The red book of animal stories/The Story of Jacko II
THE STORY OF JACKO II.
The winter of 183— was unusually severe in Paris, in spite of all the predictions to the contrary of Matthew Lansberg, the weather prophet.
Counting on the mild season he foretold, many people laid in but a moderate supply of fuel, and amongst them was the artist Tony Johannot. Whether this was the result of faith in the prophet, or of some other reason into which it might be indiscreet to inquire, the fact was that towards the middle of January this distinguished painter, on going to fetch a log from his wood cupboard, discovered that if he continued to keep up fires in both studio and bedroom his store would barely hold out another fortnight.
Now there had been skating on the canal for a week past, the river itself was frozen, and Monsieur Arago announced from the Observatory that the frost would certainly increase. And the past being a guarantee for the future, the public began to think that M. Arago was probably right, and that for once Matthew Lansberg was mistaken.
Tony returned from his wood cupboard much troubled by the result of his calculations. It seemed a choice of freezing by day or freezing by night! However, on thinking the matter well over as he worked away at his big picture of the hanging of Admiral Coligny at Montfaucon, it struck him that the simplest plan would be to move his bed into the studio.
As for his monkey, Jacko II.,[1] a bear’s skin folded in four would do famously for him.
The move was effected that same evening, and Tony fell asleep in a pleasantly warm atmosphere, delighted with his happy idea.
On waking next morning he felt puzzled as to where he was for a few moments, but soon recognising the studio, his eyes turned by instinct towards his easel.
Jacko II. was seated on the back of a chair, just at the height and within reach of the picture. For a moment Tony imagined that the intelligent creature, who had lived so long amongst pictures, had at length become a connoisseur, and that, as he seemed to inspect the canvas very closely, he was lost in admiration of the beauty of its finish and details. But he soon found out his mistake. Jacko adored white lead, and as the picture of Coligny was nearly finished, and Tony had put in all his high lights with this pigment, Jacko was busy passing his tongue over every spot where he could find it.
Tony sprang from his bed, and Jacko from his chair, but it was too late. Every part of the canvas on which there had been the smallest touch of white lead was licked bare, and the Admiral himself had been, one might almost say, swallowed whole!
Tony began by flying into a great rage with Jacko, but, on second thoughts, reflecting that it was very much his own fault for not tying the monkey up, he went in search of a chain and a staple.
He fixed the staple firmly into the wall, riveted one end of the chain to it, and having thus prepared for the coming night, he fell to work on his Coligny, and succeeded in pretty well re-hanging him by five o’clock.
Then, feeling he had done a good day’s work, he went out for a walk, dined at a restaurant, went to see a play, and got home soon after eleven.
On entering the studio Tony was pleased to find all in good order and Jacko peacefully asleep on his cushions. He went to bed and was soon fast asleep too.
Not long after midnight he was roused by such a rattling of old irons that anyone might have thought that all the ghosts in Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels were dragging their chains about the room. Tony did not much believe in ghosts, but fearing some one might be breaking in to steal his wood he stretched out his hand towards an antique halberd which hung on the wall. But in an instant or two he discovered the cause of all this noise, and shouted to Jacko to lie down and be quiet.
Jacko obeyed, and Tony made all haste to fall asleep again. At the end of half an hour he was once more aroused by smothered groans and cries. As the house stood in an out-of-the-way part of the town Tony thought some one was being murdered under his very windows. He jumped out of bed, seized a pair of pistols, and ran to open the window. The night was still, the street quiet, not a sound disturbed the peace of the neighbourhood; so he closed the window and realised that the groans came from inside the room. Now, as he and Jacko were its only occupants, and as he certainly had not uttered a sound himself, he went straight to Jacko, who, not knowing what to do, had amused himself running round and round the leg of the table till his chain shortened, and as he continued turning round he found himself suddenly pulled up short by the collar. It never occurred to him to run round the other way, so he only choked more and more with each attempt to free himself. Hence the groans which had disturbed his master.
Tony promptly unwound the chain from the leg of the table, and Jacko, happy to be able to breathe once more, retired humbly and quietly to bed. Tony also lay down hoping for a good sleep at last; but he reckoned without Jacko, who had been disturbed in his regular habits. He had slept his usual eight hours early in the evening and was now quite wide awake. The result was that, at the end of twenty minutes, Tony bounded out of bed once more; but this time it was neither halberd nor pistol which he took in hand, but a whip.
Jacko saw him coming, and tried to hide in a corner, but it was too late, and Tony administered a well-deserved castigation. This effectually quieted the culprit for the rest of the night; but now Tony found it impossible to go to sleep again, so he got up, lit his lamp, and as he could not paint by its light, sat down to work at one of the wood engravings which made him the king of illustrators of his day.
He felt much puzzled all the morning as to the best way of combining peace at night with economy in fuel, and he was still turning the matter over in his mind when a pretty cat called ‘Michette’ walked into the studio.
Jacko was very fond of Michette because she did whatever he wished, and Michette on her side was devoted to Jacko. Tony, remembering their mutual attachment, determined to make the most of it. This cat, with her thick winter coat of fur, would be as good as any stove.
So he picked her up, and putting her into Jacko’s hutch, pushed him in after her, shut down the grating, and went back to the studio to watch through a little hole how things went on.
At first the prisoners tried hard, each after its own fashion, to get out. Jacko leapt against each of the three walls, and then fell to shaking the bars of the grating, regardless of the fact that his efforts were quite in vain.
As for Michette, she lay where she had been placed, and looked all round without moving more than her head; then going to the bars she rubbed first one side and then the other against them, rounding her back and arching her tail, and mewing loudly. Then she tried to push her head between the bars, but, finding all of no avail, she made herself a nest in one corner of the hutch, and curled herself snugly up, looking like an ermine muff seen from one end.
Jacko, on the other hand, kept on jumping and scolding away for another quarter of an hour, then finding all his efforts to be useless he retired to a corner opposite Michette’s. Being well warmed by all the exercise he had taken, he stayed quiet for a time, but he soon began to feel the cold and to shiver all over. It was then that his eyes fell once more on his friend, so comfortably rolled up in all her warm fur, and his selfish instinct at once prompted the use he could make of her. Quietly he drew near Michette, lay down near her, slipped one arm under her, and passed the other through the opening made by the natural muff which she formed. He then twisted his tail round his neighbour’s, and she obligingly drew them both up between her legs, when he seemed quite reassured as to his future.
Tony, satisfied with what he had seen through the hole, sent for his housekeeper and desired her to prepare food for Michette every day, besides the carrots, nuts, and potatoes always served up to Jacko.
The housekeeper duly obeyed orders, and all would have gone well with Michette and Jacko had it not been for the monkey’s greediness. From the very first day he noticed that a new dish was served with his two regular meals, one at nine in the morning and the other at five in the afternoon. As for Michette, she at once recognised her accustomed milk pudding in the morning, and meat patty in the evening, and she proceeded to eat each in turn with that dainty deliberation common to all well-bred cats. At first Jacko left her alone; but one morning, when Michette had left a little of her pudding on the plate, he came up behind her, tasted it, and found it so nice that he quickly cleared the dish. At dinner-time he discovered that the mess of meat was even more palatable, and when he rolled himself comfortably round Michette for the night, he spent some time wondering why he, the son of the house, should only have nuts, carrots, and other raw vegetables, which set his teeth on edge, provided for him, whilst this comparative stranger was offered such tempting delicacies. He came to the conclusion that his master was most unjust, and that he must do his best to restore things to the proper order by eating the pies himself and leaving the nuts, &c. to Michette.
So, next morning, when the two breakfasts were brought, as Michette, purring cheerfully, approached her saucer, Jacko picked her up under one arm, where he held her firmly, with her head turned away from the food as long as there was any left on the dish; then, having had an excellent meal, he left Michette at liberty to breakfast in her turn on the vegetables.
Michette turned over and smelt them each in turn, but, displeased with the result of her inspection, she came back mewing sadly, and lay down by the greedy monkey.
At dinner the same manœuvre took place, but this time Jacko was still more pleased with his idea, for the meat pie struck him as even better than the milk pudding. Thanks to these nourishing meals, and the warmth of Michette’s fur, he spent an excellent night, snoring away lustily, and quite regardless of poor Michette’s complaints.
Things went on like this for three days, to the great joy of Jacko and the equally great distress of Michette, who, by the fourth day, was so weak that she lay still in her corner without moving. Jacko made an excellent meal, and felt much ill-used when he returned to roll himself round Michette to find his warm muff so much cooler than usual.
The night was colder than ever, and next morning Jacko’s tail was frozen hard, and Michette lay at the point of death.
Luckily, on that day, Tony, who had felt anxious on account of the extreme cold, went to inspect his two prisoners as soon as he woke. He was only just in time, for both seemed almost equally petrified, so he took Jacko into the studio, and handed Michette over to the cook, who thought for some time that she was quite dead; but the warmth of the kitchen and judicious feeding gradually restored her, and in a day or two she was herself once more; but nothing would ever induce her to go near Jacko again.
Jacko himself was rather stiff, but he soon recovered his circulation and wonted activity, except in his tail, which remained frozen, and which, having frozen whilst curled round Michette’s tail, retained a corkscrew form—a shape unknown amongst monkeys, and which had the funniest appearance you can imagine.
Three days later a thaw set in, and the thaw caused a strange thing to happen.
One day Jacko was perched on the top of a tall ladder in the studio, when a lad suddenly came in bringing back a large lion’s skin which Tony had sent to be mounted. The boy had hung the skin over his back, and it partly covered his head; and his appearance, and the smell of the skin, so terrified Jacko, that he turned quite faint and fell down from the ladder.
He was promptly picked up and soon restored to his senses, but in the sudden fall his frozen tail had snapped right off, and Jacko had to pass the remainder of his life a tail-less monkey.
- ↑ To distinguish him from Jacko I., Décamps’ monkey.