In the Days of My Youth Part 41

"_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 Muller, with a n.o.ble recklessness, answers:--

"Oh, hang the expense! Here, boatman! a boat _a quatre rames_, and some fishing-tackle--by the hour."

Now it was undoubtedly a fine sentiment this of Muller'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 pa.s.sing 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 appet.i.te 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 Muller, 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 etes 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 a Pantin, Ou toute sa fortune Est un pet.i.t 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 Muller "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 connait.

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 Muller an opportunity of exercising his extensive memory, and his limited baritone voice. The entertainment is not without its _agrements_, 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 gla.s.s. 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. Muller 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. Muller 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 reve en te voyant Harmonie et lumiere, O ma riviere, O ma belle riviere!

"On voit se reflechir Dans ses eaux les nuages; Elle semble dormir Entre les paturages

Ou paissent les grands boeufs Et les gra.s.ses genisses.

Au patres amoureux Que ses bords sont propices!"

"A woman's voice," said Muller. "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.

"Pres des iris du bord, Sous une berge haute, La carpe aux reflets d'or Ou 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 reve en te voyant Harmonic et lumiere, O ma riviere, O ma belle riviere!"

"Look!" said Muller. "Do you not see them yonder--two women under the trees? By Jupiter! it's _ma tante_ and _la pet.i.te_ Marie!"

Saying which, he flung himself upon his oars and began pulling vigorously towards the sh.o.r.e.

CHAPTER XXV.

THAT TERRIBLE MuLLER.

La pet.i.te Marie broke off at the sound of our oars, and blushed a becoming rose-color.

"Will these ladies do us the honor of letting us row them back to Courbevoie?" said Muller, running our boat close in against the sedges, and pulling off his hat as respectfully as if they were d.u.c.h.esses.