The Curly-Haired Hen

47CHAPTER V The hair on the head, older than that on the rest of the body, was much longer, which suggested to the mischievous Germaine the idea of making her an elaborate headdress. Nothing like it had ever been seen before. Soon Yollande was able to discard some of her clothes. Her 44 breast and back required for a time yet a little covering, but this grew gradually less and less. Naturally the phenomenon was much discussed in the neighbourhood, and it attracted many and delightful visitors to the farm, all of whom Mother Etienne welcomed cordially. Yollande was less pleased with this desire to inspect her. Generally some unbeliever would tug at her hair, a painful experience for her. So, except towards her mistress and Germaine, she had become exceedingly 45 vindictive and watchful. Every time she had the chance she pecked with her short, stout beak at the person indiscreet enough to take such liberties. One little visitor, more daring than the rest, nearly lost his finger over it. The fame of the curly-haired hen was tremendous, it spread even beyond the limits of the district. It was really worth a journey to see her. They wrote of it in the newspapers. The 46 "Daily Mirror," I think it was, had a fine long article about her. But in certain quarters, the whole thing was looked upon as a "fish story." 47 CHAPTER V SIR BOOUM CALLS UPON MOTHER ETIENNE Just about this time placards were posted about the whole village, announcing the arrival of a Great American Circus, bringing in its train the most wonderful spectacles. Menageries,—curiosities of all kinds, such as had not been seen since the time of the Caesars. Incredible things were on show. Nobody, however small their purse, could resist the pleasure of witnessing these sights. Nobody, that is, except the people in and around this village. The menagerie prepared for its performance by splendid processions. Caparisoned in gold the elephants marched around. There were horses of all colours and of all sizes, dromedaries, rhinoceroses, black men and white monkeys, bands of musicians, fairy chariots. The inhabitants saw the gorgeous procession pass with indifference, with a superior kind of air and without the least enthusiasm. On the evening of the first performance, in spite of the placards, processions, bands, notices, and illuminations, nobody appeared at the ticket-office of the theatre and they played to an empty house. "What," cried the impresario, tearing his hair. "Crowds flocked to me in London, Paris, St. Petersburg, and New York. 48 I have been congratulated by the Shah of Persia, invited to lunch by the Grand Turk, and this little hole despises me, mocks at me, considers me a failure." The lights out, Sir Booum spent a terrible night, wondering what evil genius could thus attack his laurels. At dawn, worn 49 out by his sleepless night, he set out, eager to learn the cause of his failure. All those whom he met winked knowingly, laughing in their sleeves, and courtesied to him without giving him any information. At last one, touched by his despair, answered: "Why should we come to you? We have here in this very place, where we can see it for nothing, a marvel beside which yours are commonplace. Have you in your menagerie a curly-haired hen?" "A curly-haired hen!" cried Sir Booum. "Gracious, goodness me! What are you talking about? Three times have I been round the world and have never heard of such a thing." "Go to the big farm down yonder and you can see the 50 one I am telling you about. You will be ashamed to think how uninteresting in comparison are the things you show." A few minutes later, a magnificent equipage, driven by an elegant gentleman and drawn by two light bays, entered the courtyard of the big farm. "Does Madame Etienne live here, please?" he asked Petit-Jacques, who was busy grooming Coco. "Yes, sir." "Will you kindly give her this card and ask if she will see me?" "Certainly, sir, at once." 51 Petit-Jacques returned a few minutes later with Mother Etienne. The gentleman got down from his seat, handing the reins to his groom. "Excuse me, Madame. I am Sir Booum. It was my circus which gave its first performance here yesterday as announced on the placards posted on the walls throughout the village. I have heard, Madame, that you have a most extraordinary hen, and I have come to beg you to show it to me. If it is really such as it was described to me, I will buy it at once." "Sir," said Mother Etienne, "I am very pleased to meet you; I will show you Yollande as you ask, but sell her to you?—never. I love the dear thing far too well to part with her." "But, Madame, if I give you a large sum? How much do you ask? Name your figure." 52 Mother Etienne, without answering a word, went off to fetch the Cochin-China hen to show to her visitor. American as he was, he was astounded and was soon convinced that there had been no exaggeration. This was indeed the curly-haired hen. "Well, Madame, how much is it to be?—$1,000, $2,000, $4,000? Can't you make up your mind?" "No, sir, please don't insist. I do not want to part with dear Yollande," and Mother Etienne, distressed and trembling, covered her hen with caresses. 53 In vain the American urged. His eyes shone with the desire to include this marvel in his collection. He could do nothing, and was finally obliged to retreat. "Night brings counsel, Madame. I will return tomorrow to visit you, and I hope you will then decide in my favour. Until tomorrow, then, Madame." The gentleman bowed politely and got into his carriage. The equipage left the courtyard, turned onto the high road, and was lost in the distance in a cloud of golden dust. 54 CHAPTER VI THE SEPARATION Mother Etienne was much distressed. The unexpected appearance of this personage, the offer of this huge sum of money, were enough to excite a woman more worldly-wise than she. Germaine strove to persuade her mistress to accept the offer. "But, my dear mistress, think of it—$4,000. It is a fortune. Don't let it escape you. It is a chance which will never come again. Think how well Yollande will be cared for. He does not mean to eat her at that price. Think of a stew costing $4,000. No indeed, the gentleman will try to keep her well as long as possible. It will be to his interest not to hurt her. Be sure of it, she will be as well cared for as she is here, if not better." Thus they talked all evening. Mother Etienne, feverishly affectionate, looked at the hen lying as usual asleep in the chimney corner. She could not make up her mind to sell her sweet Cinderella. Her affection for Yollande had increased with the constant care she had needed during so many long months. Besides, the silky tresses curling like corkscrews, which Germaine had kept so smooth, had been a source of amusement, not only to the farm but to the whole neighbourhood. That night Mother Etienne was much agitated in spite of the hot drink Germaine had given her. She was haunted by 55 a horrible nightmare. She seemed to be lying on a bed of banknotes, whilst the Cochin-China, sitting heavily on her chest, reproached her bitterly for having handed her over to a stranger in exchange for a little filthy lucre. Mother Etienne, bathed in perspiration, seemed to suffocate under her sheets. At last dawn came, the good woman rose, her heart still terribly oppressed. Germaine calmed her as best she could with reassuring words and also with a foaming bowl of hot coffee. All morning Mother Etienne endured torments. It was three o'clock in the afternoon when suddenly the sound of a heavy carriage drawn by four horses was heard in the courtyard. Labric barked with all his might, Coco whinnied loudly, the three cows all mooed at the same time, and the entire poultry-yard in an uproar added its piercing 56 and varied tones to the general tumult. The pigs especially made a great noise. It was the American's four-in-hand. He was driving himself, and on his left sat a young and pretty woman, exquisitely dressed in white. The newcomers were at once shown into the huge kitchen, which served also as a reception room. On the hearth burned a small bundle of scented herbs which filled the whole room with fragrance. Yollande was sitting in her usual place. "Well, Madame, have you at last decided to let me have the curly-haired hen?" Mother Etienne neither moved nor answered. "See here, Madame, I offer you $4,000, $6,000, $8,000," and so saying he took from a red morocco pocketbook in banknotes the sums he mentioned, and spread them out on the table before the astonished eyes of Mother Etienne and Germaine. Mother Etienne still shook her head in refusal. 57 Germaine, driven wild by this sight, began to exclaim: "Yes, sir,—yes, Madame. Yes, sir,—yes, Madame," and threw herself into the arms first of the American, and then of Mother Etienne, who still remained obdurate. Miss Booum, taking Mother Etienne's hand, said coaxingly: "You can safely trust her to me. I will take care of her myself, Madame. With us she will become famous throughout the world. All the newspapers will speak of her. From your poultry-yard she will come into contact with the greatest courts of the world. She will be petted by Grand Duchesses, and receive 58 hands. Besides all this she will be in good company and will have plenty to amuse her." This pleading succeeded in dragging from Mother Etienne the longed-for "Yes," which, though stifled by emotion, was seized upon by the American. The good woman had said "Yes," she had conquered the selfishness of a mother for two reasons. She did not want to prevent Yollande from getting on in the world, and also she wished to let Germaine share this fortune, for it was owing to her that the hen had become so valuable, and she did not think it right to deprive her of the benefit. Miss Booum brings Mother Etienne to the circus tent. "That's all settled, then. Here's the contract," said the 59 American, "you have only to sign it." And a receipt duly prepared was handed to Mother Etienne, who in a trembling hand appended her signature and a flourish. I don't know that she did not even embellish it with a huge blot of ink. Then Miss Booum stooped and gently took under her arm Yollande, who oddly enough made no resistance. "Oh please, please let me kiss her again," and, tears in her eyes, Mother Etienne tenderly embraced the Cochin-China. "You will take great care of Yollande, won't you? You will send me news of her? Where is she to sleep to-night?" "Oh, as to that, Madame, would you like to see the place prepared for her? Come with us. There is room in the carriage and I promise to have you brought back again at once. The 60 camp is not far from here, the road is good, the horses fast, and in half an hour at most you will be perfectly reassured and can return with your mind at rest." Mother Etienne, without further thought, still guided by her tender maternal heart, needed no urging, but followed by the two Americans, walked with a brisk, firm step towards the carriage. Suddenly changing her mind, she said: "Will you just let me change my dress? I can't very well go out like this." She went to her room, an idea having entered her head, and soon returned very neatly dressed with a little basket in her hand. The steps were adjusted and the three people took their places on top, whilst Yollande, wrapped in soft woollen covers, was carefully placed inside, in a basket provided for that very purpose. When Germaine saw her mistress start off she would have liked to go with her, but the farm needed her attention. Besides, Miss Booum's promise of seats for the next performance quite consoled her. The carriage made a curve in the yard, went through the gate, and soon disappeared, bearing the two new travellers. 61 As Miss Booum had said, it did not take more than half an hour to reach the camp, the cobs went so quickly. On the way Mother Etienne met many acquaintances to whom she waved a simple but cordial greeting. In most cases the carriage was already out of sight before they recovered sufficiently from their astonishment to wave back. It was a nine days' wonder. 62 CHAPTER VII SIR BOOUM'S CIRCUS Our travellers came in sight of the circus. Imagine, children, a huge encampment like a small town,—with sections, and streets, houses of green canvas on stout poles, tall caravans 63 on wheels enclosing everything as though with impassable walls, and in the centre all sorts of people, in all sorts of costumes, walking up and down. There were brown men, yellow men, red men, black men, big men, little men, thin men, fat men, lame men, deformed men, men with goitres, men covered with feathers, men covered with fur,—in fact, men of every possible kind, size, and land,—men to suit every possible taste. All the most curious specimens were represented. Besides these there was a colossal menagerie. In it there were more 64 than twenty elephants, giraffes, hippopotami, rhinoceroses, zebras, dromedaries, camels, and the rarest kinds of antelopes. Then came the reptiles,—from the boa constrictor, who was ten yards long, to the smallest blind-worm, amongst them some of the most dangerous kinds. Crocodiles twenty feet long, monstrous toads, tortoises as big as donkeys. Then there were the wild beasts too. Lions from Abyssinia, from Atlas, tigers from Bengal, from Persia, jaguars, panthers, leopards, all the big cat family, lynx, onca, tiger cat. Bears of all kinds, grizzly, grey, black, and white. Then came wolves, foxes, coyotes, in fact the whole series of the dog tribe with every possible domestic variety. In little barred cages was a collection of smaller carnivorous animals and rodents. In a huge room all the monkeys from the big gorilla to the minute ouistiti or witsit, were installed; they squabbled, pulled one another's tails, bit one another, uttered piercing cries. There were constant battles going on in that corner. 65 Then in an immense aviary were all the birds of creation, divided into classes, from the humming-bird, the size of a hornet, to the ostrich. This was, to tell the truth, the part that interested Mother Etienne most of all. She was more used to creatures of this kind, they reminded her of her beloved poultry-yard. In spite of the signs put up everywhere, "Do not feed the animals," the good woman who had purposely filled her basket with cakes threw them in indiscriminately. There were enough for all the animals she passed. First she threw some to the lions. The lions took no notice, at which she was most surprised. Her idea in offering the cakes was to see if the animals 66 were hungry and to find out that way how they were treated. Miss Booum, who was acting as her guide, was much amused at her astonishment and could not resist saying: "Madame, to offer a cream bun to a tiger is like offering a beef-steak to an elephant. Just keep your cakes for the ostriches, they are so greedy that they will eat stones. If they were to keep a hardware store they would be certain to eat up their stock." Pleased at this permission, when she came to the ostriches, Mother Etienne offered them a cake, but they looked down at it very haughtily and suspiciously. From this she concluded that even those birds were so well-fed that they were not hungry and felt quite satisfied about Yollande. 67 After half an hour's walk through the circus, having visited every corner of it, they went towards the manager's house. There five o'clock tea was served. Mother Etienne, quite at ease, did honour to the lunch so graciously provided, and after thanking Miss Booum gratefully, she kissed Yollande very tenderly and prepared to return to the farm. At a sign from the young American girl, a stout piebald pony, harnessed to a trap, was led forward by a groom. 68 "That is my own carriage and my horse Charlie, which you can drive yourself, Madame, if you like. He is quick and safe, 69 you may be sure of that. You will be at home again in less time than it took to come here with four horses. Farewell, dear Madame, a pleasant drive. Remember that we expect you tomorrow for the afternoon performance, and that nice little maid of yours too. Your seats will be reserved." The two women shook hands cordially, Mother Etienne got into the carriage, and took the reins. The pony feeling a hand used to driving, set off at a quick trot, then warming to his work flew over the ground. He had the paces of a big horse and had to be kept well in hand. Mother Etienne soon reached home delighted with her adventure. She was assailed by questions from Germaine and 70 Petit-Jacques. They sat there drinking in her words. Mother Etienne told them as best she could all that had happened and all that she had seen in the most secret wings of the gigantic circus. Germaine in her excitement was forgetful enough to let the soup boil over and the roast burn, but all the same they dined gaily. There were still plenty of questions to be asked. Mother Etienne had to go over every detail and even to tell some stories over again. They went on talking far into the night—so charmed were the listeners at the recital. Nobody thought of going to bed. Germaine was longing for the morrow, she was so anxious to see for herself this fairyland. At last, midnight striking, reminded Mother Etienne that it was time for sleep. Then they all went to bed, each head full of the wonders of tomorrow's performance. 71 CHAPTER VIII MOTHER ETIENNE'S DREAM Mother Etienne was very restless again that night, haunted, not by a dreadful nightmare as before, but by a troublesome 72 dream. Everything she had just seen at Sir Booum's appeared before her, the tiniest incidents, the least important details. All the explanations, concerning the creatures in the menagerie given her by the trainer, came back to her, like an object lesson in a curious dream. The principal person in it was Yollande. Yollande as Barnum, Yollande as trainer, Yollande holding in one hairy wing a stout whip, in the other the pitchfork as a protection against claws and teeth. "You see here," said Yollande in a loud voice, "you see here the wild ox from Madagascar, which takes the place of 73 the horse. In that country he is harnessed to small, light vehicles which he draws along rapidly. This other is a buffalo from Caffraria. He is a Jack-of-all-trades, sometimes ridden, sometimes driven, sometimes laden, sometimes yoked to the plough. Those big striped animals you see yonder are giraffes. Their long necks permit them, without having recourse to a ladder, to eat the young shoots of the mimosa, of which they are very fond, as well as the fresh dates which usually grow at the tops of the palm-trees." In this kind of dream a strange idea was at work in the brain of the sleeper. With these object lessons were mingled strange, quaint asides. "If children had long necks like that, one couldn't keep the jam-pots out of their way by putting them on the top shelves of the cupboard." "There," went on Yollande, "are the elephants. They are 74 used for all sorts of tasks. Their trunks, a continuation of their nostrils, serve both for breathing and holding. It is, as it were, an extremely sensitive and powerful hand." "Great goodness me," cried Mother Etienne; "imagine having a hand at the end of your nose! Would it have a glove on it and rings on its fingers?" All sorts of ridiculous ideas like that came into her head. The little beaver, who builds his houses all along the Canadian streams, appeared trowel in hand, mortar-board on his head, and Mother Etienne felt most anxious to have his valuable assistance in repairing her barns and mills. Dear little marabout, how useful you would be in the village, sweeping the streets, cleaning up the refuse, advance-guard of the street-cleaner with his, "Now then, everything into the gutter." 75 "The antelopes are very silly, coquettish creatures to wear such long boas round their necks in this warm country. But, after all, perhaps they are wise enough, for they have chosen a kind which, unlike our make of furs, is cold to the touch." Yollande, in her rôle of trainer, went on and on like a brook. "Here, now, is a dromedary. He has a hump on his back, a fatty exerescence which enables him to bear much fatigue, without eating or drinking for several days. It is owing to this fat, rather like a box of provisions on his back, that he can traverse hot and sandy deserts where it would be difficult to find a single blade of grass to eat." Then through the farm bedroom passed long caravans of camels, led by carnival Arabs, their humps changed into gigantic 76 larders in which rattled all sorts of canned things. Canned salmon, Russian caviare, dried biscuits, smoked meats, tongues, sardines, canned peas, foies-gras, lobsters, and fruits, in fact all those things which Mother Etienne had seen piled up in many-coloured pyramids at the best grocery stores. Really it was too ridiculous.—Miss Booum must have been making fun of her visitor.—That couldn't really be the best food for camels. 77 It was still worse when it came to the turn of the hippopotami. A thousand ill-digested memories from the illustrated papers were in her mind, all mixed up. Where did the Nile and the Zanzibar flow? Which was it that separated Egypt from Senegal? And the gigantic hippopotamus, looking perfectly huge and out-of-place in a gondola fit for a sultana, appeared to her, floating down the calm stream, a red 78 fez with a golden star on his head, puffing away at a peculiar double-bowled pipe, the pride of the collection of a retired police-officer in the village, who had it from the real cousin of a sea-captain from Marseilles. "Do you see those little lumps there enclosed between four boards? It is a nest of land-tortoises. The largest, called the Giant tortoise, easily supports on its back a weight of two hundred pounds. This shell which weighs so heavily is its house. At the least alarm, it retreats into its house and stays there, till 79 all danger is past." This plan of walking about with your house on your back seemed rather a good one to Mother Etienne. You could go out on rainy days without getting wet, and on cold days it would keep your back nice and warm. "Near at hand is a collection of mammals, the kangaroo family. The kangaroo is the largest mammal of Australia. It is generally a peace-loving animal, but bites, scratches, and claws if it is teased. Its best defence however is flight." All these technical details left the good woman cold. What she remembered best were the practical qualities of the creatures. The kangaroo has one very great peculiarity, the female has a pouch, a sort of bag, in which she hides her young if danger appears, just as the soldier has his knapsack. 80 For the first time in her life Mother Etienne was much struck by certain resemblances between animals and human beings, 81 finding in them actions, looks, and habits which reminded her irresistibly of many of her acquaintances. It was amongst the monkeys that it was the most marked. Two chimpanzees, with pensive faces garbed in black, seemed to be mourning some beloved relative. It was as though their sad but shining eyes, gazing at the straw which half-covered them, were seeking something hidden, intangible. A family of big African monkeys, by their challenging, 82 crafty air, reminded her unpleasantly of a band of good-for-nothings who for months had spread terror and desolation throughout the country. The chief—or the one who appeared to be the chief—the biggest and strongest, hurled himself at the bars and shook them in his clenched hands. He would certainly have enjoyed strangling Mother Etienne, had he been able to do so. Since he was not able to, he displayed in a huge yawn, a terrifying set of teeth, worthy of a wild beast. They were horrid animals, I assure you, not the kind you would like to meet loose on a lonely road. Fortunately some pretty little witsits, with black faces, no bigger than your fist, and white and grey ruffles, whistling like blackbirds, by their pretty tricks did away with the bad impression made by these sinister neighbours. Mother Etienne's dream. 83 This one was a regular little mother, that one had just been sweeping out the yard, another was the living image of the Count's servant when he followed his master on his walks, carrying under his arm a shawl or a sunshade. An orang-outang, an elderly peasant, whose four big hands were clasped, suggested to her how useful it would be to have a helper like that to milk the cows. It would go twice as fast with four hands. What a lot of precious time it would save. And many other queer things came into her head. That yowling dog, that sharp-faced rabbit, are the type who come on fair-days to cry their papers, sell their toys, etc.—a noisy, rough crew. 84 Goodness gracious! Where was Mother Etienne's absurd dream leading her? She, whose life was always so calm, and who, to tell the truth, with Germaine, were rather like the two little monkeys at the corner of the fire-place, hands clasped under their aprons, feet on foot-warmers, and little pointed handkerchiefs on their heads. At this personal picture everything turned as though by enchantment into one huge, vast medley, which ended in a general cake-walk of the whole menagerie, passing before the tired eyes of Mother Etienne, roaring, bellowing, mewing, whistling, howling, whinnying, and braying. Poor Mother Etienne was thoroughly exhausted. 85 CHAPTER IX MOTHER ETIENNE'S FORTUNE When she woke up the good woman thought of her small fortune. She gave it for safe keeping into the hands of her lawyer, M. La Plume, while she was making up her mind how she should dispose of it. She wanted plenty of time to think it over. She had already decided to give Germaine a dowry, for the whole thing was largely owing to her. She knew that she and Petit-Jacques were in love. "They will make a fine couple," she thought, "and later on how pleased I shall be to have a nice family around me—with dear children who will love and care for me." Then she thought of P&egrav;re Gusson—the good old man could have no idea of all that had happened at the farm. He was going his rounds, selling his wares as best he could. It was three months since he had appeared, he would be back again before long—he had already been away longer than usual. And, sure enough, two days later Neddy announced his entrance into the courtyard with a loud bray. If his master was glad to see Mother Etienne who always received him so cordially, and who bought so much from him, the donkey fully appreciated the hours of rest and the good food he found in the paddock with the cows. 86 Mother Etienne went forward to meet the old man and gaily told him the whole story. He, utterly astounded, could not at first believe it. He made her repeat the wonder over and over again. It certainly was a very curious thing. He had always known his ointment was effective, but—as to making hair grow on a hen—that was quite another thing. He was just petrified by it. Mother Etienne told Germaine to serve some good cider, and all three drank to one another's healths. "That is not all," said Mother Etienne, "I want you to have a share in my good fortune. That's only fair. You have worked all your life, you must think of taking a rest. You have certainly earned it. Here is a check for $2,000 which 87 my lawyer, M. La Plume, will cash for you. This sum, together with what you have saved, will be enough to buy a little house and garden and to keep you from want. If one is wise and knows how to manage, one can live here for very little." Father Gusson, quite upset and touched, could not find words to thank dear, kind Mother Etienne. It was as though he had unexpectedly won the big prize in the lottery. He could hardly believe his eyes and ears. Soon he pulled himself together and began to calculate. "I have a few savings, it is true, but I think it would be wise to take advantage of the fame of the ointment and double my small fortune. I hope that, thanks to the already widespread fame of Yollande, if (with your kind permission) I were to call my ointment, 'Ointment of the Curly-Haired Hen' I should have considerable success." "Not only am I quite willing, but I thoroughly approve of your idea and strongly advise you to carry it out," replied Mother Etienne warmly. No sooner said than done. Father Gusson withdrew from the notary the sum, so fairly but generously given him, and spent his time henceforth in manufacturing (according to the recipe of his ancestors) the wonderful ointment. He filled a great quantity of jars of all sizes, and like the good business man he was, having adorned them with magnificent labels he doubled the price of the ointment and put on a trade mark so as to prohibit imitations. Then he bought a cart like Mother Etienne's and harnessed Neddy to it. On the hood of the cart was a huge picture of 88 a Curly-Haired Hen, and under it was the inscription, "Ointment of the Curly-Haired Hen." Now the peddler could go his rounds, selling only this specialty, without need of further advertisement. The effect was magic. Doors, hitherto too 89 often closed against him, opened wide at his coming and there was not a soul who did not buy quite a lot of it.

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