CHAPTER IV
He was called Loulou. His body was green, his head blue, the tips of
his wings were pink and his breast was golden.
But he had the tiresome tricks of biting his perch, pulling his
feathers out, scattering refuse and spilling the water of his bath.
Madame Aubain grew tired of him and gave him to Felicite for good.
She undertook his education, and soon he was able to repeat: "Pretty
boy! Your servant, sir! I salute you, Marie!" His perch was placed
near the door and several persons were astonished that he did not
answer to the name of "Jacquot," for every parrot is called Jacquot.
They called him a goose and a log, and these taunts were like so many
dagger thrusts to Felicite. Strange stubbornness of the bird which
would not talk when people watched him!
Nevertheless, he sought society; for on Sunday, when the ladies
Rochefeuille, Monsieur de Houppeville and the new habitues, Onfroy,
the chemist, Monsieur Varin and Captain Mathieu, dropped in for their
game of cards, he struck the window-panes with his wings and made such
a racket that it was impossible to talk.
Bourais' face must have appeared very funny to Loulou. As soon as he
saw him he would begin to roar. His voice re-echoed in the yard, and
the neighbours would come to the windows and begin to laugh, too; and
in order that the parrot might not see him, Monsieur Bourais edged
along the wall, pushed his hat over his eyes to hide his profile, and
entered by the garden door, and the looks he gave the bird lacked
affection. Loulou, having thrust his head into the butcher-boy's
basket, received a slap, and from that time he always tried to nip his
enemy. Fabu threatened to ring his neck, although he was not cruelly
inclined, notwithstanding his big whiskers and tattooings. On the
contrary, he rather liked the bird, and, out of devilry, tried to
teach him oaths. Felicite, whom his manner alarmed, put Loulou in the
kitchen, took off his chain and let him walk all over the house.
When he went downstairs, he rested his beak on the steps, lifted his
right foot and then his left one; but his mistress feared that such
feats would give him vertigo. He became ill and was unable to eat.
There was a small growth under his tongue like those chickens are
sometimes afflicted with. Felicite pulled it off with her nails and
cured him. One day, Paul was imprudent enough to blow the smoke of his
cigar in his face; another time, Madame Lormeau was teasing him with
the tip of her umbrella and he swallowed the tip. Finally he got lost.
She had put him on the grass to cool him and went away only for a
second; when she returned, she found no parrot! She hunted among the
bushes, on the bank of the river, and on the roofs, without paying any
attention to Madame Aubain who screamed at her: "Take care! you must
be insane!" Then she searched every garden in Pont-l'Eveque and
stopped the passers-by to inquire of them: "Haven't you perhaps seen
my parrot?" To those who had never seen the parrot, she described him
minutely. Suddenly she thought she saw something green fluttering
behind the mills at the foot of the hill. But when she was at the top
of the hill she could not see it. A hod-carrier told her that he had
just seen the bird in Saint-Melaine, in Mother Simon's store. She
rushed to the place. The people did not know what she was talking
about. At last she came home, exhausted, with her slippers worn to
shreds, and despair in her heart. She sat down on the bench near
Madame and was telling of her search when presently a light weight
dropped on her shoulder--Loulou! What the deuce had he been doing?
Perhaps he had just taken a little walk around the town!
She did not easily forget her scare; in fact, she never got over it.
In consequence of a cold, she caught a sore throat; and some time
later she had an earache. Three years later she was stone deaf, and
spoke in a very loud voice even in church. Although her sins might
have been proclaimed throughout the diocese without any shame to
herself, or ill effects to the community, the cure thought it
advisable to receive her confession in the vestry-room.
Imaginary buzzings also added to her bewilderment. Her mistress often
said to her: "My goodness, how stupid you are!" and she would answer:
"Yes, Madame," and look for something.
The narrow circle of her ideas grew more restricted than it already
was; the bellowing of the oxen, the chime of the bells no longer
reached her intelligence. All things moved silently, like ghosts. Only
one noise penetrated her ears; the parrot's voice.
As if to divert her mind, he reproduced for her the tick-tack of the
spit in the kitchen, the shrill cry of the fish-vendors, the saw of
the carpenter who had a shop opposite, and when the door-bell rang, he
would imitate Madame Aubain: "Felicite! go to the front door."
They held conversations together, Loulou repeating the three phrases
of his repertory over and over, Felicite replying by words that had no
greater meaning, but in which she poured out her feelings. In her
isolation, the parrot was almost a son, a love. He climbed upon her
fingers, pecked at her lips, clung to her shawl, and when she rocked
her head to and fro like a nurse, the big wings of her cap and the
wings of the bird flapped in unison. When clouds gathered on the
horizon and the thunder rumbled, Loulou would scream, perhaps because
he remembered the storms in his native forests. The dripping of the
rain would excite him to frenzy; he flapped around, struck the ceiling
with his wings, upset everything, and would finally fly into the
garden to play. Then he would come back into the room, light on one of
the andirons, and hop around in order to get dry.
One morning during the terrible winter of 1837, when she had put him
in front of the fire-place on account of the cold, she found him dead
in his cage, hanging to the wire bars with his head down. He had
probably died of congestion. But she believed that he had been
poisoned, and although she had no proofs whatever, her suspicion
rested on Fabu.
She wept so sorely that her mistress said: "Why don't you have him
stuffed?"
She asked the advice of the chemist, who had always been kind to the
bird.
He wrote to Havre for her. A certain man named Fellacher consented to
do the work. But, as the diligence driver often lost parcels entrusted
to him, Felicite resolved to take her pet to Honfleur herself.
Leafless apple-trees lined the edges of the road. The ditches were
covered with ice. The dogs on the neighbouring farms barked; and
Felicite, with her hands beneath her cape, her little black sabots and
her basket, trotted along nimbly in the middle of the sidewalk. She
crossed the forest, passed by the Haut-Chene, and reached Saint-
Gatien.
Behind her, in a cloud of dust and impelled by the steep incline, a
mail-coach drawn by galloping horses advanced like a whirlwind. When
he saw a woman in the middle of the road, who did not get out of the
way, the driver stood up in his seat and shouted to her and so did the
postilion, while the four horses, which he could not hold back,
accelerated their pace; the two leaders were almost upon her; with a
jerk of the reins he threw them to one side, but, furious at the
incident, he lifted his big whip and lashed her from her head to her
feet with such violence that she fell to the ground unconscious.
Her first thought, when she recovered her senses, was to open the
basket. Loulou was unharmed. She felt a sting on her right cheek; when
she took her hand away it was red, for the blood was flowing.
She sat down on a pile of stones, and sopped her cheek with her
handkerchief; then she ate a crust of bread she had put in her basket,
and consoled herself by looking at the bird.
Arriving at the top of Ecquemanville, she saw the lights of Honfleur
shining in the distance like so many stars; further on, the ocean
spread out in a confused mass. Then a weakness came over her; the
misery of her childhood, the disappointment of her first love, the
departure of her nephew, the death of Virginia; all these things came
back to her at once, and, rising like a swelling tide in her throat,
almost choked her.
Then she wished to speak to the captain of the vessel, and without
stating what she was sending, she gave him some instructions.
Fellacher kept the parrot a long time. He always promised that it
would be ready for the following week; after six months he announced
the shipment of a case, and that was the end of it. Really, it seemed
as if Loulou would never come back to his home. "They have stolen
him," thought Felicite.
Finally he arrived, sitting bold upright on a branch which could be
screwed into a mahogany pedestal, with his foot in the air, his head
on one side, and in his beak a nut which the naturalist, from love of
the sumptuous, had gilded. She put him in her room.
This place, to which only a chosen few were admitted, looked like a
chapel and a second-hand shop, so filled was it with devotional and
heterogeneous things. The door could not be opened easily on account
of the presence of a large wardrobe. Opposite the window that looked
out into the garden, a bull's-eye opened on the yard; a table was
placed by the cot and held a wash-basin, two combs, and a piece of
blue soap in a broken saucer. On the walls were rosaries, medals, a
number of Holy Virgins, and a holy-water basin made out of a cocoanut;
on the bureau, which was covered with a napkin like an altar, stood
the box of shells that Victor had given her; also a watering-can and a
balloon, writing-books, the engraved geography and a pair of shoes; on
the nail which held the mirror, hung Virginia's little plush hat!
Felicite carried this sort of respect so far that she even kept one of
Monsieur's old coats. All the things which Madame Aubain discarded,
Felicite begged for her own room. Thus, she had artificial flowers on
the edge of the bureau, and the picture of the Comte d'Artois in the
recess of the window. By means of a board, Loulou was set on a portion
of the chimney which advanced into the room. Every morning when she
awoke, she saw him in the dim light of dawn and recalled bygone days
and the smallest details of insignificant actions, without any sense
of bitterness or grief.
As she was unable to communicate with people, she lived in a sort of
somnambulistic torpor. The processions of Corpus-Christi Day seemed to
wake her up. She visited the neighbours to beg for candlesticks and
mats so as to adorn the temporary altars in the street.
In church, she always gazed at the Holy Ghost, and noticed that there
was something about it that resembled a parrot. The likenesses
appeared even more striking on a coloured picture by Espinal,
representing the baptism of our Saviour. With his scarlet wings and
emerald body, it was really the image of Loulou. Having bought the
picture, she hung it near the one of the Comte d'Artois so that she
could take them in at one glance.
They associated in her mind, the parrot becoming sanctified through
the neighbourhood of the Holy Ghost, and the latter becoming more
lifelike in her eyes, and more comprehensible. In all probability the
Father had never chosen as messenger a dove, as the latter has no
voice, but rather one of Loulou's ancestors. And Felicite said her
prayers in front of the coloured picture, though from time to time she
turned slightly towards the bird.
She desired very much to enter in the ranks of the "Daughters of the
Virgin." But Madame Aubain dissuaded her from it.
A most important event occurred: Paul's marriage.
After being first a notary's clerk, then in business, then in the
customs, and a tax collector, and having even applied for a position
in the administration of woods and forests, he had at last, when he
was thirty-six years old, by a divine inspiration, found his vocation:
registrature! and he displayed such a high ability that an inspector
had offered him his daughter and his influence.
Paul, who had become quite settled, brought his bride to visit his
mother.
But she looked down upon the customs of Pont-l'Eveque, put on airs,
and hurt Felicite's feelings. Madame Aubain felt relieved when she
left.
The following week they learned of Monsieur Bourais' death in an inn.
There were rumours of suicide, which were confirmed; doubts concerning
his integrity arose. Madame Aubain looked over her accounts and soon
discovered his numerous embezzlements; sales of wood which had been
concealed from her, false receipts, etc. Furthermore, he had an
illegitimate child, and entertained a friendship for "a person in
Dozule."
These base actions affected her very much. In March, 1853, she
developed a pain in her chest; her tongue looked as if it were coated
with smoke, and the leeches they applied did not relieve her
oppression; and on the ninth evening she died, being just seventy-two
years old.
People thought that she was younger, because her hair, which she wore
in bands framing her pale face, was brown. Few friends regretted her
loss, for her manner was so haughty that she did not attract them.
Felicite mourned for her as servants seldom mourn for their masters.
The fact that Madame should die before herself perplexed her mind and
seemed contrary to the order of things, and absolutely monstrous and
inadmissible. Ten days later (the time to journey from Besancon), the
heirs arrived. Her daughter-in-law ransacked the drawers, kept some of
the furniture, and sold the rest; then they went back to their own
home.
Madame's armchair, foot-warmer, work-table, the eight chairs,
everything was gone! The places occupied by the pictures formed yellow
squares on the walls. They had taken the two little beds, and the
wardrobe had been emptied of Virginia's belongings! Felicite went
upstairs, overcome with grief.
The following day a sign was posted on the door; the chemist screamed
in her ear that the house was for sale.
For a moment she tottered, and had to sit down.
What hurt her most was to give up her room,--so nice for poor Loulou!
She looked at him in despair and implored the Holy Ghost, and it was
this way that she contracted the idolatrous habit of saying her
prayers kneeling in front of the bird. Sometimes the sun fell through
the window on his glass eye, and lighted a spark in it which sent
Felicite into ecstasy.
Her mistress had left her an income of three hundred and eighty
francs. The garden supplied her with vegetables. As for clothes, she
had enough to last her till the end of her days, and she economised on
the light by going to bed at dusk.
She rarely went out, in order to avoid passing in front of the second-
hand dealer's shop where there was some of the old furniture. Since
her fainting spell, she dragged her leg, and as her strength was
failing rapidly, old Mother Simon, who had lost her money in the
grocery business, came very morning to chop the wood and pump the
water.
Her eyesight grew dim. She did not open the shutters after that. Many
years passed. But the house did not sell or rent. Fearing that she
would be put out, Felicite did not ask for repairs. The laths of the
roof were rotting away, and during one whole winter her bolster was
wet. After Easter she spit blood.
Then Mother Simon went for a doctor. Felicite wished to know what her
complaint was. But, being too deaf to hear, she caught only one word:
"Pneumonia." She was familiar with it and gently answered:--"Ah! like
Madame," thinking it quite natural that she should follow her
mistress.
The time for the altars in the street drew near.
The first one was always erected at the foot of the hill, the second
in front of the post-office, and the third in the middle of the
street. This position occasioned some rivalry among the women and they
finally decided upon Madame Aubain's yard.
Felicite's fever grew worse. She was sorry that she could not do
anything for the altar. If she could, at least, have contributed
something towards it! Then she thought of the parrot. Her neighbours
objected that it would not be proper. But the cure gave his consent
and she was so grateful for it that she begged him to accept after her
death, her only treasure, Loulou. From Tuesday until Saturday, the day
before the event, she coughed more frequently. In the evening her face
was contracted, her lips stuck to her gums and she began to vomit; and
on the following day, she felt so low that she called for a priest.
Three neighbours surrounded her when the dominie administered the
Extreme Unction. Afterwards she said that she wished to speak to Fabu.
He arrived in his Sunday clothes, very ill at ease among the funereal
surroundings.
"Forgive me," she said, making an effort to extend her arm, "I
believed it was you who killed him!"
What did such accusations mean? Suspect a man like him of murder! And
Fabu became excited and was about to make trouble.
"Don't you see she is not in her right mind?"
From time to time Felicite spoke to shadows. The women left her and
Mother Simon sat down to breakfast.
A little later, she took Loulou and holding him up to Felicite:
"Say good-bye to him, now!" she commanded.
Although he was not a corpse, he was eaten up by worms; one of his
wings was broken and the wadding was coming out of his body. But
Felicite was blind now, and she took him and laid him against her
cheek. Then Mother Simon removed him in order to set him on the altar.
