The red book of animal stories/Joseph: Whose proper name was Josephine

JOSEPH: WHOSE PROPER NAME WAS JOSEPHINE

Monsieur Alexandre Dumas, who was so fond of animals, and has given us such a delightful account of Pritchard and his ways, was once passing a few months in a palace at Naples.

It was a beautiful palace, with a garden that had been made long ago by a rich Roman noble, and terraces that sloped down to the sea itself. These terraces and gardens were filled with fine trees and covered with flowers, and on their walls and stones there basked in the sunshine, thousands of grey and golden lizards.

Now anyone that has ever watched the behaviour of lizards for long together, knows what strange little creatures they are. How quick, and yet how still; how shy, and yet how readily tamed; how unnoticeable amidst the grey rocks and stones, yet how easily detected by their bright glittering eyes.

Amongst all the lizards that made their homes in the gardens of M. Dumas’ palace, there was one which seemed as if it had been charged by all its relations to prove to M. Dumas and his guest, M. Goujon, the truth of the proverb, ‘the lizard is the friend of man.’ This particular lizard was a very bold little person, and very fond of flies, which it would even come to seek by the windows of M. Goujon’s room, opening on to the terrace.

Like M. Dumas, M. Goujon loved beasts, and he thought he would try to tame his visitor, and at the end of three days he had succeeded so well, that the lizard was not afraid to come near him. A week later he tried the experiment of offering the lizard, to whom he had given the name of Joseph, a spoonful of tea from his cup, and, rather to his surprise, Joseph seemed quite to enjoy it!

The two always met in the very early mornings before anyone else was up, but at whatever hour M. Goujon might choose to come out on the terrace, Joseph was sure to be there before him, stretched comfortably out in a warm sunny place, with her eyes fixed on the door where M. Goujon would presently appear.

Ten minutes after this event, a page boy brought Goujon his morning tea, and Joseph, who knew the boy quite well by sight, raised her head and flicked the end of her tail with joy at the sight of the tray. She never moved her gaze from Goujon, who poured himself slowly out a cup, and put in plenty of sugar. Then he took a spoonful of the tea, tasted it, as a careful nurse tastes a baby’s milk to make sure it is not too hot, and held out the spoon to Joseph, who lapped it delicately with her thin black tongue till she had finished every drop. She never allowed anything to disturb her during this occupation, except a sudden noise, or a face she did not know.

Little by little Joseph soon grew accustomed to the people of the house, and paid no heed to them. She would even take sugar from our hands, though seldom without hesitation, as she always remained constant to Goujon.

One day Joseph was missing from her usual place on the terrace, and M. Goujon had to drink his tea alone. The whole house grieved over her loss, for ‘the palace was dull,’ observes M. Dumas, ‘and we had made no friends except herself. But there is no sorrow so great that time cannot heal it; and, as Claudius King of Denmark said to Hamlet on a similar occasion:

…. Your father lost a father;
That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound,
In filial obligation, for some term
To do obsequious sorrow: but to persever
In obstinate condolement, is a course
Of impious stubbornness; ’tis unmanly grief.

Hamlet refused to listen to this advice; but, as M. Dumas afterwards said, in telling the story, ‘We were wiser than Hamlet. Besides, after all, Joseph was not the father of any of us. If she was anything, she was Goujon’s adopted child.’

However, all missed her, and for two or three days she was the subject of all our conversations. Then her name was heard more seldom, and at last it dropped out of our talk altogether. Only Goujon would every now and then lean over the parapet, and call softly for ‘Joseph,’ and even he seemed to do this now more as a matter of duty, than from the idea that it was of any use.

Things went on in this way for about three weeks, when, early one morning, at the hour when Goujon was in the habit of drinking his cup of tea, I heard cries of joy proceeding from the terrace. I ran to see what had happened, and found Goujon wild with delight at the reappearance of Joseph (or Josephine as she ought properly to have been called), who was basking in the sun with two tiny little lizards about as long as needles and as thick as quill pens, lying beside her.

She stayed with us till the middle of November, and then vanished as suddenly as before. Nothing was seen of her during the cold days of the winter, but at the beginning of March, when the sun was growing strong again, we noticed one morning a lizard lying on the wall of the balcony, staring hard at us.

JOSEPH’S BREAKFAST

‘Look there,’ I remarked to Goujon. ‘One would almost say that was Joseph, for we never could remember to call her ‘Josephine,’ and, if we did, she paid no sort of attention.

Goujon’s eyes followed mine. ‘Joseph, Joseph!’ cried he, and Joseph came running without a moment’s hesitation, to the astonishment of the two small lizards, who stayed behind and watched, with a shudder of horror, their mother crawl up Goujon’s shoulder.

From this day the friendship between Goujon and Joseph became as strong as ever, and when we left our palace the only person we were sorry to leave was the amiable Joseph.

Does she ever think of us now, I wonder, even of Goujon?