Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 702

FANCHETTE, THE GOAT OF BOULAINVILLIERS

AN EPISODE OF THE SIEGE OF PARIS

While the German army inclosed in its iron grasp the most brilliant and pleasure-loving city of Europe, transforming in a moment its epicurean population into a people of heroes, the environs once so gay and so beautiful had experienced a change almost as great. Most of the detached villas were deserted, or occupied by the enemy, and the villages whose regular inhabitants had either taken refuge in Paris or fled to a distance, were repopulated by a singular assemblage of individuals belonging to all classes of society, and bound together only by the tie of a common nationality, and the necessity of finding a shelter and providing for their daily wants.

The hamlet of Boulainvilliers, which had been thus abandoned, had received an entirely new colony, and its beautiful avenue carpeted with turf of the most lovely green, had all the appearance of a camp. As long as the season would permit, cooking was carried on in the open air, and groups were constantly to be seen surrounding the fires and exchanging accounts of their mutual misfortunes.

A painter of Fleurs, bearing the English or rather Scotch name of MacHenry, was among these refugees. He had brought with him from Colombes, where he had before resided, a remarkably beautiful white goat called Fanchette. This creature, to which her master was much attached, figures in the most of his pictures. Light and graceful as a gazelle, she is represented sometimes cropping delicately the green branches of the hedgerows and bushes, sometimes entangled in a maze of brier-roses, their pink blossoms and green leaves falling around her in elegant garlands, and contrasting well with the snowy whiteness of her skin.

Fanchette was a universal favourite; and few there were at Boulainvilliers who would not have deprived themselves of a morsel of the bread sometimes so hard to procure, that they might reserve a mouthful for the goat, which, however, the saucy thing would only accept from her particular friends.

The grace and rare intelligence of the animal frequently relieved the miseries of the siege. All were surprised at the wonderful education her master had succeeded in giving her. He had even taught her something of his art; and it was really extraordinary to see the sensible creature busily employed in arranging pebbles on the ground, so as to form a rude resemblance to a human profile, often grotesque enough, but still such as one occasionally sees on human shoulders; and looking at her work, one could not help thinking that after all the lower animals are perhaps not so far inferior to us as we suppose.

The art with which Fanchette selected from a bunch of flowers each one that was named to her was really marvellous. Roses, wallflowers, tulips, camellias, were promptly chosen from the number, and it was rare indeed that she made the least mistake. Two centuries ago they would have burned the poor beast for a witch.

The exercise which she preferred to all others consisted in catching on her horns a series of brass rings which her master threw up in the air. This she did with the greatest address; and when she had got a dozen or so of them encircling her brow like a diadem, she would begin jumping and galloping and shaking her head to make them jingle, till, over-excited by their rough music, she would end by dancing in the most fantastic style on her hind-feet, till tired at length with her exertions, she would bound towards her master and throw the rings at his feet.

Among those who had found refuge in the hamlet was a child of five years old, called Marie, the daughter of a peasant whose farm had been burned by the invaders. She was an object of general interest in the little colony on account of her gentle manners, and the sweet but suffering expression of her pale infantine features. A year or two previously she had been so severely bitten in the arm by a vicious dog that the limb had to be amputated, and her delicate constitution had never recovered the shock. Fanchette soon took a great fancy to the little girl; and the doctor having advised her to be fed as much as possible upon milk, MacHenry offered that of the goat. It was beautiful to see the pleasure with which the affectionate creature took upon herself the office of nurse, and the avidity with which the child sucked in the grateful nourishment which was giving her new life. Fanchette became every day more and more attached to Marie. She rarely left her, except when wanted by her master for some new study; and when it was ended, and MacHenry set her at liberty, saying: 'Now be off to Marie,' with what joy the creature bounded away, and how rejoiced was the little one to have again by her side her darling Fanchette! Nestling her head under the child's hand, a world of loving things were interchanged in their mute caresses.

It once happened that a lady having in her hand a crown of artificial ivy which she had picked up somewhere, probably the débris of a school fête during happier times, placed it on the head of the little Marie. Fanchette, rising on her hind-legs, examined it with comical curiosity; and having made up her mind on the subject, scampered off to an old tree close by, around whose trunk the real ivy twined in thick and glossy wreaths, butted at it with her horns, twisting it round them, and tearing off long trailing garlands. She then ran back in triumph to throw her treasures at the child's feet, saying as clearly as if she had the gift of speech: 'Look! This is better than the coarse imitation they have decked you with; this is the real thing!'

Another day the child was looking at herself in a mirror, and Fanchette immediately began to do the same. The expression of sadness and wonder in her eyes seemed to say so plainly: 'Why are Marie and I so different? If I were like her I could speak to her, and then we should love each other still better!'

One evening Marie, who was sitting by her mother's side, began to fidget and complain of an uneasy sensation in her back. Her mother, busily engaged with some work, and thinking the child was only disposed to be troublesome, examined it slightly, and told her to be quiet; but the poor little thing continued to complain, when, the mother getting out of temper, gave her a sharp slap. Fanchette, who was present at this scene, presented her horns in a threatening attitude to the woman, and gently stroked the shoulders of her little friend with her foot. At the sight of the dumb animal's eloquent appeal, the woman began to relent, and calling the child to her, examined more carefully the state of things, when she found, to her horror, one of those large and poisonous caterpillars called in French 'processionnaires,' which had painfully irritated the delicate skin of the child.

It was about this time that MacHenry, continuing his artistic labours in spite of all the difficulties of the situation, resolved on taking for the subject of a new picture his goat Fanchette nursing the little Marie. Fanchette lent herself with her usual intelligence and docility to his wishes; and Marie was represented lying among grass and flowers with her four-footed friend bending over her. This picture, which was afterwards regarded as one of MacHenry's best works, obtained the most signal success at the Paris Exhibition of Modern Art – the truthfulness of the design, the freshness of the colouring, and the grace of the composition being equally striking.

But these bright autumn days soon passed away, and many may recollect the bitter cold of the sad Christmas of that dismal winter. Poor little Marie suffered so severely from it, that after a vain attempt to recall some warmth by lighting a fire of brushwood, the only fuel that could be procured, her mother, as a last resource, put her into her little bed, in the hope that by heaping upon her all the clothing she could procure, the child might regain a little heat; but it was in vain: no heat came, and the blood had almost ceased to circulate in her frozen limbs. At this moment Fanchette arrived, and without waiting for an invitation, sprang upon the bed. It was in vain they tried to drive her away; she only clung the closer to her nursling, and covering the child with her body, soon restored her to warmth and animation.

There was one among the temporary inhabitants of Boulainvilliers for whom Fanchette entertained an unmitigated aversion; this was a knife-grinder of the name of Massicault. His appearance was certainly not calculated to produce a favourable impression, for his features were repulsive and his expression disagreeable. A low forehead, a scowling eye, and a short thick-set figure were the principal physical traits of this personage; nor were they redeemed by those of his moral character. He had for his constant companion a large ill-favoured bull-dog with a spiked collar, who seemed to share all the evil instincts of his master. Every one wondered how the knife-grinder managed to feed this animal at a time when it was so hard to find the merest necessaries of life for human beings – and that too without ever seeming to do a hand's turn of work; for all day long he was lounging about, and it was rare indeed to hear the noise of his wheel. When any one – alarmed at the threatening aspect of the brute, who never failed to growl and shew his fangs when approached – asked his master to call him off, Massicault used only to reply with an ill-natured laugh: 'He has not begun yet to eat such big morsels as you; but there's no saying what he may do one of these days!'

MacHenry was sorry that his goat partook of the general dislike to this man. He would have rather wished that she should have tried by her winning caresses to soften his rugged nature, and bring him to love the gentle creature that had gained all other hearts; but as we shall see in the sequel, things turned out very differently.

On one of the last fine days of that sad year, a crowd having gathered round her while her master was amusing himself by exhibiting her intelligence in the selection of the fruit and flowers he named, in which she acquitted herself with her usual sagacity, MacHenry bade her fetch an apple. There were some still hanging on a tree in a neighbouring garden; but instead of running off as usual to the well-known place, she went right up to the knife-grinder, and pushing aside with her paws the skirts of his coat, displayed two pockets stuffed with something, which the crowd, amid shouts of laughter, declared to be stolen apples. The artist tried to call off his goat, and the man drove her away with curses; but two vigorous peasants immediately laid hold of him, and insisted on seeing the contents of the suspicious pockets; which proved to be, as all had supposed, apples stolen from the tree in question. The discovery only increased the rage of Massicault, who swore with the most fearful oaths that he had never touched one of them, and that the apples found in his possession had been given to him by a friend. Though none believed him, several, in order to get rid of a disagreeable affair, feigned to do so, and he was finally let off; but many thought they had thus got a clew to the authorship of several robberies recently committed to the prejudice of different members of the little community.

This misadventure excited in the knife-grinder a violent hatred against Fanchette, which was heartily shared by his worthy companion the bull-dog. The latter was an object of special terror to poor little Marie. Fanchette seemed to understand the fears of the child, and whenever the dog approached her, she would lower her horns, as if to protect her nursling and defy her enemy. These demonstrations of valour were generally successful, the dog slinking off with glaring eyes and drooping tail.

One day Fanchette nestled up close to her master, putting her foot upon his arm, and having succeeded in gaining his attention, ran off to a particular spot, where she stopped to sniff the grass, and then trotting back, she renewed several times the same manœuvre. MacHenry, persuaded that something extraordinary must be the matter, rose and followed her. When she reached the spot, putting aside like a terrier dog the long herbage with her feet, she displayed to view a leather pocket-book, which the artist picked up and examined. An instant sufficed to shew that it belonged to the knife-grinder, and its contents proved that this man was one of the numerous spies the Germans had constantly and everywhere in their service. He found besides in this pocket-book, pushed under the covering, the picture of a child, one of those common photographs which have no other merit than a certain resemblance.

The very day that this pocket-book was found a frightful scene took place. Little Marie was sitting on a low stool eating a morsel of bread, which she was sharing with Fanchette, when the bull-dog chanced to pass. The animal stopped for a moment, and looked at her; then as if overcome by the temptation, he suddenly darted at her and snatched at the bread. He was prevented, however, by the goat, and with a toss of her horns she sent the ferocious beast sprawling to some distance; but he was only stunned, not seriously hurt; and furious at his repulse, he sprang upon the poor goat, seized her by the throat, and shook her with rage. Marie uttered piercing shrieks, and MacHenry having got hold of a stick, ran to the rescue. A sharp blow on the head caused the dog to lose his grip of poor Fanchette, and turn against his new enemy, seizing him by the shoulder; but a peasant coming to the assistance of the artist, forced the dog again to let go; and limping off and growling, he at last took refuge beside his master, who all the while had been an unmoved spectator of the scene.

Great was the general grief at the sight of poor Fanchette motionless on the grass, bleeding profusely from the wound in her throat; and strong the indignation excited by the ferocity of the dog and the conduct of its brutal master. Many were the threats muttered against both; and there is little doubt that the dog at least would soon have paid the penalty he deserved had Fanchette's wound been mortal; but on examination it was found to be less serious than it appeared, and her master's care of her soon effected a complete cure. The inhabitants of the hamlet, however, resolved not to let slip the opportunity for getting rid of the obnoxious knife-grinder. This ill-favoured individual was received whenever he shewed himself with cries of 'Be off and quickly too, and be thankful we do not throttle your wretch of a dog first.'

Unable to resist the general storm of indignation, the man and his worthy companion were about to take their departure; but they had hardly reached the entrance of the village, when they were met by a party bringing along with them an orphan boy of about six or seven years of age, whose parents had been found murdered some days previously in one of the detached cottages of the neighbourhood, which some still ventured to inhabit. The child, at the sight of the knife-grinder and his dog, uttered a loud cry and covered his eyes with his hands.

'What is the matter, my poor little fellow?' asked one of the by-standers. At length he was able with difficulty to reply, his words interrupted with deep sobs: 'That man! that dog! It was they that killed my mother! I saw it all from behind the curtain in which I was hid.'

Every one looked in astonishment at his neighbour, not knowing whether to believe the strange assertion of the child; when MacHenry produced the pocket-book and informed those around him of its contents. The child immediately cried out that it was his mother's; and had any doubt remained it would have been dispelled by looking at the portrait that was contained in it, for its resemblance to the poor little boy was striking.

In presence of such proof, there could be no hesitation, and two men immediately set off in pursuit of the fugitive; but he had already got a considerable advance, and fear lent him wings, so that before they could reach him he had gained the protection of the German outposts. He did not succeed, however, in evading the fate he merited, for shortly after the news arrived that the wretched man had fallen into the hands of a detachment of French francs-tireurs, and having been convicted of being concerned in the burning of a farm, was immediately condemned and shot.

MacHenry adopted the orphan boy, and never had cause to repent of his generous action. 'I have now two children,' he used gaily to say; 'for my gentle intelligent Fanchette is almost as dear to me as if she were a human creature!'

LIME-JUICE

Some interesting facts have been communicated to us, arising out of the publication of our recent article on 'Lime-Juice' (March 24, 1877). It appears that some years ago Messrs Sturge of Birmingham established a Company for developing the resources of the island of Montserrat in the West Indies. Attention was directed chiefly to the production of genuine lime-juice, mainly for the extraction therefrom of citric acid, of which Messrs Sturge are extensive manufacturers in this country. With this object in view, they paid sedulous attention to the maintenance of extensive lime-tree plantations. All the ripe sound fresh fruit is selected first, for the production of lime-juice, while the remainder becomes available for citric acid. The juice is bottled immediately on its arrival in this country. In 1874 the Company were the owners of no less than five hundred lime-trees in full bearing in the little island of Montserrat; and the number has since been increased by the conversion of unprofitable sugar-plantations into profitable lime-tree plantations. The collection and manipulation of the ripe limes give healthy employment to large numbers of women and young persons.

When Dr Leach, medical officer on board the Dreadnought, called public attention in 1866 to the recent appearance of scurvy in merchant-ships, he induced the Board of Trade to take up the matter seriously. This led to the passing of an Act in 1867, ordering the provision of lime-juice or lemon-juice in every merchant and passenger ship, and its use every day by every person on board. It is, however, known that lemon-juice is not so effective as lime-juice as an anti-scorbutic; and that, moreover, the best lime-juice does not require to be 'fortified' with ten or fifteen per cent. of alcohol to preserve it, which appears to be necessary for lemon-juice and inferior lime-juice. In the navy more strictness is observed. Lime-juice only is permitted; it must be prepared from ripe sound fruit, gathered in particular months of the year; and must bear analytical tests touching its citricity, flavour, and condition. As a consequence, scurvy is now almost unknown in the royal navy, except in the case of the recent Arctic Expedition, the particulars of which will no doubt be fully investigated and set forth by the Admiralty Committee duly appointed for that purpose. The navy is, we believe, supplied invariably with the best lime-juice only, to the exclusion of lemon-juice, and also to the exclusion of such juice of the real lime as requires, on account of its poorness of quality, to be fortified or 'doctored' with strong crude spirit. Very likely, in this as in so many other instances, cheapness is at the bottom of the whole affair: mercantile lemon-juice (even if called by the name of the lime) being cheaper than navy lime-juice. If so, it affords a sad instance of the misuse of the good word economy; for it certainly is not economical to imperil the health of the crews in trading-ships, and of passengers in emigrant-ships, by the use of that which is 'cheap and nasty.' Something there is in the common juice which renders it very unpalatable to the men, who often shirk their prescribed dose unless strictly watched. Let us hope that the Report of the Arctic Committee will strengthen the hands of the Board of Trade to deal with this matter.

AFFECTION IN BIRD-LIFE

A correspondent having read our recent article on Bird-affection, kindly sends us the following singular instance of intelligence and affection on the part of a duck. 'We have,' he tells us, 'two white ducks; the one designated Mr Yellowbill being wonderfully intelligent, yet fond of fun. My little son and he have great games together. The lad throws out an india-rubber ball a longer or shorter distance, leaving it for the bird to decide whether it shall be pursued with a flying or a running movement. In either case, the ball is swiftly seized by duckie, and returned to the thrower, who keeps up the game until both have had enough of it. Another peculiarity of Mr Yellowbill may be mentioned. At the splashing of water from an adjacent well he is aroused, and will instantly fly towards the scene of action, plunge in, bathe, jump out, flap his wings joyfully, and "like a bird," take himself off again. But the story of affection for his kind must now be told. The other day, when swinging on a gate, my little boy felt something tugging at his trousers, and on looking round discovered the duck, who, he supposed, invited him to a game at ball. So down he got, and caressed his feathered friend as the preliminary. The duck, however, continued pulling away in so unusual and persistent a manner that the lad decided to go whither he was led; and lo! at the corner of an outbuilding was found poor Mrs Yellowbill, lame of a leg and quite unable to waddle along. Meanwhile her husband continued to manifest the greatest concern about her, yet did not forget his manners and grateful acknowledgments, but bowed and better bowed to those around who had now come to the rescue; shewing that even a duck may act and feel as a gentleman. The cause of hurt referred to has not been ascertained; but happily Mrs Yellowbill is now quite well, and her husband is as lively as ever.'

LENACHLUTEN, A WATERFALL IN ARGYLESHIRE

'Mong crags where the purple heather grows,'Mid rocks where blooms the mountain rose,Onward the river calmly flowsTo Lenachluten.The waters dash on the rocks beneathIn a mad wild rush, they surge and seethe,While dancing spray with a snowy wreathCrowns Lenachluten.Thus ever the stream of life flows on,With faces happy and faces wan,A moment here on this earth, then gone,Like Lenachluten.Some lives pass on like a peaceful dream;Untouched by sorrow or care, they seemTo glide as the river whose waters streamTowards Lenachluten.Others career on their restless way;Whate'er betide, they are ever gay,As gleams the sparkling sunlit sprayOn Lenachluten.Some lives with folly and sin are fraught;They dim earth's beauty with stain and spot,As surges the scum, an ugly blotOn Lenachluten.And now and again a genius brightDazzles the earth with his spirit's flight,As shimmers the rainbow's tinted lightO'er Lenachluten.H. K. W.