Birds and Beasts

by Camille Lemonnier

What had they done? What crime had they committed? Astounded as they were, and amazed to think what motive should have prompted the attack, they could no longer doubt that open war was declared upon them.

So they went in search of another home, and as night was falling, found a safe retreat under the eaves of a lonely presbytery. “Here, at any rate,” they thought, “no one will come to molest us. Alas! it is only too true—we are not made for the society of our fellow-creatures, and this deserted roof will hide us better than a prison.”

They had happy times; they reared a family of little ones, and lived a patriarchal life in the hollow under the roof. Everybody has his own way of being happy in this world of ours, and for all it was different from the general fashion, this was good enough for them. To begin with, dwelling by themselves, they knew nothing of envy, and no thought of ambition vexed them; their only wish was to live as long as possible, pariahs and outcasts as they were, and grow old together.

Let others go in search of adventures; their desires were limited by the modest horizon they had before their eyes, and a secure abode, poor and bare though it might be, seemed to them preferable to all the treasures of Golconda. You see what reasonable, respectable people they were!

Certainly their dun-coloured plumage was not of the sort to let them flaunt in the sunlight like other birds; after spending a luxurious morning dozing side by side, they would wake just when the linnets, goldfinches, and chaffinches were going to bed. A great silence brooded over nature; for the giddy-pates who had been playing truant all the day, and had left a feather or two of their plumage to dance in every sunbeam, it would have seemed as dull as death; but they thought otherwise, and for them the night was filled with infinite music. Did not the breeze blow soft in the leaves with a murmur as of running waters and prattling brooks? A wide peace fell upon the woodlands which from noon to twilight had throbbed under the golden beams of the sun, while the moon, the owl’s sun, spread her white beams over the landscape like a river of milk.

Then their keen ear, an instrument of extraordinary delicacy, being very large, and forming, as every bird-lover knows, a double spiral of enormous dimensions, and admirably adapted to catch the faintest sounds, noted from afar light rustlings and soft sighs, and a confused murmur of music, wherein the wind seemed, turn and turn about, to pipe through clarinet and oboe. Silent and awe-struck, the two outcasts felt the kindly beneficence of nature moving on the face of the world. At times louder sounds would mingle with the whisperings of the night, telling them of the fawns pushing through the matted undergrowth, of companies of woodland creatures sallying out to feed, lovers like themselves of the darkness—badgers, polecats, wild-cats, weasels, and rabbits, of a vast stir of life and activity down in the dim, intricate forest tracks. Cats were prowling, their yellow eyes flaming along the darkling ways, while from the homesteads rose rhythmically, pledge of security for all the host of fur and feathers, the heavy snoring of the sleepers within.

Then they would come out and stand at the edge of the eaves, and gaze forth, as from a balcony, on all the moving spectacle of the kindly night. Sparkling gleams would flash along the ground like diamonds, and the slates glitter like so many mirrors on the house-roofs. They could see the stars reflected in the brook; mysterious eyes looked out from under the trees, vague shapes went gliding along the road, while high in the heavens, with a round face that seemed to laugh good-humouredly, sailed the lady moon.

As long as they had no children, they enjoyed these hours of contemplation like true artists who grudge to miss one note of harmony or one gleam of beauty; they would never stir till dawn, hardly troubling themselves even to go in search of food. But when the brood of youngsters arrived, they had perforce to forgo these ecstasies. The little beaks were for ever crying for more, and Goodman Owl, who was the best of parents, became a mighty hunter.

Scarce was evening fallen ere he had taken post on the roof, heedless now of the mysterious splendours of the night, the furtive comings and goings of his prey occupying all his thoughts; the music of the spheres was henceforth confined for him to the rustling of the field-mice climbing the espaliers and the house-mice scuttling along the walls; still as a statue he stood there watching and picking out the fattest victim. Before the little creature had time to turn its head, he held it in his terrible jaws, and was flying off with his prey, panting in mortal terror, to his young ones, who instantly made a meal of it.

The poor little mouse saw nothing, heard nothing. A soft, fanning sound from the night-bird’s velvety pinions was the only warning that anything untoward was near; but already the ravisher had seized his prey; there was a stifled squeal, and all was over!