A STORY OF A WOODEN HORSE.
CHAPTER VII.
EUSÈBE AT PARIS.—HOW HE BECOMES THE OWNER OF CRESSIDA.
The course of my story obliges me now to follow the doings of Maurice’s cousin Eusèbe through one chapter. His goat Jeanne had died some time ago; to her had succeeded a monkey, then a dog; afterwards some birds, and last of all a lamb. With his usual caprice these had all been discarded in turn, and he had at this moment no animal to pet or to torment. It was a hot day towards the end of August, and Eusèbe lounged about in one easy chair after another, trying in vain to occupy or amuse himself. Suddenly, the idea occurred to him that he would like to pass a few days in Paris.
Now Mr. and Mrs. de Malassise were just thinking of going to stay for a few weeks at Dieppe, which was a place more suitable certainly for the hot weather than Paris. But Eusèbe had taken a fancy to Paris; and to gain his point, he acted the little comedy which always succeeded so well with his parents: he screamed, and rolled over and over on the ground like a mad child. They were frightened, and started off with him the very next morning, leaving the shady woods of Malassise for the dust of the Boulevard des Italiens, where they usually lodged when they came to Paris.
On the afternoon of their arrival, Eusèbe asked his father to take him for a walk as far as the square of the Bastille. He had heard that street-jugglers often performed their tricks there: and, hot as it was, he insisted that his mamma, a delicate weak little woman, should walk with them.
They had walked as far as the gate of St. Denis, when a man approached them, who had some little watches for sale fit for children. He went up to Eusèbe, who, although such a big boy, was not above stopping to look at the glittering watches with their bright chains attached. Then the man said in a low voice,—
“Would you like to buy a beautiful horse, my prince?”
This title of prince was pleasant to the ears of Eusèbe, and with an air of kind protection, he replied,—
“What is it you ask, my good fellow?”
“I ask if your lordship feels disposed to make the purchase of an extraordinary and beautiful wooden horse.”
“I have rocking-horses of all sorts and sizes,” rejoined Eusèbe.
“I doubt it not, your Highness.”
This title of highness completed the work of turning the little boy’s head; and putting on the air of being a very great person, he said,—
“Why, you seem to know who I am.”
“Indeed, who does not know your lordship?”
Now of course this cunning fellow did not really suppose that Eusèbe was either a prince or a lord, but saw very well that he was a spoilt child, and thought it would be a good opportunity for selling Cressida—for Cressida it was that he was offering,—and he dared not sell it publicly.
Mr. and Mrs. de Malassise, who had walked on a little in front, now stopped, and the former called out, “What’s the matter?”
“Sir,” replied the man, when he came up to them, “I have a beautiful wooden horse to sell, which walks and moves about like a real horse.”
“Be off!” said Mr. de Malassise, who did not like the look of the man; “we don’t want to buy it.”
“Would you just come and see it, noble sir? it is at my house, only two steps from here. It has the movements of a live horse.”
“No, No!”
“But you need not buy it, sir, if you would only come to see it. It is an extraordinary horse.”
“Papa, I want to see it,” said Eusèbe.
“No, no, my dear,” urged his father.
“Papa, I will go to see the horse,” and Eusèbe began to cry.
“Why oppose him, my dear?” said Mrs. de Malassise, “as he is so anxious to see the horse. Suppose he should have an attack of the nerves out here! what should we do?”
“There, you hear, papa; why do you oppose me? I’m going to have an attack of the nerves, I feel I am.”
“Oh, let us go and see the horse then, pray,” said Mr. de Malassise, resigning himself with rather a bad grace.
They had followed their guide for about a quarter of a mile, when an empty hackney-coach passed. The man stopped it, saying, “Perhaps, sir, the lady will be tired if she walks all the way; had you not better take this hackney-coach? I will get up on the box, and direct the driver.”
“Why, you said it was only two steps,” urged Mr. de Malassise.
“Oh, it is not far,” replied the man.
“Yes, yes, let us have the coach; I can’t walk any more,” exclaimed Eusèbe.
So of course they got into the hackney-coach, while the man who had the horse to sell seated himself beside the coachman. On they went, right out of Paris, into the narrow streets of a suburb inhabited by very poor people. On they went still, while the houses became more scattered, and the roads were so bad that the horses could hardly get along.
At last the coachman pulled up, and taking out his pipe, he began to light it, as he said, “I won’t go no further; the patience of a hackney-coachman has its limits, these roads ain’t fit for any carriage, and the sun’s hot enough to kill a camel of the desert, much more horses like mine.”
“THE HORSES COULD HARDLY GET ALONG.”
Mr. de Malassise had lost patience also, and called out to their guide in an angry voice, “Now, my man, tell me at once, where are you leading us to?”
“My noble gentleman,” the man replied, “do not be angry; I did not think it was so far, but you can see the house now; and, if the lady will get down from the carriage, we can reach it on foot in two minutes.”
Mr. de Malassise looked out of the carriage window on one side, and his wife on the other. They saw a few scattered houses of the meanest description, and began to view their position with dismay; but Eusèbe found it an amusing adventure.
“I wish, now,” he said, “we were in Sicily, and then we might be attacked by brigands in such an out-of-the-way place as this. I read about them in that little book you gave me yesterday, you know, mamma.”
At this remark Eusèbe’s mother began to laugh as if it were very funny and brilliant; even his father was almost restored to good humour by it. And when Eusèbe added—“only, neither that man nor the coachman are as handsome as brigands”—the father and mother exchanged looks of congratulation at the wit and humour of their son.
They walked a short distance along the dirty, badly-paved street, and entered a small low house almost in ruins. You may imagine how well it was furnished, when I tell you that Mrs. de Malassise was obliged to stand, because the master of the house—that is, the man who conducted them—had but one chair to offer her, and that was lame of two of its legs. He opened a large closet, the door of which was concealed, appearing only like a panel in the wall, and he led forth a pretty little black horse, scarcely bigger than a large dog;—but I need not describe Cressida a second time to my young readers.
“HOW DID YOU COME BY THIS HORSE?”
Now although Eusèbe had often had Cressida described to him by Maurice, he had never happened to see the little horse; consequently he did not recognise it on the present occasion; nor had he ever imagined Cressida to be so wonderful as he found this horse to be. He had no sooner seated himself in the saddle than the pressure of his knees against the sides of the horse caused the legs to move, and it walked round the room. Then, when Eusèbe in his delight very naturally began to pat it on the neck, this had the effect of causing the little horse to neigh joyfully, just like a real pony. Eusèbe’s father and mother were as much astonished and delighted as he was.
“How did you come by this horse?” inquired Mr. de Malassise, in a voice which sufficiently showed the suspicions he entertained.
“It was given to me by a friend of mine,” replied the man.
“That was a generous friend. And how much do you ask for it?”
“Eighty francs, though I know it is worth a great deal more.” Then seeing that the small price he asked had only made his customer more suspicious, he went on:—
“My noble gentleman, I will tell you the truth. Formerly I was rich, and sold toys in a shop on the Boulevard; but misfortunes came upon me, I had to give up my business, and of all the beautiful things I had, this wooden horse is the only one I kept. I kept it for my children to play with; but, alas! noble sir, it has pleased heaven to take them away from me. Ah, my children! my children! they resembled your beautiful son. I would have kept this horse always in remembrance of them, but hunger, sir—hunger compels me to sell it.”
He dried his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Poor man!” said Mrs. de Malassise, much touched. Then she whispered to her husband, “My dear, I would give him twenty francs, and leave him the horse he is so fond of.”
“I see no reason for giving him twenty francs, and I think we should be wise to have nothing to do with the horse either. I suspect it’s a matter which the police will have something to do with sooner or later.”
“Oh, what a hard heart you have! and how suspicious you are!” rejoined the wife. “I am sure the poor man is truthful. Just look at his despair.”
The man was sitting on the ground, hiding his face with his hands. He seemed to have partly heard the whispered conversation, and said, “Her ladyship is an angel of charity, but I should not regret parting with the horse when I knew it would be in the hands of such a good young gentleman.”
Eusèbe at last put an end to the hesitation of his parents in a very simple way.
“Now, then,” he said, “why don’t you buy the horse?”
“No, no,” said his father, “let us go away.”
“Papa,” cried Eusèbe, “I won’t go away from here till you buy the horse.” And he began to tear his hair, and stamp on the ground, uttering piercing shrieks.
“I want the horse! I want the horse!” he cried.
“My noble gentleman,” urged the man, “what are eighty francs to you? When I was rich I would have given more to spare my children’s tears.”
“Oh dear! oh dear! I feel that I am going to fall,” cried Eusèbe, turning round and round.
“Oh, calm yourself, my child,” cried his mother.
“Eusèbe, my dear boy,” said his father kindly, “I will give you another horse. You shall have the most expensive that can be found.”
“No, I want this one; I want this one.”
“Well, well, you shall have it—there; only don’t cry.”
“But I want it directly.”
“You shall have it directly. We will take it away with us.”
Eusèbe became calm as if by enchantment. He had not really shed a tear, but his eyes were red from being rubbed, and his hair was pushed up in indescribable disorder.
“Come, kiss me,” said his father.
“Yes, papa; but do you know that twice to-day I have very nearly had an attack of nerves through your fault.”
Matters being thus comfortably arranged at last, the eighty francs were paid, the horse was put into the coach, and they all returned to the Boulevard des Italiens. Here Eusèbe amused himself the whole evening by riding his pretty little horse round and round the drawing-room.