The Curly Haired Hen written by Auguste Vimar
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Auguste Vimar >> The Curly Haired Hen
[Illustration: Yollande appears emerging from her shroud.]
THE CURLY-HAIRED HEN
TEXT AND ILLUSTRATIONS
BY
A. VIMAR
TRANSLATED BY
NORA K. HILLS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
Mother Etienne's Farm
CHAPTER II
A Mother's Devotion
CHAPTER III
Yollande's Trousseau
CHAPTER IV
Father Gusson's Secret
CHAPTER V
Sir Booum Calls upon Mother Etienne
CHAPTER VI
The Separation
CHAPTER VII
Sir Booum's Circus
CHAPTER VIII
Mother Etienne's Dream
CHAPTER IX
Mother Etienne's Fortune
CHAPTER X
Triumph of the Ointment
CHAPTER I
MOTHER ETIENNE'S FARM
"Oh Grandfather, tell us a story, do. You know, the one you began
the other evening about Mother Etienne's big farm. You remember.
The weather is so bad and we can't go out. Go on, Grandfather,
please."
Coaxingly the three children clung round their grandfather,
looking at him beseechingly. He adoring the children as he did,
loved to hear them plead.
At last he began:
Since you have been very good, and you want it so much, I will
tell you the wonderful story of Mother Etienne's farm and the
still more wonderful story of what happened to one of its
occupants.
Love animals, my children, be kind to them, care for them, and you
will surely have your reward.
Mother Etienne was a good stout woman with a very kind heart.
While still young she was so unfortunate as to lose her husband
and her son of whom she was very fond. This made her, as you can
imagine, very, very sad. She wouldn't listen to any new offers of
marriage though she had plenty of them. Instead, she devoted her
life, her whole existence, to the attentive, nay I ought to say,
the maternal care, of the animals on her farm, making them as
comfortable as could be.
She had, as I said before, a most excellent heart, the good Mother
Etienne. You shall see that presently.
This good woman then lived on her big farm, very spacious and
admirably situated. A slate roof covered the large house; the
granaries, stables and outhouses were sheltered by old thatching
upon which grew moss and lichen.
Let me tell you now, dear children, who were the chief occupants
of the farm. First there was big "Coco"--a fine Normandy
horse--bay-coloured and very fat, whose silky coat had a purple sheen;
he had a star on his forehead and a pink mark between his eyes. He
was very gentle and answered to the voice of his mistress. If
Mother Etienne passed by his stable he never failed to scent her
and whinnied at once. That was his way of showing his friendliness
and saying,
"Good morning."
His good mistress spoiled him with all sorts of dainties.
Sometimes a crust of bread, sometimes a handful of carrots, but
what he loved best of all was sugar. If you had given him a whole
loaf he would soon have eaten it up.
Coco had for stable companions three fine Swiss cows. Their names
were La Blonde, Blanchotte, and Nera. You know what the colours
were for the names, don't you?
Petit-Jacques, the stable boy, took care of them. On fine days he
led them to pasture into a bog paddock near the farm up against a
pretty wood of silver beeches. A large pond of clear water covered
one corner of the meadow and lost itself in the reeds and iris.
There the fine big cows went to quench their thirst; quantities of
frogs went there, too, to play leap-frog. It was a veritable
earthly Paradise.
From the farm Mother Etienne caught the sound of the large bronze
bells each with its different low note, which hung round the necks
of the cows; thus she could superintend their comings and goings
without interrupting her various occupations. For the farm was
very big, as I told you, and had many animals on it.
After the stables and coachhouses came the piggery, the rabbit
hutches, and finally an immense poultry-yard divided into a
thousand compartments, and sheltering a whole horde of poultry of
all sorts; fowls of all kinds and of all breeds, geese,
guineafowl, pigeons, ducks, and what all besides. What wasn't
there in that prodigious poultry-yard?
Mother Etienne spent most of her time there, for the smaller and
more delicate the creatures the more interest and care she gave
them.
"The weak need so much protection," this excellent woman would
say, and she was right.
So for the baby ducks her tenderness was limitless. What dangers
had to be avoided to raise successfully all these tiny folks!
Did a pig escape? Immediately danger threatened the poultry-yard.
For a pig has terrible teeth and he doesn't care what he eats--he
would as soon crunch a little duckling as a carrot. So she had to
watch every minute, every second even. For besides, in spite of
the vigilance of "Labrie," the faithful watchdog, sometimes rats
would suck the blood of the young pigeons. Once even a whole
litter of rabbits was destroyed that way.
To dispose of the products of her farm, Mother Etienne drove twice
a week to market in her market-cart drawn by Coco.
She was famed for the best vegetables, the purest and creamiest
milk; in short, the eggs she sold were the freshest, the poultry
and rabbits the tenderest and most juicy to be had. As soon as she
and Coco came trotting into the market there was a rush to get to
her first.
There, as everywhere, everyone loved Mother Etienne.
CHAPTER II
A MOTHER'S DEVOTION
Thus time passed peacefully at the big farm.
One day, however, the quiet was disturbed by a little drama which
convulsed the calm but busy spot.
Mother Etienne had given to a Cochin-China hen, which she had
christened Yollande, some white duck's eggs to sit on. The batch
of fifteen eggs had all come out. It was really wonderful to see
these fifteen baby ducks, yellow as canaries, beaks and webbed
feet pink, swarming around the big patient sitting mother, ducking
under her wings, to come out presently and clamber helter-skelter
onto her broad back. As often happens with nurses, Yollande loved
the ducklings as her own children, and without worrying about
their shape or plumage, so different from her own, she showered
upon them proofs of the tenderest affection. Did a fly pass within
their reach, all these little ones jumped at it--tumbling in their
efforts to catch it. The little yellow balls with their wide-awake
air never took a second's rest.
Well cared for and well fed, they grew so rapidly that soon they
had to have more space. Mother Etienne housed them then on the
edge of the pond in a latticed coop opening onto a sloping board
which led down to the water. It was, as it were, a big swimming
bath, which grew gradually deeper and deeper. The ducks and geese
loved to plunge in and hardly left the water except to take their
meals.
Yollande felt very out of place in this new dwelling. The
ducklings on the contrary, urged on by their instinct, madly
enjoyed it and rushed pell-mell into the water.
This inexplicable impulse terrified their mama. She was, in fact,
"as mad as a wet hen."
She ran up and down, her feathers on end, her face swollen, her
crest red, clucking away, trying to persuade her babies not to
venture into the water. For hens, like cats, hate the water. It
was unspeakable torture to her. The children would not listen;
deaf to her prayers, her cries, these rascally babies ventured
farther and farther out. They were at last and for the first time
in their favourite element, lighter than little corks, they
floated, dived, plunged, raced, fought, playing all sorts of
tricks.
Meanwhile, Yollande was eating her heart out. She rushed to and
fro, keeping her eyes glued on the disobedient ones. Suddenly she
saw a mother-duck chasing her darlings. This was more than she
could bear,--driven by her maternal instinct she leapt like a fury
to the aid of her family.
A flap or two of her wings and she was above the water into which
she fell at the deepest part.
Splashing,--struggling madly in the midst of her frightened
brood,--she was soon exhausted and succumbing to syncope, she sank
to the bottom.
The surface of the water closed above her. The little ones did not
realize what had happened--very quickly recovering from their
momentary fright, they went on with their games--splashing the
water with their beaks and amusing themselves as though nothing
were the matter.
Mother Etienne, busy giving green apples to the pigs, bran to the
rabbits, and corn to the pigeons, came back presently, and could
not see the big Yollande beside the pond, only her children
floating far, far away on the water. Surprised she drew nearer,
called, but in vain. The mother-hen had disappeared. Then only did
she understand the tragedy that had occurred. She called for help.
Petit-Jacques immediately opened the big sluice and the water ran
out, but much too slowly for their impatience. At last they began
to see the bottom, and soon the body of poor Yollande was
discovered stiff and motionless.
There was general consternation at the farm. Petit-Jacques, by
means of a long pole, seized her and drew her to land at Mother
Etienne's feet. Labrie came up and sniffed sadly at the body of
the unhappy hen. In vain they dried her and rubbed her,--nothing
did any good.
"She's quite dead, alas," said Mother Etienne with tears in her
eyes, "but it was my own fault. I ought to have closed down the
lattice and this misfortune would not have happened. It really is
a great pity--such a fine hen. She weighs at least eight pounds.
There, Germaine, take her and weigh her."
Germaine was the maid and also the cousin of Petit-Jacques--of
whom she was very fond. She was a fine buxom girl of eighteen,
strong and well-grown. She loved animals, too, but her feeling for
them could not be compared to Mother Etienne's.
"Germaine, take away poor Yollande, I am quite upset
by this trouble. You will bury her this evening, in a corner of
the kitchen-garden--deep enough to prevent any animal digging her
up. I leave it to you--do it carefully."
The girl bore away the fine hen in her apron. "How heavy she
is--it is a shame," and blowing apart the feathers, she saw the skin
underneath as yellow and plump as you could wish. Mechanically she
plucked a few feathers.
"After all," she said, "it isn't as though she had died--she was
drowned, quite a clean death; she's firm and healthy, only an hour
ago she was as strong and well as could be. Why shouldn't we eat
her?--We'll stew her because, though she is not old, she is not
exactly in her first youth--but there's a lot on her--with a
dressing of carrots and nutmeg, a bunch of herbs and a tomato,
with a calf's foot to make a good jelly, I believe she'd make a
lovely dinner."
Saying this she went on plucking Yollande. All the feathers, large
and small, gone, a little down was left, so to get rid of this she
lit an old newspaper and held her over it.
"Madame won't know anything and will enjoy her as much as we
shall. There's enough on her for two good meals."
Quite decided, instead of burying her, she wrapped the future stew
carefully in a perfectly clean cloth and put it on a shelf in the
kitchen out of the way of flies or accident.
During this time Mother Etienne was busy making as warm a home as
she could for the fifteen little orphans. Poor darlings. In a
wicker-basket she covered a layer of straw with another of wadding
and fine down. Upon this she put the ducklings one by one, and
covered the whole with feathers; then closing the lid, she carried
the basket to the stable where the air was always nice and warm.
All this took time; it was about six o'clock in the evening, the
sun was going down, throwing a last oblique smile into the
kitchen, gleaming here and there on the shining copper which hung
on the walls.
CHAPTER III
YOLLANDE'S TROUSSEAU
As for Germaine, she, with Petit-Jacques to help her, had gone to
milk the cows. Mother Etienne soon joined them, and the two women
came back to the house together.
Horror of horrors! What a terrible sight. Pale with fear they
stood on the threshold of the kitchen not daring to move--to
enter. Their hearts were in their mouths. A ghost stood there in
front of them--Yollande--and Germaine fell at Mother Etienne's
feet in utter consternation. Yollande? Yes, Yollande, but what a
Yollande! Heavens! Yollande plucked, literally plucked! Yollande
emerging from her shroud like Lazarus from his tomb! Yollande
risen from the dead! A cry of anguish burst from the heart of kind
Mother Etienne.
"Yollande, oh, Yollande!"
The Cochin-China replied by a long shudder.
This is what had happened.
On falling into the water, Yollande after struggling fiercely
succumbed to syncope, and her lungs ceasing to act she had ceased
to breathe, so the water had not entered her lungs. That is why
she was not drowned. Life was, so to speak, suspended. The syncope
lasted some time. The considerable heat to which she was subjected
when Germaine held her above the flaming newspaper had brought
about a healthy reaction and in the solitude of the kitchen she
had recovered consciousness.
After the first moment of terror was over, Germaine confessed her
plan to Mother Etienne, who, glad to find Yollande still alive,
forgave Germaine the disobedience which had saved her.
But the hen was still shivering, shaking in every limb, her skin
all goose-flesh. Dragging after her her travesty of a tail, she
jumped onto the kitchen-table which she shook with her shivering.
"We can't leave her like that any longer," said Mother Etienne,
"we must cover her up somehow," and straightway she wrapped her up
in all the cloths she could lay her hands on. Germaine prepared
some hot wine with sugar in it, and the two women fed her with it
in spoonfuls,--then they took a good drink of it themselves. All
three at once felt the better for it. Yollande spent the night in
these hastily-made swaddling clothes between two foot-warmers
which threw out a gentle and continuous heat and kept away the
catarrh with which the poor Cochin-China was threatened. The great
question which arose now was how they were to protect her from the
cold in future. Both of them cogitated over it.
Several times during the night, Mother Etienne and the maid came
to look at the hen, who, worn out by such a long day of fatigue
and suffering, at last closed her eyes, relaxed, and slept till
morning.
Nevertheless she was the first in the house to wake up, and at
dawn began to cackle vigorously. Germaine hastened to her,
bringing a quantity of corn which the hen, doubtless owing to her
fast of the day before, ate greedily.
Now the important thing was to find her a practical costume. The
weather was mild but there was great danger in allowing her to
wander about in a garb as light as it was primitive. The mornings
and evenings were cool and might bring on a cold, inflammation or
congestion of the lungs, rheumatism, or what not.
At all costs a new misfortune must be avoided. At last they
dressed her in silk cunningly fashioned and lined with wadding.
Thus garbed her entry into the poultry-yard was a subject of
astonishment to some, fear to others, and excitement to most of
the birds she met on her way.
In vain Mother Etienne strove to tone down the colours of the
stuffs, to modify the cut of the garments, but Yollande long
remained an object of surprise and antipathy to the majority of
the poultry.
The scandal soon reached its climax.
"That hen must be mad," said an old duck to his wife.
"Just imagine dressing up like that; she'll come along one of
these days in a bathing suit," cried a young rooster who prided
himself on his wit.
A young turkey tugged at her clothes, trying to pull them off, and
all the others looked on laughing and hurling insults.... They
vied with one another in sarcastic speeches. At last, after a
time, as the saying goes, "Familiarity bred contempt." The fear
which her companions had felt at first soon changed into a
familiarity often too great for the unhappy Cochin-China. They
tried to see who could play her the shabbiest trick. Hens are
often as cruel as men, which is saying a great deal.
Poor Yollande, in spite of her size, her solidity, and strength,
nearly always emerged half-dressed. Her companions could not stand
her dressed like that, the sight of her irritated them. Not
content with tearing her clothes they often pecked at the poor
creature as well.
Mother Etienne did her best to improve these costumes in every
way--but it was as impossible to find perfection as the
philosopher's stone.
They hoped at the farm that in time the feathers would grow again.
Meanwhile it was hard on the hen.
Nothing of the sort happened; one, two, three months passed and
not the least vestige of down appeared on the hen, who had to be
protected like a human being from the changes of climate and so
forth. Like a well-to-do farmer's wife Yollande had her
linen-chest and a complete outfit.
It was, I assure you, my dear children, kept up most carefully.
There was always a button to sew on, a buttonhole to remake, or a
tear to be mended. Thus constantly in touch with the household
Madame Hen soon thought she belonged to it. Indeed, worn out by
the teasing of her companions, by the constant arguments she had
with them, and touched on the other hand by the affectionate care
of her mistresses, Yollande stayed more and more in the house.
Coddled and swathed in her fantastic costumes, she sat in the
chimney corner like a little Cinderella changed into a hen; from
this corner she quietly watched; nothing escaped her notice.
Meanwhile her reputation had grown, not only amongst her comrades,
but amongst all the animals of the neighbourhood, who, hearing her
discussed, were anxious to see her.
Woe to the cat or dog who dared venture too far into the room!
Very annoyed at this impertinent curiosity, she would leap upon
the importunate stranger and punish him terribly with her sharp
beak. Of course he would run off howling and frightened to death.
It was very funny to watch.
Mother Etienne and Germaine were much amused at these little
comedies, and whenever visitors came to the farm they would try to
provoke one. Everyone enjoyed them hugely.
Germaine treated Yollande like a doll. She made her all sorts of
fashionable clothes. The Cochin-China would be dressed sometimes
like a man, sometimes like a woman. She had made her quite a
collection of little trousers and vests, which had style, I can
tell you. She had copied, too, from a circus she had seen, an
English clown's costume which was most becoming. Nothing could be
funnier than to watch this tiny dwarf, to see her strut, jump,
dance, coming and going, skipping around suddenly,--one moment
skittish, the next very important.
Petit-Jacques loved to tease her, but not roughly; he would push
her with his foot, and make her jump at him impatiently, looking
perfectly ridiculous in her quaint dress. You could have sworn she
was a miniature clown. Add to all this, the queer inarticulate
sounds she made when she was angry, and even then you can have no
idea how very amusing these pantomimes were.
Soon the fame of Yollande spread far and wide. She became
celebrated throughout the district. Instead of asking Mother
Etienne how _she_ was, people asked:
"How's your hen today, Mother Etienne?"
CHAPTER IV
FATHER GUSSON'S SECRET
One day a peddler, such as often come round to villages, laden
like a mule, and leading by the bridle an ass still more laden,
appeared at the farm. Both looked well but tired and dusty--they
seemed to have had a long journey.
Father Gusson, such was the good man's name, sold all sorts of
things, from tooth-brushes to shoes,--including hardware,
glassware, notions, drugs, and even patent medicines.
Mother Etienne received him kindly and after letting him show her
the things in which she was interested, she offered him
refreshment and suggested that he should take a little rest at the
farm. This he accepted without needing any pressing.
The donkey, relieved straightway from his load, was led into the
paddock, where he wallowed in the tall grass, rolling on his back,
his feet in the air. He enjoyed cleaning himself up like this
after his dusty journey, then, rested--he took his luncheon,
choosing here and there the daintiest morsels; after which he lay
down and philosophised at length.
All this time, Mother Etienne and Germaine were buying, tempted by
one thing after another, silks, laces, stuffs for dresses, and a
number of toilet articles, for both were, though you would not
have suspected it, rather coquettish. Father Gusson--delighted
with his visit to the farm and the business he had done there--was
anxious to leave Mother Etienne a little remembrance.
[Illustration: Father Gusson the peddler comes to the farm.]
"Madame," he said, holding out a small china jar carefully sealed
with parchment, "assuredly you do not need this just now, but if I
should never come back, and if it should happen that one day your
beautiful hair should grow thin, turn grey, or fall out, you have
only to rub your head with this sweet-scented ointment and at once
your hair will grow again thick and of its original colour. I
cannot, alas! give you the recipe, it is a secret left me by my
parents."
Then Father Gusson bade farewell to the two women and went on his
way with "Neddy," both much refreshed by their pleasant rest.
Mother Etienne handed Germaine the precious pot of ointment to put
with their other purchases into the big cupboard, and they thought
no more about it.
One day as she sat by the fire with Yollande, watching the dinner,
a bright and whimsical idea occurred to the maid. "Supposing I
were to try the ointment on the hen? But--it might be good for
feathers too--anyhow, it could not do any harm."
Saying this she went, found the ointment, and delicately rubbed a
little onto Yollande's head. Yollande did not appear to mind at
all. Germaine did this three days running.
Two weeks later Mother Etienne while dressing her hen, as she did
each day, found a thick reddish down sprouting round her head like
a little flat wig. She showed it to Germaine, who paid no
attention, having quite forgotten her childish trick.
But during the next few days the wig prospered; the hair was two
finger-breadths long, very thick and curly. Mother Etienne could
not understand it at all. Germaine could not, at first, make up
her mind to confess to her mistress what she had done.
At last one evening, Mother Etienne being in a particularly good
humour, the young girl took courage and told her all about it. Far
from scolding her, her mistress was delighted, and so pleased at
the news that she there and then undressed Yollande and rubbed her
from head to foot with Father Gusson's marvellous ointment. She
did the thing thoroughly--rubbing it into every pore. Then they
made a good fire so that the poor little model, thus exposed,
should not take cold.
After that they watched her every instant; they were for ever
undressing her to see if the cure was working--they could hardly
bear to wait. Just think--if it were to succeed. It would be the
end and aim of all their care. Yollande could once again take her
proper place in the world.
At last what had happened to the head, happened to the body too.
Before a week had gone by a thick down completely covered the big
hen. The good women, much wondering, imagined that as it grew
stronger the hair would change into feathers. Anxiously they
awaited the change. Nothing of the sort happened. The hair
remained hair--red, Titian red--fine and soft, curling round your
fingers, admirable in quality and colour.
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 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 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 "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."
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.