Moral Tales

by Madame Guizot

M. LE CHEVALIER.

"Stop them! Stop them!" was re-echoed through the Rue St. Honoré. "Madame la Marquise is running down the street! This way! Madame la Vicomtesse is dragging her dress through the mud! Oh! M. le Baron has lost his wig! and M. le Chevalier?... William, where is M. le Chevalier?"

And William ran right and left, endeavouring to bring back a number of dressed-up dogs, such as are seen parading the streets, in little carriages. They had just escaped from their kennel, while their owners were occupied with their morning toilet. This toilet was a tedious and difficult affair, for whilst they were washing one, the one which had just gone through the operation, never failed to go and put his paws into the gutter. While M. le Baron was made to stand on his hind feet, in order to have his fore paws put through the sleeves of his coat, Madame la Marquise, seizing the first opportunity to make use of her legs, set off running all round the yard, in her petticoat, which being then much too long, and getting entangled between her legs, threw her down; and whilst they ran after her, all the others would make their escape, half-dressed in their finery. On the present occasion, the gate of the yard happened accidentally to be opened, while one of these scenes was enacted, and all the dogs made their escape into the street, troubling themselves very little as to the state in which they appeared before the eyes of the public.

However, William, the owner's son, had succeeded in catching almost all of them, and, saving the loss of M. le Baron's wig, and the unfortunate accident which had happened to the hat and feathers of Madame la Vicomtesse, when she rolled in a heap of rubbish, and the rent which Madame la Marquise had made in her blue petticoat, all would have been set to rights, if M. le Chevalier could have been found. M. le Chevalier was a very important personage. He was the only one who was able to waltz with Madame la Présidente. Everybody was delighted to see them take each other by the neck, with their fore paws, and dance in time on their hind feet. Now, Madame la Présidente could not waltz all alone; thus two talents were lost at the same time. The owner was in despair; he was to go that day to Clichi, to the fair of St. Médard, and he built his chief hopes of success upon the waltz. But it was in vain that William went to every house in the neighbourhood, asking whether any one had seen M. le Chevalier. "And who is M. le Chevalier?" he was everywhere asked; and William replied, "He has a yellow waistcoat, no trousers, pointed ears, a sword at his side, and his tail is bald at the end." Notwithstanding this luminous description, no one could give him any information respecting M. le Chevalier. At length, as it was growing late, the master decided on setting off with the rest of his troop, telling William to follow him with M. le Chevalier, if he succeeded in finding him.

William had a second time searched all the streets in the vicinity, and was returning home sorrowfully, when he met one of his neighbours coming from market. He asked her, as he had done every one else, whether she could give him any information about M. le Chevalier.

"Bah!" said she, "has he not returned? This morning, when your dogs ran away, I was just going to market, and I saw him enter the alley opposite, and go into M. Bucquet's, the linendraper. Has he really not come back, then? Oh, I'll wager that it is little Roussel who has kept him."

George Roussel lived with his father and mother in the house of M. Bucquet; he was a good boy, and very fond of his parents, and he also gave great satisfaction at school, where he regularly attended, as day-scholar: in other respects, however, he was the most mischief-loving urchin imaginable. As his father, who was employed at a banker's, and his mother, who gave lessons in writing, passed much of their time away from home, George was quite his own master out of school hours, and this time he employed in playing tricks on the neighbours; nor was it sufficient for him to spend in this manner the hours of daylight, the night also was often employed in similar practices. He slept at the back of the house, in a small room, the windows of which looked upon the roofs and leads. Through this window he passed to go and hunt the cats, and when he succeeded in catching two or three, he tied them together by their tails. Then when every one was asleep, he would throw them into the house, through a staircase window opening upon the same leads, and run with all speed to his own room as soon as he perceived that the neighbours were awakened by the frightful uproar which they made in their unavailing efforts to get loose. Immediately all the doors would open, every one rushing out to know what could be the matter. Then they would run after the cats, which, of course, did not suffer themselves to be easily caught, but kept crying and mewing, as if they had been burned, and scratching every one who attempted to separate them. Another time, a neighbour's dog would return to his mistress, covered with oil, from the ears to the tail, so that no one could touch him without being greased, nor could he approach anything without leaving on it a stain. On a cold winter's day, George would contrive to attach a piece of ice to the handle of a door-bell, and the first person who wanted to ring would snatch his hand away, struck with cold and surprise; or else he would cut the wire attached to the bell, so that people would pull for a quarter of an hour without producing any effect. He also hampered the locks, and hid the keys, if they happened to be left in the doors; and, in fact, every day brought fresh complaints; but they were of little use. George was an only child, born when his parents were already advanced in life, and after they had been married many years without having any children. M. and Madame Roussel loved him, therefore, with such a foolish fondness, that they overlooked all his faults. When complaints were made of him to M. Roussel, he would shrug his shoulders, and say, "Well, youth must have its day." Nevertheless, he scolded George a little, for the gratification of the neighbours, but afterwards he had the weakness to laugh at his tricks. Madame Roussel was still more unreasonable, for she became so angry when complaints were made of her son, that no one dared to speak to her on the subject. Had they not been very good tenants, and very punctual in their payments, though their rent was high, M. Bucquet would have given them notice to leave twenty times over, so disagreeable had George become to the whole house.

Besides, everything that happened was laid to his charge; if any one slipped on the stairs by treading on a cherrystone, it was always George who had scattered them through malice: not a pane of glass was broken in the hall or passages, but it was always George who had done it; in fact, his reputation was spread throughout the entire neighbourhood. William had heard him spoken of, and could not doubt that the conjecture of his acquaintance was well founded, and the more so as another neighbour asserted that he had heard George a few days before saying to little Bucquet, "Wouldn't it be nice, Joseph, to have a dog like that? We should get a famous price for it!"

In consequence of this information, William went to M. Bucquet's, and asked him in what part of the house M. Roussel lived, as he wanted to inquire for his dog, which had been taken by little Roussel.