THE FETE AT COURBEVOIE.
"_Halte là_! I thought I should catch you about this time! They've been
giving you unconscionable good measure to-day, though, haven't they? I
thought Bollinet's lecture was always over by three; and here I've been
moralizing on the flight of Time for more than twenty minutes."
So saying, Müller, having stopped me as I was coming down the steps of
the Hôtel Dieu, linked his arm in mine, drew me into a shady angle under
the lee of Notre Dame, and, without leaving me time to reply, went on
pouring out his light, eager chatter as readily as a mountain-spring
bubbles out its waters.
"I thought you'd like to know about the Tapottes, you see--and I was
dying to tell you. I went to your rooms last night between eight and
nine, and you were out; so I thought the only sure way was to come
here--I know you never miss Bollinet's Lectures. Well, as I was saying,
the Tapottes.... Oh, _mon cher_! I am your debtor for life in that
matter of Milord Smithfield. It has been the making of me. What do you
think? Tapotte is not only going to sit for a companion half-length to
Madame's portrait, but he has given me a commission for half-a-dozen
ancestors. Fancy--half-a-dozen illustrious dead-and-done Tapottes! What
a scope for the imagination! What a bewildering vista of _billets de
banque_! I feel--ah, _mon ami_! I feel that the wildest visions of my
youth are about to be realized, and that I shall see my tailor's bill
receipted before I die!"
"I'm delighted," said I, "that Tapotte has turned up a trump card."
"A trump card? Say a California--a Pactolus--a Golden Calf. Nay, hath
not Tapotte two golden calves? Is he not of the precious metal all
compact? Stands he not, in the amiable ripeness of his years, a living
representative of the Golden Age? _'O bella età dell' oro_!'"
And to my horror, he then and there executed a frantic _pas seul_.
"Gracious powers!" I exclaimed. "Are you mad?"
"Yes--raving mad. Have you any objection?"
"But, my dear fellow--in the face of day--in the streets of Paris! We
shall get taken up by the police!"
"Then suppose we get out of the streets of Paris? I'm tired enough,
Heaven knows, of cultivating the arid soil of the Pavé. See, it's a
glorious afternoon. Let's go somewhere."
"With all my heart. Where?"
"_Ah, mon Dieu! ça m'est égal_. Enghien--Vincennes--St.
Cloud--Versailles ... anywhere you like. Most probably there's a fête
going on somewhere, if we only knew where,"
"Can't we find out?"
"Oh, yes--we can drop into a Café and look at the _Petites Affiches_;
only that entails an absinthe; or we can go into the nearest Omnibus
Bureau and see the notices on the walls, which will be cheaper."
So we threaded our way along the narrow thoroughfares of the Ile de la
Cité, and came presently to an Omnibus Bureau on the Quai de l'Horloge,
overlooking the Pont Neuf and the river. Here the first thing we saw was
a flaming placard setting forth the pleasures and attractions of the
great annual fête at Courbevoie; a village on the banks of the Seine, a
mile or two beyond Neuilly.
"_Voilà, notre affaire_!" said Müller, gaily. "We can't do better than
steer straight for Courbevoie."
Saying which, he hailed a passing fiacre and bade the coachman drive to
the Embarcadère of the Rive Droite.
"We shall amuse ourselves famously at Courbevoie," he said, as we
rattled over the stones. "We'll dine at the Toison d'Or--an excellent
little restaurant overlooking the river; and if you're fond of angling,
we can hire a punt and catch our own fish for dinner. Then there will be
plenty of fiddling and dancing at the guingettes and gardens in the
evening. By the way, though, I've no money! That is to say, none worth
speaking of--_voilà!_... one franc, one piece of fifty centimes, another
of twenty centimes, and some sous. I hope your pockets are better lined
than mine."
"Not much, I fear," I replied, pulling out my porte-monnaie, and
emptying the contents into my hand. They amounted to nine francs and
seventy-five centimes.
"_Parbleu_! we've just eleven francs and a half between us," said
Müller. "A modest sum-total; but we must make it as elastic as we can.
Let me see, there'll be a franc for the fiacre, four francs for our
return tickets, four for our dinner, and two and a half to spend as we
like in the fair. Well, we can't commit any great extravagance with that
amount of floating capital."
"Better turn back and go to my rooms for some more money?" I exclaimed.
"I've two Napoleons in my desk."
"No, no--we should miss the three-fifty train, and not get another till
between five and six."
"But we shall have no fun if we have no money!"
"I dissent entirely from that proposition, Monsieur Englishman. I have
always had plenty of fun, and I have been short of cash since the hour
of my birth. Come, it shall be my proud task to-day to prove to you the
pleasures of impecuniosity!"
So with our eleven francs and a half we went on to the station, and took
our places for Courbevoie.
We travelled, of course, by third class in the open wagons; and it so
happened that in our compartment we had the company of three pretty
little chattering grisettes, a fat countrywoman with a basket, and a
quiet-looking elderly female with her niece. These last wore bonnets,
and some kind of slight mourning. They belonged evidently to the small
bourgeoise class, and sat very quietly in the corner of the carriage,
speaking to no one. The three grisettes, however, kept up an incessant
fire of small talk and squabble.
"I was on this very line last Sunday," said one. "I went with Julie to
Asnières, and we were so gay! I wonder if it will be very gay at
Courbevoie."
"_Je m'en doute_," replied another, whom they called Lolotte. "I came to
one of the Courbevoie fêtes last spring, and it was not gay at all. But
then, to be sure, I was with Edouard, and he is as dull as the first day
in Lent. Where were you last Sunday, Adéle?"
"I did not go beyond the barriers. I went to the Cirque with my cousin,
and we dined in the Palais Royal. We enjoyed ourselves so much! You know
my cousin?"
"Ah! yes--the little fellow with the curly hair and the whiskers, who
waits for you at the corner when we leave the workshop."
"The same--Achille."
"Your Achille is nice-looking," said Mademoiselle Lolotte, with a
somewhat critical air. "It is a pity he squints."
"He does not squint, mam'selle."
"Oh, _ma chère_! I appeal to Caroline."
"I am not sure that he actually squints," said Mam'selle Caroline,
speaking for the first time; "but he certainly has one eye larger than
the other, and of quite a different color."
"_Tiens_, Caroline--it seems to me that you look very closely into the
eyes of young men," exclaims Adèle, turning sharply upon this new
assailant.
"At all events you admit that Caroline is right," cries Lolotte,
triumphantly.
"I admit nothing of the kind. I say that you are both very ill-natured,
and that you say what is not true. As for you, Lolotte, I don't believe
you ever had the chance of seeing a young man's eyes turned upon you, or
you would not be so pleased with the attentions of an old one."
"An _old_ one!" shrieked Mam'selle Lolotte. "Ah, _mon Dieu_! Is a man
old at forty-seven? Monsieur Durand is in the prime of life, and there
isn't a girl in the Quartier who would not be proud of his attentions!"
"He's sixty, if an hour," said the injured Adèle. "And as for you,
Caroline, who have never had a beau in your life...."
"_Ciel_! what a calumny!--I--never had a ... Holy Saint Geneviève! why,
it was only last Thursday week...."
Here the train stopped at the Asnières station, and two privates of the
Garde Impériale got into the carriage. The horizon cleared as if by
magic. The grisettes suddenly forgot their differences, and began to
chat quite amicably. The soldiers twirled their mustachios, listened,
smiled, and essayed to join in the conversation. In a few minutes all
was mirth and flirtation.
Meanwhile Müller was casting admiring glances on the young girl in the
corner, whilst the fat countrywoman, pursing up her mouth, and watching
the grisettes and soldiers, looked the image of offended virtue.
"Dame! Madame," she said, addressing herself to the old lady in the
bonnet, "girls usen't to be so forward in the days when you and I
were young!"
To which the old lady in the bonnet, blandly smiling, replied:--
"Beautiful, for the time of year."
"Eh? For the time of year? Dame! I don't see that the time of year has
anything to do with it," exclaimed the fat countrywoman.
Here the young girl in the corner, blushing and smiling very sweetly,
interposed with--"Pardon, Madame--my aunt is somewhat deaf. Pray,
excuse her."
Whereupon the old lady, watching the motion of her niece's lips, added--
"Ah, yes--yes! I am a poor, deaf old woman--I don't understand what you
say. Talk to my little Marie, here--she can answer you."
"I, for one, desire nothing better than permission to talk to
Mademoiselle," said Müller, gallantly.
_"Mais, Monsieur_..."
"Mademoiselle, with Madame her aunt, are going to the fête at
Courbevoie?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"The river is very pretty thereabouts, and the walks through the meadows
are delightful."
"Indeed, Monsieur!"
"Mademoiselle does not know the place?"
"No, Monsieur."
"Ah, if I might only be permitted to act as guide! I know every foot of
the ground about Courbevoie."
Mademoiselle Marie blushed again, looked down, and made no reply.
"I am a painter," continued Müller; "and I have sketched all the
windings of the Seine from Neuilly to St. Germains. My friend here is
English--he is a student of medicine, and speaks excellent French."
"What is the gentleman saying, _mon enfant_?" asked the old lady,
somewhat anxiously.
"Monsieur says that the river is very pretty about Courbevoie, _ma
tante_," replied Mademoiselle Marie, raising her voice.
"Ah! ah! and what else?"
"Monsieur is a painter."
"A painter? Ah, dear me! it's an unhealthy occupation. My poor brother
Pierre might have been alive to this day if he had taken to any other
line of business! You must take great care of your lungs, young man. You
look delicate."
Müller laughed, shook his head, and declared at the top of his voice
that he had never had a day's illness in his life.
Here the pretty niece again interposed.
"Ah, Monsieur," she said, "my aunt does not understand....My--my uncle
Pierre was a house-painter."
"A very respectable occupation, Mademoiselle," replied Müller, politely.
"For my own part, I would sooner paint the insides of some houses than
the outsides of some people."
At this moment the train began to slacken pace, and the steam was let
off with a demoniac shriek.
"_Tiens, mon enfant_," said the old lady, turning towards her niece with
affectionate anxiety. "I hope you have not taken cold."
The excellent soul believed that it was Mademoiselle Marie who sneezed.
And now the train had stopped--the porters were running along the
platform, shouting "Courbevoie! Courbevoie!"--the passengers were
scrambling out _en masse_--and beyond the barrier one saw a confused
crowd of _charrette_ and omnibus-drivers, touters, fruit-sellers, and
idlers of every description. Müller handed out the old lady and the
niece; the fat countrywoman scrambled up into a kind of tumbril driven
by a boy in _sabots_; the grisettes and soldiers walked off together;
and the tide of holiday-makers, some on foot, some in hired vehicles,
set towards the village. In the meanwhile, what with the crowd on the
platform and the crowd outside the barrier, and what with the hustling
and pushing at the point where the tickets were taken, we lost sight of
the old lady and her niece.
"What the deuce has become of _ma tante_?" exclaimed Müller, looking
round.
But neither _ma tante_ nor Mademoiselle Marie were anywhere to be seen.
I suggested that they must have gone on in the omnibus or taken a
_charrette_, and so have passed us unperceived.
"And, after all," I added, "we didn't want to enter upon an indissoluble
union with them for the rest of the day. _Ma tante's_ deafness is not
entertaining, and _la petite_ Marie has nothing to say."
"_La petite_ Marie is uncommonly pretty, though," said Müller. "I mean
to dance a quadrille with her by-and-by, I promise you."
"_A la bonne heure_! We shall be sure to chance upon them again before
long."
We had come by this time to a group of pretty villa-residences with high
garden walls and little shady side-lanes leading down to the river. Then
came a church and more houses; then an open Place; and suddenly we found
ourselves in the midst of the fair.
It was just like any other of the hundred and one fêtes that take place
every summer in the environs of Paris. There was a merry-go-round and a
greasy pole; there was a juggler who swallowed knives and ribbons; there
were fortune-tellers without number; there were dining-booths, and
drinking-booths, and dancing-booths; there were acrobats, organ-boys
with monkeys, and Savoyards with white mice; there were stalls for the
sale of cakes, fruit, sweetmeats, toys, combs, cheap jewelry, glass,
crockery, boots and shoes, holy-water vessels, rosaries, medals, and
little colored prints of saints and martyrs; there were brass bands, and
string bands, and ballad-singers everywhere; and there was an atmosphere
compounded of dust, tobacco-smoke, onions, musk, and every objectionable
perfume under heaven.
"Dine at the Restaurant de l'Empire, Messieurs," shouted a shabby
touter in a blouse, thrusting a greasy card into our faces. "Three
dishes, a dessert, a half-bottle, and a band of music, for one
franc-fifty. The cheapest dinner in the fair!"
"The cheapest dinner in the fair is at the Belle Gabrielle!" cried
another. "We'll give you for the same money soup, fish, two dishes, a
dessert, a half-bottle, and take your photograph into the bargain!"
"Bravo! _mon vieux_--you first poison them with your dinner, and then
provide photographs for the widows and children," retorts touter number
one. "That's justice, anyhow."
Whereupon touter number two shrieks out a torrent of abuse, and we push
on, leaving them to settle their differences after their own fashion.
At the next booth we are accosted by a burly fellow daubed to the eyes
with red and blue paint, and dressed as an Indian chief.
"_Entrez, entrez, Messieurs et Mesdames_" he cries, flourishing a
war-spear some nine feet in length. "Come and see the wonderful Peruvian
maiden of Tanjore, with webbed fingers and toes, her mouth in the back
of her head, and her eyes in the soles of her feet! Only four sous each,
and an opportunity that will never occur again!"
"Only fifty centimes!" shouts another public orator; "the most ingenious
little machine ever invented! Goes into the waistcoat pocket--is wound
up every twenty-four hours--tells the day of the month, the day of the
year, the age of the moon, the state of the Bourse, the bank rate of
discount, the quarter from which the wind is blowing, the price of
new-laid eggs in Paris and the provinces, the rate of mortality in the
Fee-jee islands, and the state of your sweetheart's affections!"
A little further on, by dint of much elbowing, we made our way into a
crowded booth where, for the modest consideration of two sous per head,
might be seen a Boneless Youth and an Ashantee King. The performances
were half over when we went in. The Boneless Youth had gone through his
feats of agility, and was lying on a mat in a corner of the stage, the
picture of limp incapability. The Ashantee monarch was just about to
make his appearance. Meanwhile, a little man in fleshings and a cocked
hat addressed the audience.
"Messieurs and Mesdames--I have the honor to announce that Caraba
Radokala, King of Ashantee, will next appear before you. This terrific
native sovereign was taken captive by that famous Dutch navigator, the
Mynheer Van Dunk, in his last voyage round the globe. Van Dunk, having
brought his prisoner to Europe in an iron cage, sold him to the English
government in 1840; who sold him again to Milord Barnum, the great
American philanthropist, in 1842; who sold him again to Franconi of the
Cirque Olympique; who finally sold him to me. At the time of his
capture, Caraba Radokala was the most treacherous, barbarous, and
sanguinary monster upon record. He had three hundred and sixty-five
wives--a wife, you observe, for every day in the year. He lived
exclusively upon human flesh, and consumed, when in good health, one
baby per diem. His palace in Ashantee was built entirely of the skulls
and leg-bones of his victims. He is now, however, much less ferocious;
and, though he feeds on live pigeons, rabbits, dogs, mice, and the like,
he has not tasted human flesh since his captivity. He is also heavily
ironed. The distinguished company need therefore entertain no
apprehensions. Pierre--draw the bolt, and let his majesty loose!"
A savage roar was now heard, followed by a rattling of chains. Then the
curtains were suddenly drawn back, and the Ashantee king--crowned with a
feather head-dress, loaded with red and blue war-paint, and chained from
ankle to ankle--bounded on the stage.
Seeing the audience before him, he uttered a terrific howl. The front
rows were visibly agitated. Several young women faintly screamed.
The little man in the cocked hat rushed to the front, protesting that
the ladies had no reason to be alarmed. Caraba Radokala, if not wantonly
provoked, was now quite harmless--a little irritable, perhaps, from
being waked too suddenly--would be as gentle as a lamb, if given
something to eat:--"Pierre, quiet his majesty with a pigeon!"
Pierre, a lank lad in motley, hereupon appeared with a live pigeon,
which immediately escaped from his hands and perched on the top of the
proscenium. Caraba Radokala yelled; the little man in the cocked hat
raved; and Pierre, in default of more pigeons, contritely reappeared
with a lump of raw beef, into which his majesty ravenously dug his royal
teeth. The pigeon, meanwhile, dressed its feathers and looked
complacently down, as if used to the incident.
"Having fed, Caraba Radokala will now be quite gentle and good-humored,"
said the showman. "If any lady desires to shake hands with him, she may
do so with perfect safety. Will any lady embrace the opportunity?"
A faint sound of tittering was heard in various parts of the booth; but
no one came forward.
"Will _no_ lady be persuaded? Well, then, is there any gentleman present
who speaks Ashantee?"
Müller gave me a dig with his elbow, and started to his feet.
"Yes," he replied, loudly. "I do."
Every head was instantly turned in our direction.
The showman collapsed with astonishment. Even the captive, despite his
ignorance of the French tongue, looked considerably startled.
"_Comment_!" stammered the cocked hat. "Monsieur speaks Ashantee?"
"Fluently."
"Is it permitted to inquire how and when monsieur acquired this very
unusual accomplishment?"
"I have spoken Ashantee from my infancy," replied Müller, with admirable
aplomb. "I was born at sea, brought up in an undiscovered island, twice
kidnapped by hostile tribes before attaining the age of ten years, and
have lived among savage nations all my life."
A murmur of admiration ran through the audience, and Müller became, for
the time, an object of livelier interest than Caraba Radokala himself.
Seeing this, the indignant monarch executed a warlike _pas_, and rattled
his chains fiercely.
"In that case, monsieur, you had better come upon the stage, and speak
to his majesty," said the showman reluctantly.
"With all the pleasure in life."
"But I warn you that his temper is uncertain."
"Bah!" said Müller, working his way round through the crowd, "I'm not
afraid of his temper."
"As monsieur pleases--but, if monsieur offends him, _I_ will not be
answerable for the consequences."
"All right--give us a hand up, _mon vieux_!" And Muller, having
clambered upon the stage, made a bow to the audience and a salaam to
his majesty.
"Chickahominy chowdar bang," said he, by way of opening the
conversation.
The ex-king of Ashantee scowled, folded his arms, and maintained a
haughty silence.
"Hic hac horum, high cockalorum," continued Müller, with exceeding
suavity.
The captive monarch stamped impatiently, ground his teeth, but still
made no reply.
"Monsieur had better not aggravate him," said the showman. "On the
contrary--I am overwhelming him with civilities Now observe--I condole
with him upon his melancholy position. I inquire after his wives and
children; and I remark how uncommonly well he is looking."
And with this, he made another salaam, smiled persuasively, and said--
"Alpha, beta, gamma, delta--chin-chin--Potz tausend!--Erin-go-bragh!"
"Borriobooloobah!" shrieked his majesty, apparently stung to
desperation.
"Rocofoco!" retorted Müller promptly.
But as if this last was more than any Ashantee temper could bear, Caraba
Rodokala clenched both his fists, set his teeth hard, and charged down
upon Müller like a wild elephant. Being met, however, by a well-planted
blow between the eyes, he went down like a ninepin--picked himself
up,--rushed in again, and, being forcibly seized and held back by the
cocked hat, Pierre of the pigeons, and a third man who came tumbling up
precipitately from somewhere behind the stage, vented his fury, in a
torrent of very highly civilized French oaths.
"Eh, _sacredieu_!" he cried, shaking his fist in Müller's face, "I've
not done with you yet, _diable de galérien_!"
Whereupon there burst forth a general roar--a roar like the
"inextinguishable laughter" of Olympus.
"_Tiens_!" said Müller, "his majesty speaks French almost as well as I
speak Ashantee!"
"_Bourreau! Brigand! Assassin_!" shrieked his Ferocity, as his friends
hustled him off the stage.
The curtains then fell together again; and the audience, still laughing
vociferously, dispersed with cries of "Vive Caraba Rodokala!" "Kind
remembrances to the Queens of Ashantee!" "What's the latest news from
home?" "Borriobooloo-bah--ah--ah!"
Elbowing our way out with the crowd, we now plunged once more into the
press of the fair. Here our old friends the dancing dogs of the Champs
Elysées, and the familiar charlatan of the Place du Châtelet with his
chariot and barrel-organ, transported us from Ashantee to Paris. Next we
came to a temporary shooting-gallery, adorned over the entrance with a
spirited cartoon of a Tyrolean sharpshooter; and then to an exhibition
of cosmoramas; and presently to a weighing machine, in which a great,
rosy-cheeked, laughing Normandy peasant girl, with her high cap, blue
skirt, massive gold cross and heavy ear-rings, was in the act of
being weighed.
"_Tiens! Mam'selle est joliment solide_!" remarks a saucy bystander, as
the owner of the machine piles on weight after weight.
"Perhaps if I had no more brains than m'sieur, I should weigh as light!"
retorts the damsel, with a toss of her high cap.
"_Pardon_! it is not a question of brains--it is a question of hearts,"
interposes an elderly exquisite in a white hat. "Mam'selle has captured
so many that she is completely over weighted."
"Twelve stone six ounces," pronounces the owner of the machine,
adjusting the last weight.
Whereupon there is a burst of ironical applause, and the big _paysanne_,
half laughing, half angry, walks off, exclaiming, "_Eh bien! tant
mieux_! I've no mind to be a scarecrow--_moi_!"
By this time we have both had enough of the fair, and are glad to make
our way out of the crowd and down to the riverside. Here we find lovers
strolling in pairs along the towing-path; family groups pic-nicking in
the shade; boats and punts for hire, and a swimming-match just coming
off, of which all that is visible are two black heads bobbing up and
down along the middle of the stream.
"And now, _mon ami_, what do you vote for?" asks Müller. "Boating or
fishing? or both? or neither?"
"Both, if you like--but I never caught anything in my life,"
"The pleasure of fishing, I take it," says Müller, "is not in the fish
you catch, but in the fish you miss. The fish you catch is a poor little
wretch, worth neither the trouble of landing, cooking, nor eating; but
the fish you miss is always the finest fellow you ever saw in
your life!"
"_Allons donc_! I know, then, which of us two will have most of the
pleasure to-day," I reply, laughing. "But how about the expense?"
To which Müller, with a noble recklessness, answers:--
"Oh, hang the expense! Here, boatman! a boat _à quatre rames_, and some
fishing-tackle--by the hour."
Now it was undoubtedly a fine sentiment this of Müller's, and had we but
fetched my two Napoleons before starting, I should have applauded it to
the echo; but when I considered that something very nearly approaching
to a franc had already filtered out of our pockets in passing through
the fair, and that the hour of dinner was looming somewhat indefinitely
in the distance, I confess that my soul became disquieted within me.
"Don't forget, for heaven's sake," I said, "that we must keep something
for dinner!"
"My dear fellow," he replied, "I have already a tremendous appetite for
dinner--that _is_ something."
After this, I resigned myself to whatever might happen.
We then rowed up the river for about a mile beyond Courbevoie. moored
our boat to a friendly willow, put our fishing-tackle together, and
composed ourselves for the gentle excitement that waits upon the gudgeon
and the minnow.
"I haven't yet had a single nibble," said Müller, when we had been
sitting to our work for something less than ten minutes.
"Hush!" I said. "You mustn't speak, you know."
"True--I had forgotten. I'll sing instead. Fishes, I have been told, are
fond of music.
'Fanfan, je vous aimerais bien;
Contre vous je n'ai nul caprice;
Vous êtes gentil, j'en convien....'"
"Come, now!" I exclaimed pettishly, "this is really too bad. I had a
bite--a most decided bite--and if you had only kept quiet"....
"Nonsense, my dear fellow! I tell you again--and I have it on the best
authority--fishes like music. Did you never hear of Arion! Have you
forgotten about the Syrens? Believe me, your gudgeon nibbled because I
sang him to the surface--just as the snakes come out for the song of the
snake-charmer. I'll try again!"
And with this he began:--
"Jeannette est une brune
Qui demeure à Pantin,
Où toute sa fortune
Est un petit jardin!"
"Well, if you go on like that, all I have to say is, that not a fish
will come within half a mile of our bait," said I, with
tranquil despair.
"Alas! _mon cher_, I am grieved to observe in your otherwise estimable
character, a melancholy want of faith," replied Müller "Without faith,
what is friendship? What is angling? What is matrimony? Now, I tell you
that with regard to the finny tribe, the more I charm them, the more
enthusiastically they will flock to be caught. We shall have a
miraculous draught in a few minutes, if you are but patient."
And then he began again:--
"Mimi Pinson est une blonde,
Une blonde que l'on connaît.
Elle n'a qu'une robe au monde,
Landerirette!
Et qu'un bonnet."
I laid aside my rod, folded my arms, and when he had done, applauded
ironically.
"Very good," I said. "I understand the situation. We are here, at
some--indeed, I may say, considering the state of our exchequer, at a
considerable mutual expense; not to catch fish, but to afford Herr
Müller an opportunity of exercising his extensive memory, and his
limited baritone voice. The entertainment is not without its
_agréments_, but I find it dear at the price."
"_Tiens_, Arbuthnot! let us fish seriously. I promise not to open my
lips again till you have caught something."
"Then, seriously, I believe you would have to be silent the whole night,
and all I should catch would be the rheumatism. I am the worst angler in
the world, and the most unlucky."
"Really and truly?"
"Really and truly. And you?"
"As bad as yourself. If a tolerably large and energetic fish did me the
honor to swallow my bait, the probability is that he would catch me. I
certainly shouldn't know what to do with him."
"Then the present question is--what shall we do with ourselves?"
"I vote that we row up as far as yonder bend in the river, just to see
what lies beyond; and then back to Courbevoie."
"Heaven only grant that by that time we shall have enough money left for
dinner!" I murmured with a sigh.
We rowed up the river as far as the first bend, a distance of about
half a mile; and then we rowed on as far as the next bend. Then we
turned, and, resting on our oars, drifted slowly back with the current.
The evening was indescribably brilliant and serene. The sky was
cloudless, of a greenish blue, and full of light. The river was clear as
glass. We could see the flaccid water-weeds swaying languidly with the
current far below, and now and then a shoal of tiny fish shooting along
half-way between the weeds and the surface. A rich fringe of purple
iris, spear-leaved sagittarius, and tufted meadow-sweet (each blossom a
bouquet on a slender thyrsus) bordered the towing-path and filled the
air with perfume. Here the meadows lay open to the water's edge; a
little farther on, they were shut off by a close rampart of poplars and
willows whose leaves, already yellowed by autumn, were now fiery in the
sunset. Joyous bands of gnats, like wild little intoxicated maenads,
circled and hummed about our heads as we drifted slowly on; while, far
away and mellowed by distance, we heard the brazen music of the fair.
We were both silent. Müller pulled out a small sketch-book and made a
rapid study of the scene--the reach in the river; the wooded banks; the
green flats traversed by long lines of stunted pollards; the church-tops
and roofs of Courbevoie beyond.
Presently a soft voice, singing, broke upon the silence. Müller stopped
involuntarily, pencil in hand. I held my breath, and listened. The tune
was flowing and sweet; and as our boat drifted on, the words of the
singer became audible.
"O miroir ondoyant!
Je rève en te voyant
Harmonie et lumière,
O ma rivière,
O ma belle rivière!
"On voit se réfléchir
Dans ses eaux les nuages;
Elle semble dormir
Entre les pâturages
Où paissent les grands boeufs
Et les grasses genisses.
Au pâtres amoureux
Que ses bords sont propices!"
"A woman's voice," said Müller. "Dupont's words and music. She must be
young and pretty ... where has she hidden herself?"
The unseen singer, meanwhile, went on with another verse.
"Près des iris du bord,
Sous une berge haute,
La carpe aux reflets d'or
Où le barbeau ressaute,
Les goujons font le guet,
L'Ablette qui scintille
Fuit le dent du brochet;
Au fond rampe l'anguille!
"O miroir ondoyant!
Je rève en te voyant
Harmonic et lumière,
O ma rivière,
O ma belle rivière!"
"Look!" said Müller. "Do you not see them yonder--two women under the
trees? By Jupiter! it's _ma tante_ and _la petite_ Marie!"
Saying which, he flung himself upon his oars and began pulling
vigorously towards the shore.