II
I think that the time has now come to tell my readers a little about Mademoiselle Desgarcins, Potich, and the Last of the Laidmanoirs. Mademoiselle Desgarcins was a tiny monkey; I do not know the place of her birth, but I brought her from Havre, where I had gone—I don’t know why—perhaps to look at the sea. But I thought I must bring something home with me from Havre. I was walking there on the quay, when at the door of a bird-fancier’s shop I saw a green monkey and a blue and yellow macaw. The monkey put its paw through the bars of its cage and caught hold of my coat, while the blue parrot turned its head and looked at me in such an affectionate manner that I stopped, holding the monkey’s paw with one hand, and scratching the parrot’s head with the other. The little monkey gently drew my hand within reach of her mouth, the parrot half shut its eyes and made a little purring noise to express its pleasure.
‘MONSIEUR DUMAS, MAY I ACCOMMODATE YOU WITH MY MONKEY AND MY PARROT?’
‘Monsieur Dumas,’ said the shopman, coming out with the air of a man who was more decided to sell than I was to buy; ‘Monsieur Dumas, may I accommodate you with my monkey and my parrot?’ It would have been more to the purpose if he had said, ‘Monsieur Dumas, may I incommode you with my monkey and my parrot?’ However, after a little bargaining, I bought both animals, as well as a cage for the monkey and a perch for the parrot; and as soon as I arrived at home, I introduced them to Michel.
‘This,’ said Michel, ‘is the green monkey of Senegal—Cercopithecus sabæa.’
I looked at Michel in the greatest astonishment. ‘Do you know Latin, Michel?’
‘I don’t know Latin, but I know my “Dictionary of Natural History.”’
‘Oh, indeed! And do you know what bird this is?’ I asked, showing him the parrot.
‘To be sure I know it,’ said Michel. ‘It is the blue and yellow macaw—Macrocercus arararanna. Oh, sir, why did you not bring a female as well as a male?’
‘What is the use, Michel, since parrots will not breed in this country?’
‘There you make a mistake, sir; the blue macaw will breed in France.’
‘In the south, perhaps?’
‘It need not be in the south, sir.’
‘Where then?’
‘At Caen.’
‘At Caen? I did not know Caen had a climate which permits parrots to rear their young. Go and fetch my gazetteer.’
‘You will soon see,’ said Michel as he brought it. I read: ‘Caen, capital of the department of Calvados, upon the Orne and the Odon: 223 kilomètres west of Paris, 41,806 inhabitants.’
‘You will see,’ said Michel, ‘the parrots are coming.’
‘Great trade in plaster, salt, wood—taken by English in 1346—retaken by the French &c., &c.—never mind the date—That is all, Michel.’
‘What! Your dictionary never says that the arararanna, otherwise called the blue macaw, produces young at Caen?’
‘No, Michel, it does not say that here.’
‘What a dictionary! Just wait till I fetch you mine and you will see.’
Michel returned in a few minutes with his book of Natural History.
‘You will soon see, sir,’ he said, opening his dictionary in his turn. ‘Parrot—here it is—parrots are monogamous.’
‘As you know Latin, Michel, of course you know what monogamous means.’
‘That means that they can sing scales—gamut, I suppose?’
‘Well, no, Michel, not exactly. It means that they have only one “wife.”’
‘Indeed, sir? That is because they talk like us most likely. Now, I have found the place: “It was long believed that parrots were incapable of breeding in Europe, but the contrary has been proved on a pair of blue macaws which lived at Caen. M. Lamouroux furnishes the details of these results.”’
‘Let us hear the details which M. Lamouroux furnishes.’
‘“These macaws, from March 1818 until August 1822, including a period of four years and a half, laid, in all, sixty-two eggs.”’
‘Michel, I never said they did not lay eggs; what I said was—’
‘“Out of this number,”’ continued Michel in a loud voice, ‘“twenty-five young macaws were hatched, of which only ten died. The others lived and continued perfectly healthy.”’
‘Michel, I confess to having entertained false ideas on the subject of macaws.’
‘“They laid at all seasons of the year,”’ continued Michel, ‘“and more eggs were hatched in the latter than in the former years.”’
‘Michel, I have no more to say.’
‘“The number of eggs in the nest varied. There have been as many as six at a time.”’
‘Michel, I yield, rescue or no rescue!’
‘Only,’ said Michel, shutting the book, ‘you must be careful not to give them bitter almonds or parsley.’
‘Not bitter almonds,’ I answered, ‘because they contain prussic acid; but why not parsley?’
Michel, who had kept his thumb in the page, reopened the book. ‘“Parsley and bitter almonds,”’ he read, ‘“are a violent poison to parrots.”’
‘All right, Michel, I shall remember.’
I remembered so well, that some time after, hearing that M. Persil had died suddenly (persil being the French for parsley), I exclaimed, much shocked: ‘Ah! poor man, how unfortunate! He must have been eating parrot!’ However, the news was afterwards contradicted.
The next day I desired Michel to tell the carpenter to make a new cage for Mademoiselle Desgarcins, who would certainly die of cramp if left in her small travelling cage. But Michel, with a solemn face, said it was unnecessary. ‘For,’ said he, ‘I am sorry to tell you, sir, that a misfortune has happened. A weasel has killed the golden pheasant. You will, however, have it for your dinner to-day.’
I did not refuse, though the prospect of this repast caused me no great pleasure. I am very fond of game, but somehow prefer pheasants which have been shot to those killed by weasels.
‘Then,’ said I, ‘if the cage is empty, let us put in the monkey.’ We brought the little cage close to the big cage, and opened both doors. The monkey sprang into her new abode, bounded from perch to perch, and then came and looked at me through the bars, making grimaces and uttering plaintive cries.
‘She is unhappy without a companion,’ said Michel.
‘Suppose we give her the parrot?’
‘You know that little boy, an Auvergnat, who comes here with his monkey asking for pennies. If I were you, sir, I would buy that monkey.’
‘And why that monkey rather than another?’
‘He has been so well educated and is so gentle. He has a cap with a feather, and he takes it off when you give him a nut or a bit of sugar.’
‘Can he do anything else?’
‘He can fight a duel.’
‘Is that all?’
‘No, he can also catch fleas on his master.’
‘But, Michel, do you think that that youth would part with so useful an animal?’
‘We can but ask him, and there he is at this moment!’ And he called to the boy to come in. The monkey was sitting on a box which the little boy carried on his back, and when his master took off his cap, the monkey did the same. It had a nice gentle little face, and I remarked to Michel that it was very like a well-known translator of my acquaintance.
‘If I have the happiness to become the owner of this charming animal,’ I continued, ‘we will call it Potich.’ And giving Michel forty francs, I left him to make his bargain with the little Auvergnat.