En Route
Because a man pays forty francs for a child that is not to say that he is a monster, and that he intends to eat the child. Vitalis had no desire to eat me and although he bought children he was not a bad man. I soon had proof of this. We had been walking in silence for some time. I heaved a sigh.
“I know just how you feel,” said Vitalis; “cry all you want. But try and see that this is for your own good. Those people are not your parents; the wife has been good to you and I know that you love her, that is why you feel so badly. But she could not keep you if the husband did not want you. And he may not be such a bad chap after all; he is ill and can’t do any more work. He’ll find it hard to get along…”
Yes, what he said was true, but I had only one thought in my mind, perhaps I should never again see the one I loved most in the world.
“You won’t be unhappy with me,” he continued; “it is better than being sent to the Home. And let me tell you, you must not try to run away, because if you do Capi and Zerbino would soon catch you.”
Run away—I no longer thought of doing so. Where should I go? This tall old man perhaps would be a kind master after all. I had never walked so far at a stretch. All around us were barren lands and hills, not beautiful like I had thought the world would be outside of my village.
Vitalis walked with big regular strides, carrying Pretty-Heart on his shoulder, or in his bag, and the dogs trotted close to us. From time to time Vitalis said a word of friendship to them, sometimes in French, sometimes in a language that I did not understand. Neither he nor the animals seemed to get tired. But I… I was exhausted. I dragged my limbs along and it was as much as I could do to keep up with my new master. Yet I did not like to ask him to let me stop.
“It’s those wooden shoes that tire you,” he said, looking down at me. “When we get to Ussel, I’ll buy you some shoes.”
These words gave me courage. I had always longed for a pair of shoes. The mayor’s son and the inn-keeper’s son wore shoes, so that on Sunday when they came to church they seemed to slide down the stone aisles, while we other country boys in our clogs made a deafening noise.
“Is Ussel far?”
“Ah, that comes from your heart,” said Vitalis, laughing. “So you want to have a pair of shoes, do you? Well, I’ll promise you them and with big nails, too. And I’ll buy you some velvet pants, and a vest and a hat. That’ll make you dry your tears, I hope, and give you legs to do the next six miles.”
Shoes with nails! I was overcome with pride. It was grand enough to have shoes, but shoes with nails! I forgot my grief. Shoes with nails! Velvet pants! a vest! a hat! Oh, if Mother Barberin could see me, how happy she would be, how proud of me! But in spite of the promise that I should have shoes and velvet pants at the end of the six miles, it seemed impossible that I could cover the distance.
The sky, which had been blue when we started, was now filled with gray clouds and soon a fine rain commenced to fall. Vitalis was covered well enough with his sheepskin and he was able to shelter Pretty-Heart, who, at the first drop of rain, had promptly retired into his hiding place. But the dogs and I had nothing to cover us, and soon we were drenched to the skin. The dogs from time to time could shake themselves, but I was unable to employ this natural means, and I had to tramp along under my water-soaked, heavy garments, which chilled me.
“Do you catch cold easily?” asked my new master.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember ever having a cold.”
“That’s good. So there is something in you. But I don’t want to have it worse for you than we are obliged. There is a village a little farther on and we’ll sleep there.”
There was no inn in this village and no one wanted to take into their homes an old beggar who dragged along with him a child and three dogs, soaked to the skin.
“No lodgings here,” they said.
And they shut the door in our faces. We went from one house to another, but all refused to admit us. Must we tramp those four miles on to Ussel without resting a bit? The night had fallen and the rain had chilled us through and through. Oh, for Mother Barberin’s house!
Finally a peasant, more charitable than his neighbors, agreed to let us go into his barn. But he made the condition that we could sleep there, but must have no light.
“Give me your matches,” he said to Vitalis. “I’ll give you them back to-morrow, when you go.”
At least we had a roof to cover us from the storm.
In the sack which Vitalis had slung over his back he took out a hunch of bread and broke it into four pieces. Then I saw for the first time how he maintained obedience and discipline in his company. Whilst we had gone from door to door seeking shelter, Zerbino had gone into a house and he had run out again almost at once, carrying in his jaws a crust. Vitalis had only said:
“Alright, Zerbino… to-night.”
I had thought no more of this theft, when I saw Vitalis cut the roll; Zerbino looked very dejected. Vitalis and I were sitting on a box with Pretty-Heart between us. The three dogs stood in a row before us, Capi and Dulcie with their eyes fixed on their master. Zerbino stood with drooping ears and tail between his legs.
“The thief must leave the ranks and go into a corner,” said Vitalis in a tone of command; “he’ll go to sleep without his supper.”
Zerbino left his place, and in a zigzag went over to the corner that Vitalis indicated with his finger. He crouched down under a heap of hay out of sight, but we heard him breathe plaintively, with a little whine.
Vitalis then handed me a piece of bread, and while eating his own he broke little pieces for Pretty-Heart, Capi and Dulcie. How I longed for Mother Barberin’s soup… even without butter, and the warm fire, and my little bed with the coverlets that I pulled right up to my nose. Completely fagged out, I sat there, my feet raw by the rubbing of my clogs. I trembled with cold in my wet clothing. It was night now, but I did not think of going to sleep.
“Your teeth are chattering,” said Vitalis; “are you cold?”
“A little.”
I heard him open his bag.
“I haven’t got much of a wardrobe,” he said, “but here’s a dry shirt and a vest you can put on. Then get underneath the hay and you’ll soon get warm and go to sleep.”
But I did not get warm as quick as Vitalis thought; for a long time I turned and turned on my bed of straw, too unhappy to sleep. Would all my days now be like this, walking in the pouring rain; sleeping in a loft, shaking with cold, and only a piece of dry bread for supper? No one to love me; no one to cuddle me; no Mother Barberin!
My heart was very sad. The tears rolled down my cheeks, then I felt a warm breath pass over my face. I stretched out my hand and my finger touched Capi’s woolly coat. He had come softly to me, stepping cautiously on the straw, and he smelt me: he sniffed gently, his breath ran over my cheek and in my hair. What did he want? Presently he laid down on the straw, quite close to me, and very gently he commenced to lick my hand. Touched by this caress, I sat up on my straw bed and throwing my arms round his neck kissed his cold nose. He gave a little stifled cry, and then quickly put his paw in my hand and remained quite still. I forgot my fatigue and my sorrows. I was no longer alone. I had a friend.