The Story of a Cat

E-text prepared by D. Alexander, Ronnie Sahlberg, Joseph Cooper,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)

THE STORY OF A CAT

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF

EMILE DE LA BÉDOLLIÈRE

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH

With Silhouettes by L. Hopkins

BOSTON AND NEW YORK

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

The Riverside Press Cambridge

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.

here 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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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."

"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.

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!"

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.

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.

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?"

"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.

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.

The Cat grows Fat.

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.

He will take Nothing from the Steward.

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.

"In her Youth she caressed a Kitten."

"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."

"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."

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!

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.

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!"

"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.

other 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?"

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."

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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!"

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."

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.

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!"

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.

e 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."

"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.

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.

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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."

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?"

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."

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: 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."

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.

"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.

he 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.

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."