
rudely on the ground, the steward lifted his cudgel, and was about to
strike when the small door of the garden opened.

"How unfortunate!" he muttered; "Faribole, hide yourself in the hedge; I
will come back here presently."

[Illustration: The Steward lifted his Cudgel.]

He approached the person who had entered, and halted, petrified with
amazement, on beholding Mother Michel. He imagined at first that she had
been brought back by some vague suspicion, by some presentiment; but he
recovered himself, hearing her say:--

"I am obliged to postpone my walk, for I have seen Madame de la
Grenouillère's carriage coming; it turned out of its way on account of
the repairs being made in the street. By reentering through the garden I
was able to get here in advance. Come, Monsieur Lustucru, let us hasten
to receive our good mistress."

"I am with you, madame," said the steward; then, making a
speaking-trumpet of his hand, he cried to Faribole:--

[Illustration: Making a Speaking-trumpet of his Hand.]

"Strike all alone! strike until the cat has ceased to move!" and he
rejoined Mother Michel in the court, where the domestics were drawn up in
a line like a well-drilled battalion.

On stepping from the carriage Madame de la Grenouillère honored her
servitors with a benevolent glance, embraced Mother Michel with touching
familiarity, and demanded news of Moumouth.

[Illustration: The Countess embraces Mother Michel.]

"Your protégé is wonderfully well," said Mother Michel, "he grows fatter
and handsomer under our very eyes; but it may be said, without injury to
the truth, that his moral qualities are even beyond his physical
charms."

"Poor friend, if he does not love me he will be a monster of ingratitude,
for since our separation I have thought of him constantly; Heaven has
taken away many beings that were dear to me, but Moumouth will be the
consolation of my old age!"

As soon as the Countess had given the orders which her arrival made
necessary, she prayed Mother Michel to fetch Moumouth.

"He will be charmed to see you again, madame," Mother Michel answered;
"he is in the garden in the care of Faribole, a little young man whom
your steward judged proper to admit to the house; the young rogue and
the cat have become a pair of intimate friends."

[Illustration: Faribole seated in the Garden.]

Mother Michel went down to the garden and there found Faribole alone,
seated upon a bench, and with a preoccupied air stripping the leaves from
a branch of boxwood which he held in his hand.

"My friend," said the good woman, "Madame, the Countess, desires you to
bring Moumouth to her."

"Moumouth!" stammered Faribole, starting at the name as if he had been
stung by a wasp.

"Yes, Moumouth; I thought he was with you."

"He just quitted me; some persons passing in the street made a noise that
frightened him, and he leaped into the hedge."

Mother Michel, after having spent more than half an hour in scouring the
garden, returned to Madame de la Grenouillère and said: "Moumouth is
absent, madame; but do not be anxious; he disappeared once before, and we
found him in the garret."

"Let him be searched for! I do not wish to wait. I desire to see him this
instant!"

Alas! this desire was not likely to be gratified, if any reliance could
be placed upon the words exchanged in the dark between Lustucru and his
accomplice.

"Well, did you do it?"

"Yes, Monsieur Lustucru, I pounded until the cat ceased to move."

"What have you done with the body?"

"I have thrown it into the Seine."

"Was he quite dead?"

"He didn't stir."

"Anyway, the sack was securely fastened. Justice is done!"




CHAPTER VIII.

IN WHICH MOTHER MICHEL SEARCHES FOR HER CAT.


Several days passed in painful expectation; but the cat, like General
Marlborough, did not come back. The despair of Madame de la Grenouillère
was sincere, profound, and silent,--all the more intense because it was
suppressed. She continually pictured to herself the charming ways of
Moumouth, his natural goodness, his superior intelligence. No animal had
ever displayed to her so many brilliant qualities; not one of her
previous favorites had ever caused her such bitter regrets.

Generous in her misfortune, she did not reproach Mother Michel; on the
contrary, the Countess sought to comfort that poor woman, who had given
herself up wholly to grief. The Countess said to her one night:--

"What can you do against an irresistible calamity? The wisdom of man
consists not in struggling with unhappiness, but in submitting himself
to the will of Heaven."

"I am of your opinion," replied Mother Michel. "If I believed, like you,
in the death of Moumouth, I would resign myself without a murmur. But I
have the idea that he still lives; I picture him running through the
streets, the victim of ill treatment, with saucepans, may be"--

"Go to, Mother Michel, you deceive yourself; Moumouth is dead, otherwise
he would have come back to us."

"Something tells me that he is still in this world, and if Madame the
Countess wishes to have tidings of him, she has only to address
herself"--

"To whom?"

"To our neighbor, Madame Bradamor, that celebrated fortune-teller, who
predicts the future, removes freckles, reads in the Book of Destinies,
and charms away the toothache."

"Fie, Mother Michel! how can you, a sensible woman, have any confidence
in the juggling of an adventuress?"

"But, madame, I am not alone; the most distinguished people go to Madame
Bradamor; she is more learned and less dear than her rivals, and asks
only ten crowns to make you behold the devil Astaroth."

"Enough, for pity's sake!" responded the Countess, dryly.

Mother Michel remained silent; but she had made up her mind, and, the
first time she had a moment of liberty, she ran to the house of the
necromancer.

The fortune-teller occupied a spacious apartment richly furnished, for
she gained a great deal of money by cheating the public. Her
consultation-room was draped with hangings of black velvet sprinkled with
gilt stars; upon a square table, in the centre of the chamber, stood
painted tin obelisks, jars of electricity, retorts, and divers
mathematical instruments, of whose uses the pretended sorceress was quite
ignorant, but which she had placed there in order to impose on the
weak-minded persons who came to consult her.

She at first showed some embarrassment on beholding Mother Michel;
however, after having closed a glass door which communicated with the
other apartments, she returned to salute her new client, and said in a
solemn tone:--

"What is your desire?"

"To question the present, the past, and the future."

"I am the very one to satisfy you," replied Madame Bradamor; "but what
you demand is very difficult, and will cost you three crowns."

"There they are; I give them to you with all my heart."

Madame Bradamor, full of regret that she had not insisted on having more,
pocketed the money, and began in these terms:--

"What is the date of your birth?"

"The 24th of May, 1698."

"What are the initials of your name and the first letter of the place in
which you were born?"

[Illustration: Mother Michel pays Three Crowns.]

"A, R, M, N, L, S."

Madame Michel was named Anastasie Ravegot; the widow, since twelve years,
of François Michel, in life inspector of butter in the Paris markets; she
was born in Noisy-le-Sec.

"What is your favorite flower?"

"The Jerusalem artichoke."

After these customary questions, the fortune-teller examined some
coffee-grounds poured into a saucer, and said:--

"Phaldarus, the genie of things unknown, informs me that you are in
search of a being very dear to you."

Mother Michel bounded in her chair with surprise.

Madame Bradamor continued: "This being is not a man; it is a
quadruped--either a dog or a cat. Ariel, spirit celestial, reveals to me
that it is a cat."

Mother Michel was more and more impressed; without giving her time to
recover herself, the fortune-teller took a pack of cards, shuffled them,
cut them three times, then disposed them in a systematic order on the
table, and said gravely:--

"Your cat is the knave of clubs; let us see what happens to him. One,
two, three, four; ten of spades! He is a wanderer, he has a passion for
travel, he sets out at night to see the curiosities of Paris. One, two,
three, four; the queen of spades! It is a woman who manufactures ermine
fur out of cat-skin. One, two, three, four; the knave of spades! It is a
rag-picker. One, two, three, four; the king of spades! It is a
restaurant-keeper. The falling together of these three persons alarms me.
One, two, three, four,--clubs! One, two, three, four,--clubs again! One,
two, three, four,--always clubs. Your cat would bring money to these
three persons: the rag-picker wishes to kill him in order to sell the
skin to the furrier, and the body to the restaurant-keeper, who will
serve it up to his customers as stewed rabbit. Will the cat be able to
resist his persecutors. One, two, three, four; seven of spades! It is all
over, madame; your cat no longer exists!"

[Illustration: The Fortune-teller consults her Cards.]

"They have eaten him, the cannibals!" cried Mother Michel, sinking back,
and she fancied she heard a plaintive _miau_, the last agonized cry of
Moumouth. But it was not an illusion; a cat had miaued, and was still
miauing in the next chamber. Suddenly a pane of glass in the door
described was shivered to atoms, and Moumouth in person tumbled at the
feet of Mother Michel.

[Illustration: Moumouth appears.]

From the top of a wardrobe he had perceived his affectionate guardian; he
had called to her several times, and as she did not answer him, he had
thrown himself, in his desperation, against the glass door, through which
he had broken a passage.

"My cat was with you!" said Mother Michel; "you have stolen him! My
mistress is powerful; my mistress is the Countess Yolande de la
Grenouillère; she will have you chastised as you deserve to be!"

While making these threats Mother Michel placed Moumouth under her arm,
and prepared to depart. Madame Bradamor stopped her, saying:--

"Do not ruin me, I conjure you! I have not stolen your cat!"

"How is it in your house, then?"

"I have it from a little boy named Faribole; he got this cat for me,
which I have long desired to have, on account of his supernatural shape
and appearance, to figure in my cabalistic conjurations. This is the
truth, the whole truth. I beg of you that your mistress will not disturb
me."

[Illustration: "Do not ruin me, I conjure you!"]

"Madame the Countess will act as she thinks proper," responded Mother
Michel, haughtily; and she vanished with her cat.

She made but one step from the house of Madame Bradamor to that of Madame
de la Grenouillère; one would have said that Mother Michel had on the
seven-league boots of little Tom Thumb. She did not linger in the parlor,
when she arrived out of breath and unable to speak a word, but carried
Moumouth straight to the Countess.

On recognizing the animal, the Countess gave so loud a cry of joy that it
was heard as far as the Place de la Carrousel.

Lustucru assisted at this touching scene. At the sight of the cat he was
so dumbfounded that his reason wavered for a moment. He imagined that the
cat, so many times saved, was a fantastic being, capable of speaking,
like the beasts in the fairy-tales, and he said to himself with a shiver:
"I am lost! Moumouth is going to denounce me!"

[Illustration: Lustucru assisted at this touching Scene.]




CHAPTER IX.

WHICH IS SATISFACTORY TO EVERYBODY BUT THE
GUILTY.


As soon as Madame de la Grenouillère learned how Moumouth had been
recovered, she ordered young Faribole to be brought before her.

"I'll go and look him up," said Father Lustucru, with alacrity. He was
very anxious to warn his accomplice, and sought an excuse to steal off.

"No, remain! You have admitted him to the mansion, you shall see him
turned away, and will learn to bestow your confidence more wisely in
future."

Lustucru remained, and, recovering from his first stupor, resolved to
boldly deny everything, if Faribole should dare to accuse him.

Introduced into the parlor, Faribole did not wait to be interrogated.

[Illustration: Faribole Explains.]

"Madame the Countess," said he, "the presence of your cat tells me why
you have called me; but I am less guilty than I appear; permit me to
explain."

"It is useless," replied Madame de la Grenouillère; "your justification
is impossible."

The steward, believing it best to play a bold game, said with irony:--

"I am curious to know what unlikely story this rogue has to tell," and in
accenting these words slowly he gave Faribole a glance which signified:
"If you accuse me, woe to you!'"

Without allowing himself to be confused, Faribole commenced in these
terms:--

"It is necessary to avow it, madame; I entered into your service with the
intention of stealing your cat; the fortune-teller wished to have him, to
make him play the part of the devil Astaroth; and she had seduced me by
the promise of a crown of six livres and a pair of shoes. They treated me
so well, and Moumouth appeared to me so charming, that I renounced my
wicked plans; I never, no, never would have put them into execution, if I
had not found it was necessary to get Moumouth out of the way in order to
rescue him from the attacks of an enemy all the more terrible because he
was hidden."

"Of whom does he wish to speak?" demanded Lustucru.

"Of you! of you who have said to me, 'Kill Moumouth, or I chase you from
the house!'"

"I, I have said that! what an impudent falsehood! Ah, Madame the
Countess, you know me well enough not to hesitate between the
declarations of this fellow and my flat denial."

"Faribole," said the Countess severely, "your charge is grave; can you
bring any proof to support it?"

"Proof, alas! no, madame; but I am ready to swear to you"--

"Enough," interrupted the Countess; "do not add calumny to the theft of
the cat, but deliver me of your presence."

[Illustration: Faribole is treated Roughly on the Staircase.]

The miserable Faribole wished to protest, but at a sign from Madame de la
Grenouillère, Lustucru seized him by the arm, led him through the door
without further ceremony, and treated him in so rough a manner on the
staircase as to quite relieve him of any idea of asking for his personal
effects.

However, the iniquities of the steward were not to remain long
unpunished; that same day, Mother Michel, in arranging the closet in the
antechamber, was very much astonished at finding the bodies of several
dead rats and mice; she was wondering what had caused their death, when
she recognized the famous hash that the cat had refused to eat, and which
had been left there by mistake. Two mice were dead in the plate itself,
so powerful and subtile was the poison!

This discovery tore away the veil which covered the past of Lustucru.
Mother Michel, divining that the charges of Faribole were well founded,
hastened to inform Madame de la Grenouillère, who recommended her to keep
silent, and sent for the steward.

"Have you still the 'Death to Rats?'" she asked him.

"Yes, madame, I think I have a little left."

"Some should be placed in the antechamber; you have not thought of that
before?"

"Never, madame; I did not know there were rats in that part of the
house."

"Very well; you can retire."

[Illustration: A Celebrated Chemist analyzes the Hash.]

Madame de la Grenouillère wrote to a celebrated chemist, who, after
having analyzed the hash, declared that it contained a prodigious
quantity of poison.

The crime of Lustucru was then evident; but other proofs were not long in
rising against him. The adventure of Groquemouche and Guignolet was
talked about among the boatmen; Faribole heard the story from one of
them, and discovered a person who had seen Lustucru throw Moumouth from
the bridge of Notre Dame.

[Illustration: The Fate of the Steward.]

The steward, confounded, did not wait to be discharged; he fled, and, to
escape the vengeance of Madame de la Grenouillère, embarked as cook on
board of a merchant vessel bound for Oceanica.

It was afterward learned that this ship had been wrecked upon the
Sandwich Islands, and that the savages had eaten Lustucru. History
records that at the moment of expiring he pronounced but a single word,
the name of Moumouth!

[Illustration: Lustucru flies.]

What was it that brought this name to the lips of the guilty man? Was it
remorse? or was it the last explosion of an unforgiving hatred? This is
what history has neglected to inform us.

The health of Madame de la Grenouillère had been altered by the heavy
shocks she had experienced in losing her favorite animals. The tenderness
and graces of Moumouth would perhaps have been sufficient to attach her
to life; but the respectable lady had reached an age when sorrows press
very heavily. Mother Michel had the grief, one morning, to find the
Countess dead in her bed; her face was so calm and bore so plainly the
impress of all her lovable qualities, that one would have believed she
slept. She was nearly in her seventy-ninth year.

By her will, which she had deposited with her lawyer, she had left to
Moumouth and Mother Michel an income of two thousand livres, to revert,
in case of the death of either, to the survivor.

Mother Michel took up her residence near her sister, provided handsomely
for all the children, and selected for her own retreat a pretty cottage
situated in Low-Breton upon the banks of the river among the green
trees.

[Illustration: Mother Michel's Cottage.]

Faribole, received again into the service of Madame de la Grenouillère,
conducted himself so well that his transient error was forgotten. He
would have been able to distinguish himself in the kitchen, but he
preferred to serve the State, and enlisted at the age of sixteen in an
infantry regiment. He took part in the expedition against Majorca under
the command of Marshal Richelieu, and was named corporal after the
capture of Port-Mahon, June the 29th, 1756. When he obtained his
discharge, he returned to live near Mother Michel, for whom he had an
affection truly filial. To the agitations of their existence succeeded
calm and happy days, embellished by the constantly increasing graces of
Moumouth.

Our cat henceforth was without an enemy; he won, on the contrary, the
esteem and affection of all who knew him. His adventures had made him
quite famous. Besides the ballad,--of which, unfortunately, only two
couplets have been preserved,--the poets of the period wrote in his honor
a large number of verses that have not come down to us. He received
visits from the most distinguished men of the time, even from the King
himself, who once, on his way to the Chateau of Bellevue, dropped in for
a moment on Moumouth.

A grand lady of the court condescended to choose for Moumouth a very
gentle and very pretty companion, whom he accepted with gratitude. In
seeing himself a father Moumouth's happiness was at its highest, as was
also that of Mother Michel, who felt that she lived again in the
posterity of her cat.

You wish to know what finally became of Moumouth? He died,--but it was
not until after a long and joyous career. His eyes, in closing, looked
with sweet satisfaction upon groups of weeping children and
grandchildren. His mortal remains were not treated like those of ordinary
cats. Mother Michel had built for him a magnificent mausoleum of white
marble. Following a custom then adopted at the burial of all illustrious
personages, they engraved upon the tomb of Moumouth an epitaph in Latin,
composed by a learned professor of the University of Paris.

[Illustration: Moumouth and his Family.]