Ange Pitou

by Alexandre Dumas

In the first place—but we must admit that this was by no means the reason which most influenced Pitou to dislike his aunt—Doctor Gilbert having left VillersCotterêts, there never was a word said about placing the child as an apprentice. The good notary had indeed given her a hint or two with regard to her formal obligation; but Mademoiselle Angélique had replied that her nephew was very young, and above all, that his health was too delicate to be subjected to labor which would probably be beyond his strength. The notary, on hearing this observation, had in good faith admired the kindness of heart of Mademoiselle Pitou, and had deferred taking any steps as to the apprenticeship until the following year. There was no time lost, the child being then only in his twelfth year.

  Once installed at his aunt's, and while the latter was ruminating as to the mode she should adopt whereby to make the most of her dear nephew, Pitou, who once more found himself in his forest, or very near to it, had already made his topographical observations in order to lead the same life at Villers-Cotterêts as at Haramont.

  In fact, he had made a circuit of the neighborhood, in which he had convinced himself that the best pools were those on the road to Dampleux, that to Compiègne and that to Vivières, and that the best district for game was that of the Wolf's Heath.

  Pitou, having made this survey, took all the necessary measures for pursuing his juvenile sport.

  The thing most easy to be procured, as it did not require any outlay of capital, was bird-lime; the bark of the holly, brayed in a mortar and steeped in water, gave the lime; and as to the twigs to be limed, they were to be found by thousands on every birch-tree in the neighborhood. Pitou therefore manufactured, without saying a word to any one on the subject, a thousand of limed twigs and a pot of glue of the first quality; and one fine morning, after having the previous evening taken on his aunt's account at the baker's a four-pound loaf, he set off at daybreak, remained out the whole day, and returned home when the evening had closed in.

  Pitou had not formed such a resolution without duly calculating the effect it would produce. He had foreseen a tempest. Without possessing the wisdom of Socrates, he knew the temper of his Aunt Angélique as well as the illustrious tutor of Alcibiades knew that of his wife Xantippe.

  Pitou had not deceived himself in his foresight, but he thought he would be able to brave the storm by presenting to the old devotee the produce of his day's sport; only he had not been able to foretell from what spot the thunder would be hurled at him.

  The thunderbolt struck him immediately on entering the house.

  Mademoiselle Angélique had ensconced herself behind the door, that she might not miss her nephew as he entered, so that at the very moment he ventured to put his foot into the room, he received a cuff upon the occiput, and in which, without further information, he at once recognized the withered hand of the old devotee.

  Fortunately, Pitou's head was a tolerably hard one, and although the blow had scarcely staggered him, he pretended, in order to mollify his aunt, whose anger had increased, from having hurt her fingers in striking with such violence, to fall, stumbling as he went, at the opposite end of the room; there, seated on the floor, and seeing that his aunt was returning to the assault, her distaff in her hand, he hastened to draw from his pocket the talisman on which he had relied to allay the storm, and obtain pardon for his flight. And this was two dozen of birds, among which were a dozen redbreasts and half-a-dozen thrushes.

  Mademoiselle Angélique, perfectly astounded, opened her eyes widely, continuing to scold for form's sake; but although still scolding, she took possession of her nephew's sport, retreating three paces towards the lamp.

  "What is all this?" she asked.

  "You must see clearly enough, my dear little Aunt Angélique," replied Pitou, "that they are birds."

  "Good to eat?" eagerly inquired the old maid, who, in her quality of devotee, was naturally a great eater.

  "Good to eat!" reiterated Pitou; "well, that is singular. Redbreasts and thrushes good to eat! I believe they are, indeed!"

  "And where did you steal these birds, you little wretch?"

  "I did not steal them; I caught them."

  "Caught them! how?"

  "By lime-twigging them."

  "Lime-twigging,—what do you mean by that?"

  Pitou looked at his aunt with an air of astonishment; he could not comprehend that the education of any person in existence could have been so neglected as not to know the meaning of lime-twigging.

  "Lime-twigging?" said he; "why, zounds! 'tis lime-twigging."

  "Yes; but, saucy fellow, I do not understand what you mean by lime-twigging."

  As Pitou was full of compassion for the uninitiated, "Well, you see, Aunt," said he, "in the forest here there are at least thirty small pools; you place the lime twigs around them, and when the birds go to drink there, as they do not—poor silly things!—know anything about them, they run their heads into them and are caught."

  "By what?"

  "By the birdlime."

  "Ah! ah!" exclaimed Aunt Angélique, "I understand; but who gave you the money?"

  "Money!" cried Pitou, astonished that any one could have believed that he had ever possessed a sou; "money, Aunt Angélique?"

  "Yes."

  "No one."

  "But where did you buy the birdlime, then?"

  "I made it myself."

  "And the lime-twigs?"

  "I made them also, to be sure."

  "Therefore, these birds—"

  "Well, Aunt?"

  "Cost you nothing?"

  "The trouble of stooping to pick them up."

  "And can you go often to these pools?"

  "One might go every day."

  "Good!"

  "Only, it would not do."

  "What would not do?"

  "To go there every day."

  "And for what reason?"

  "Why, because it would ruin it."

  "Ruin what?"

  "The lime-twigging. You understand, Aunt Angélique, that the birds which are caught—"

  "Well?"

  "Well, they can't return to the pool."

  "That is true," said the aunt.

  This was the first time, since Pitou had lived with her, that Aunt Angélique had allowed her nephew was in the right, and this unaccustomed approbation perfectly delighted him.

  "But," said he, "the days that one does not go to the pools one goes somewhere else. The days we do not catch birds, we catch something else."

  "And what do you catch?"

  "Why, we catch rabbits."

  "Rabbits?"

  "Yes; we eat the rabbits and sell their skins. A rabbitskin is worth two sous."

  Aunt Angélique gazed at her nephew with astonished eyes; she had never considered him so great an economist. Pitou had suddenly revealed himself.

  "But will it not be my business to sell the skins?"

  "Undoubtedly," replied Pitou; "as Mamma Madeleine used to do."

  It had never entered the mind of the boy that he could claim any part of the produce of his sport excepting that which he consumed.

  "And when will you go out to catch rabbits?"

  "Ah! that's another matter; when I can get the wires," replied Pitou.

  "Well, then, make the wires."

  Pitou shook his head.

  "Why, you made the birdlime and the twigs."

  "Oh, yes, I can make birdlime and I can set the twigs, but I cannot make brass wire; that is bought ready made at the grocer's."

  "And how much does it cost?"

  "Oh, for four sous," replied Pitou, calculating upon his fingers, "I could make at least two dozen."

  "And with two dozen how many rabbits could you catch?"

  "That is as it may happen,—four, five, six perhaps,—and they can be used over and over again if the gamekeeper does not find them."

  "See, now, here are four sous," said Aunt Angélique; "go and buy some brass wire at Monsieur Dambrun's, and go to-morrow and catch rabbits."

  "I will lay
them to-morrow," said Pitou, "but it will only be the next morning that I shall know whether I have caught any."

  "Well, be it so; but go and buy the wire."

  Brass wire was cheaper at Villers-Cotterets than in the country, seeing that the grocers at Haramont purchased their supplies in the town; Pitou, therefore, bought wire enough for twenty-four snares for three sous. He took the remaining sou back to his aunt.

  This unexpected probity in her nephew almost touched the heart of the old maid. For a moment she had the idea, the intention, of bestowing upon her nephew the sou which he had not expended; unfortunately for Pitou, it was one that had been beaten out with a hammer, and which, in the dusk, might be passed for a twosous piece. Mademoiselle Angélique thought it would never do to dispossess herself of a coin by which she could make cent per cent, and she let it drop again into her pocket.

  Pitou had remarked this hesitation, but had not analyzed it; he never could have imagined that his aunt would give him a sou.

  He at once set to work to make his wires. The next day he asked his aunt for a bag.

  "What for?" inquired the old maid.

  "Because I want it," replied Pitou.—Pitou was full of mystery.

  Mademoiselle Angélique gave him the required bag, put into it the provision of bread and cheese which was to serve for breakfast and dinner to her nephew, who set out very early for Wolf's Heath.

  As to Aunt Angélique, she set to work to pick the twelve redbreasts which she had destined for her own breakfast and dinner. She carried two thrushes to the Abbé Fortier, and sold the remaining four to the host of the Golden Ball, who paid her three sous apiece for them, promising her to take as many as she would bring him at the same price.

  Aunt Angélique returned home transported with joy. The blessing of heaven had entered beneath her roof with Ange Pitou.

  "Ah!" cried she, while eating her robin-redbreasts, which were as fat as ortolans and as delicate as beccaficos, "people are right in saying that a good deed never goes unrewarded."

  In the evening Ange returned; his bag, which was magnificently rounded, he carried on his shoulders. On this occasion Aunt Angélique did not waylay him behind the door, but waited for him on the threshold, and instead of giving him a box on the ear, she received the lad with a grimace which very much resembled a smile.

  "Here I am!" cried Pitou, on entering the room with all that firmness which denotes a conviction of having well employed one's time.

  "You and your bag," said Aunt Angélique.

  "I and my bag," said Pitou

  "And what have you in your bag?" inquired Aunt Angélique, stretching forth her hand with curiosity.

  "Beech-mast," said Pitou.1

  "Beech-mast!"

  "Undoubtedly; you must understand, Aunt Angélique, that if old Father La Jeunesse, the gamekeeper at the Wolf's Heath, had seen me prowling over his grounds without my bag, he would have said to me, 'What do you come here after, you little vagabond?' And this without calculating that he might have suspected something; while having my bag, were he to ask me what I was doing there, I should say to him, 'why I am come to gather mast; is it forbidden to gather mast?' 'No.' 'Well, then, if it is not forbidden, you have nothing to say.' And indeed, should he say anything, Father La Jeunesse would be in the wrong."

  "Then you have spent your whole day in gathering mast instead of laying your wires, you idle fellow!" exclaimed aunt Angélique angrily, who thought that the rabbits were escaping her through her nephew's excessive cunning.

  "On the contrary, I laid my snares while he saw me at work gathering the mast."

  "And did he say nothing to you?"

  "Oh, yes, he said to me, 'You will present my compliments to your aunt, Pitou.' Hey! Is not Father La Jeunesse a kind, good man?"

  "But the rabbits?" again repeated the old devotee, whom nothing could divert from her fixed idea.

  "The rabbits? Why, the moon will rise at midnight, and at one o'clock I will go and see if there are any caught."

  "Where?"

  "In the woods."

  "How! would you go into the woods at one o'clock in the morning?"

  "To be sure."

  "And without being afraid?"

  "Afraid! of what?"

  Angélique was as much astounded at Pitou's courage as she had been astonished at his calculations.

  The fact is, that Pitou, as simple as a child of nature, knew nothing of those factitious dangers which terrify children born in cities.

  Therefore at midnight he went his way, walking along the churchyard wall without once looking back. The innocent youth who had never offended, at least according to his ideas of independence, either God or man, feared not the dead more than he did the living.

  There was only one person of whom he felt any sort of apprehension, and this was Father La Jeunesse; and therefore did he take the precaution to go somewhat out of his way to pass by his house. As the doors and shutters were all closed, and there was no light to be perceived, Pitou, in order to assure himself that the keeper was really at home and not upon the watch, began to imitate the barking of a dog, and so perfectly that Ronflot, the keeper's terrier, was deceived by it, and answered it by giving tongue with all his might, and by sniffing the air under the door.

  From that moment Pitou was perfectly reassured; as Ronflot was at home, Father La Jeunesse must be there also. Ronflot and Father La Jeunesse were inseparable; and at the moment the one was seen, it was certain that the other would soon make his appearance.

  Pitou, being perfectly satisfied of this fact, went on towards the Wolf's Heath. The snares had done their work; two rabbits had been caught and strangled.

  Pitou put them into the capacious pocket of that coat, which, then too long for him, was destined within a year to become too short, and then returned to his aunt's house.

  The old maid had gone to bed, but her cupidity had kept her awake; like Perrette, she had been calculating what her rabbit-skins might produce, and this calculation had led her on so far, that she had not been able to close her eyes; and therefore was it with nervous tremulation that she asked the boy what success he had had.

  "A couple," said he. "Ah! the deuce! Aunt Angélique, it is not my fault that I have not brought more, but it appears that Father Jeunesse's rabbits are of a cunning sort."

  The hopes of Aunt Angélique were fulfilled, and even more. She seized, trembling with joy, the two unlucky quadrupeds and examined their skins, which had remained intact, and locked them up in her meat-safe, which never had seen such provisions as those it had contained since Pitou had hit upon the idea of supplying it.

  Then, in a very honeyed tone, she advised Pitou to go to bed, which the lad, who was much fatigued, did instantly, and that without even asking for his supper, which raised him greatly in the opinion of his aunt.

  Two days after this Pitou renewed his attempts, and on this occasion was more fortunate than the first. He brought home three rabbits. Two of them took the road to the Golden Ball, and the third that of the presbytery. Aunt Angélique was very attentive to the Abbé Fortier, who on his side strongly recommended her to the pious souls of the parish.

  Things went on in this manner during three or four months. Aunt Angélique was enchanted, and Pitou found his position somewhat supportable. In fact, with the exception of the tender cares of his mother, Pitou led nearly the same life at Villers-Cotterets which he had done at Haramont. But an unexpected circumstance, which, however, might have been foreseen, at once dashed to the ground the milk-pitcher of the aunt and put a stop to the excursions of the nephew.

  A letter had been received from Doctor Gilbert, dated from New York. On placing his foot on the soil of the United States the philosophic traveller had not forgotten his protégé. He had written to Master Niguet, the notary, to inquire whether his instructions had been carried into effect, and to claim the execution of the agreement if they had not been, or to cancel it altogether if the old aunt would not abide by her engagements.

 
The case was a serious one; the responsibility of the public officer was at stake; he presented himself at the house of Aunt Pitou, and with the doctor's letter in his hand called upon her to perform the promise she had made.

  There was no backing out; all allegations as to illhealth were at once belied by the physical appearance of Pitou. Pitou was tall and thin. Every sapling of the forest was also thin and tall, but this did not prevent it from being in a perfectly healthy and thriving condition.

  Mademoiselle Angélique asked for a delay of eight days, in order to make up her mind as to the trade or occupation in which she should place her nephew.

  Pitou was quite as sorrowful as his aunt. The mode of life he led appeared to him a very excellent one, and he did not desire any other.

  During these eight days there was no thought of going bird-catching or poaching; moreover, the winter had arrived, and in winter the birds find water everywhere; but some snow had fallen, and while that was on the ground Pitou did not dare go out to lay his snares. Snow retains the impression of footsteps, and Pitou possessed a pair of feet so huge that they gave Father La Jeunesse the greatest possible chance of ascertaining in four-andtwenty hours who was the skilful poacher who had depopulated his rabbit warren.

  During these eight days the claws of the old maid again showed themselves. Pitou had once more found the aunt of former days, she who had caused him so much terror, and whom self-interest, the primum mobile of her whole life, had for a while rendered as smooth as velvet.

  As the day for the important decision approached, the temper of the old maid became more and more crabbed, and to such a degree that, about the fifth day, Pitou sincerely desired that his aunt would immediately decide upon some trade, be it what it might, provided it should no longer be that of the scolded drudge which he had been filling in the old maid's house.

  Suddenly a sublime idea struck the mind of the old woman who had been so cruelly agitated. This idea restored her equanimity, which for six days had altogether abandoned her.

  This idea consisted in entreating the Abbé Fortier to receive into his school, and this without any remuneration whatever, poor Pitou, and enable him to obtain the purse for entering the seminary, founded by his highness the Duke of Orleans. This was an apprenticeship which would cost nothing to Aunt Angélique; and Monsieur Fortier, without taking into calculation the thrushes, blackbirds, and rabbits with which the old devotee had so abundantly supplied him for the last month, was bound to do something, more than for any other, for the nephew of the chair-letter of his own church. Thus kept as under a glass frame, Ange would continue to be profitable to her at the present time, and promised to be much more so in the future.