IV
THE IDLER
Fair April, daughter of spring, the pink and white apricot blossoms are like your slender breasts, and your sweet eyes shed soft sunshine over my garden. Ah! what a lovely day lies before me! And how good to stretch my old arms and shake off the stiffness of the night. I have been working hard for the last two weeks to make up for lost time, and we three, my two apprentices and I, have made the shavings fly under our planes, but unfortunately we rather lack customers; there are few to buy, and fewer still to pay for what they order; now purses are lean and empty, but red blood still runs in our arms, good soil is in our fields, and we reign over both.
Since early morning the voice of the working city has risen up to Heaven, "Our Father, give us our daily bread," but meanwhile, like sensible folks, we are kneading it ourselves. . . . You can hear the clatter of the millwheel, the wheeze of the forge bellows, and the hammers beating on the anvil; horses stamp and splash through the ford, carts bump along the road, whips crack, wooden shoes go pitter-patter; the butcher swings his chopper, the cobbler sings as he hammers in his nails,—and above is the blue spring sky, the white clouds flying before the light fresh breeze, and the genial sun warming everything. My youth revives, coming from far on swift wings to build her swallow's nest in my old heart once more, where she is more than ever welcome after her long absence, dearer even than in those first sweet days.
Just at this moment I hear the harsh grind of the weather-cock on the roof, or is it my old woman screaming something or other at me? I turn a deaf ear, but deuce take the sound, it has scared away my lovely youth. … She—I mean my wife—comes down in a rage as usual.
"What in the world are you doing there with your arms folded, gazing into the clouds, with your big mouth open as if you expected larks to drop into it? while here am I working for you like a pack-horse,—you think that's what women are made for, but the good Lord never meant Adam to stand with his hands in his pockets while his wife slaved about the house. I say he ought to take his share of all that is going, good and bad alike; there must be that much justice in Heaven or I will know the reason why! Stop laughing, you great fool! Get to work if you want to eat. Ah! I thought that would hit him! Now then begin, and the sooner the better."
"Of course I am going," said I, smiling sweetly. "It is a sin to stay in the house on a day like this." So back I went to the workshop and told my apprentices to come with me to Rion's woodyard to choose a long smooth plank for the work I had in hand. Cagnat, Robinet, and I went out whistling, and met my old girl on the threshold still railing at men and things.
"Don't go on so about it. Mistress," said Cagnat, "we shall be back in no time."
"I don't believe a word of it," shrieked my sweet partner.
Nine was striking on the town clock as we reached Beyant, no distance at all, but we had the manners to pause just a second at the bridge and speak to Fétu, Gadin, and Trinquet, who were sitting on the parapet watching the water—by way of beginning their working day. We had a moment's chat about nothing in particular, and then went on our way like steady responsible workmen, straight on, saying nothing to anybody, because, for one thing, there was no one on the road; but being persons of taste, we appreciated the beauties of nature, admiring the sky, the fresh spring verdure, a blooming apple-tree under the walls, the flight of a swallow, with some talk about the weather and the direction of the wind. All at once I remembered that I had not seen my little Glodie the whole morning, so I told my men to go on ahead, I would catch up with them at Rion's.
When I got to Martine's I found her down on her knees scrubbing the shop, her tongue going like a mill-race, talking to her husband, to his apprentice, to Glodie, to every one else within hearing, in the highest of spirits, and the floor being done, she flung the dirty water into the street, and hit me fair on the legs, where I was standing just outside the door admiring her,—there is no use denying it, she is the light of my eyes. Of course we both laughed louder than ever; she made a real picture, with her dark hair all tousled over her bright eyes and thick eyebrows, her lips as red as ripe plums, and her plump neck and arms, and her skirts tucked up just as far as need be.
"I hope you got it all. Father Noah?"
"Every drop, but I don't mind that, as long as I am not obliged to drink it."
In I went and kissed my little Glodie, who was sitting under the counter to be out of the wet.
"I bet I know what brought you here so early in the morning," said Martine.
"You knew the reason before you were born," was my answer.
"You mean Mother?"
"Who else?"
"Men are such cowards!"
Florimond heard the last word, just as he was coming in, and drew himself up, thinking it was meant for him. " No offense," said I, "she was talking to me."
"If the cap fits put it on!" said my daughter.
Florimond always stands a good deal on his dignity and hates to be laughed at; besides he is apt to be suspicious of Martine and me when we get together, and fancies, sometimes with some reason, that we are making him the butt of our jokes, so I said innocently, "You know well enough, Martine, that Florimond is master in his own house, not like your poor old father, who always let himself be put upon; you inherit your docile submissive nature from me, my child."
"Get along with you, old humbug," cried Martine, who by this time was at her house-cleaning again, rubbing the windows, the walls, and the furniture, as if to take the very skin off. She filled the whole place to overflowing with life and energy, while in the background stood Florimond as usual, stiff and particular; he is always chilly, never quite at his ease with us, our jokes shock him, and he cannot understand why we often laugh just out of sheer health and jollity, for he is himself somewhat undersized, thin, and low-spirited. Nothing is ever quite to his mind, perhaps because he is always thinking of himself, so there he stood with a knitted scarf round his scraggy fowl's neck, and kept glancing about uneasily, till at last he said:
"There is a gale here fit to blow your head off. Shut a few of those windows."
"It is as hot as Tophet!" said Martine, scrubbing harder than ever, but as a matter of fact there was a good fresh breeze coming in from all directions, too much for Florimond, who went off like a thunder-cloud. "He can go back and warm himself in his oven," she said, laughing. I could not help asking her how she got along with her baker, though I knew perfectly well she would let herself be cut in pieces before she would admit that she had ever made a mistake; true enough, she declared that he suited her down to the ground. "One should always be content with what one has," said she.
"You are right," said I, "but if I may venture to say so, I should think your little man might sometimes have cause for uneasiness."
"And why, I should like to know? My worst enemy would admit that I am a woman of my word, if he keeps his part of the bargain, but if he doesn't, just let him look out for himself, that's all I have to say. If he does his duty, I will do mine!
"His whole duty?"
"You don't suppose he would admit that it is too much for him?"
Martine sat back on her heels, her bright eyes sparkling with laughter, then jumped up and gave me a great push.
"You are wasting my whole day for me, there never was such an old gossip since the world was made. Get out now, take Glodie with you, she is forever under my feet, with her fingers in everything that goes on, (there, she has been in the bakeshop again, I can see dough on her nose). Get along with you, do, before I sweep you both out!"
So out we had to go, glad enough to be together, and on the way at last to Rion's, but there were some fishermen by the riverside, and we had to stop to look at them, give them some advice and watch the line, and see the float disappear under the green water with a jerk. Glodie noticed the worm wriggling on the hook. "Poor thing," she said, "he is going to be eaten, and that makes him unhappy."
"Well, darling, it is rather nasty to be eaten, but then think how nice for the fish that swallows him, and says, 'that's good!'"
"How would you like it, Grandad, if any one swallowed you?"
"I should say, 'What luck for the man that gets such a toothsome morsel!' It is just the way you look at it, ducky, everything is good if you only see it in the right light; all is for the best to a true son of Burgundy."
It was not quite eleven o'clock when we got to Rion's, and there we saw Binet, (who like a careful lad had brought his rod), fishing for gudgeon, while Cagnat lay stretched out on the grass looking on.
I went on to the woodyard, for there is nothing I love so well as to handle the big logs stripped of their bark, and breathe in the clean fresh smell of sawdust; on my honor I believe a fine tree appeals to me even more than a woman, though I am not one of those narrow fools who can only enjoy one thing at a time. If I were in the slave market at Constantinople, and saw the girl of my heart there among twenty other beauties, do you think my love for her would prevent me from seeing the charms of the others? No, thank Heaven! my eyes are windows wide open to beauty of every kind, and nothing is lost on me. I am besides rather a sharp old bird,—long experience, you know,—and can detect the little tricks and dodges of the fair sex under no matter what disguise; in the same way beneath the rough skin of my tree-loves I can see life waiting for me to bring it forth.
Meanwhile Cagnat (who is impatient, like all young men) has been exchanging pleasantries at the top of his voice with loungers on the other end of the bridge, for though the people in the two suburbs may differ in some ways, they both like to spend the livelong day sitting on the wall of the bridge, with occasional trips to the nearest tavern; and as you may guess, a conversation between Beuvron and Béyant consists chiefly of abuse. They call us Burgundy snails and peasants; we retort with "frogs," or "pike-eaters,"—I say "we," because for the life of me, I never can keep out of any squabble that's going on; it seems just ordinary civility to answer when you are spoken to. In the midst of our little encounter, all at once the clock struck twelve! Noon already? There must be something wrong with the hourglass, still I ought to be getting home, so I pressed our friends, who were looking on, to help us load our planks on the cart, and give us a hand with it back to Beuvron. "Cheeky devil," was their first answer, but at bottom they were good-natured enough, so off we went running up the hill to the admiration of all beholders. When we got to our own bridge there were Fétu, Gadin, and Trinquet, just where we left them three hours ago, still watching the water. They jeered at us for working so hard, we called them good-for-nothings, and as the issue seemed in doubt, I sat down on the corner to see how it would all turn out, when suddenly I heard a well-known voice, and there was the old lady, "Will you tell me what you have been doing with yourself ever since nine this morning? It is my belief that you would never come home, if I did not drag you in by the hair of your head, idle, greedy vagabond! And your dinner is all burnt to a cinder!"
"You win!" said I, laughing; "there's not one of these boys that can stand up to you when it comes to talking—but I was on my way home truly. I had only stopped to rest,—go ahead, I'll be there in a minute."
The two apprentices, my wife, and Glodie went off towards home at a brisk pace, and I followed in a more leisurely manner—I was going as I was bid, when down from the upper town came the sound of voices, of horns, and the gay chimes from St. Martin's tower; and I remembered that the wedding of Mademoiselle Lucretia Champeaux, and Monsieur d'Amazy, the Receiver of Taxes, was to take place today. Every one made a bee-line for the castle, and rushed off at the top of his speed, I among the foremost, for shows like that don't come our way often. Fétu, Gadin, and Trinquet were the only ones who stayed behind, as if they were glued to the wall of the bridge; they said it was undignified to put themselves out for those upper-towners, and as a rule I agree with them, and stand on my dignity as much as any man, but not when it comes between me and my amusement,—there is reason in all things! I took the flight of thirty-six steps up to St. Martin's at one jump, but all the same by ill-luck I was not in time to see the wedding procession, which had already gone into church; naturally there was nothing left for me to do but to wait and see it come out, but as the service seemed interminably long—the clergy love the sound of their own voices,—I managed to squeeze my way between the bulging corporations of my fellow-citizens, till I found myself just inside the door under a regular human feather-bed, I am the last man to forget the respect due to the sacred edifice otherwise I might have been up to some of my jokes, but I know what's what, and can be solemn as an owl at the right moment. Only sometimes even owls lose their gravity, and that is what happened to me, for while I was standing there, a model of propriety and devotion, the service went on, and as Monsieur d'Amazy is a great votary of the chase, hunting-horns were introduced at suitable moments. If only the pack of hounds had been there too! I did not dare to laugh, of course, but I whistled a flourish under my breath, and just then came the crucial point of the ceremony when the bride answers "Yes" to the fatal question. At once the horns burst out with the "set to," and that was too much for me; I cried, "Hallali!" and the whole church roared with laughter, so that the beadle came to restore order, and I thought it a good time to make my way out, as quiet as a mouse.
There were plenty of people outside, many like myself who are aware that ears were made to hear, eyes to see, and tongues to tell what takes place—or what does not,—in the world around us; so it seemed but a moment before the great doors swung open again, and the sound of the organ came pouring out, as the bridal party appeared. First came the Amazy, leading his beautiful prize, her large eyes glancing to right and left like a frightened doe as she advanced. Lovely creature! I wish she had fallen to my charge, but to whom much is given, of him much is demanded, and Amazy has his work cut out for him. Unfortunately I saw little more, so that afterwards I could not even describe the dresses of the bride and bridegroom, for just then we were distracted by a grave question of precedence which arose among the dignitaries who formed part of the procession.
I shall never get over having missed the entrance into the church, for it seems that the Chief Magistrate of the Manor, and the Provost, acting as Mayor, had locked horns in the doorway like two old rams, and the Mayor being the bigger man got through first; the great question now was which of the two would be first coming out, so bets were freely offered, and meanwhile the head of the procession went on its way, but the tail delayed its appearance. We could see, just inside the entrance, that a furious dispute was in progress between the rival officials, and as they could not talk loud in church, there they were, scolding, puckering their faces into the most portentous frowns and scowls, and cursing at each other, all in dumb show. It was enough to make one die of laughing, but we all ended by taking part with one side or the other; the older ones for the Judge, because he was the Duke's representative, and you must respect others, if you would be respected yourself; but the young men inclined to the side of the Mayor as champion of our liberties, and personally I backed the better man. We all shouted to encourage them with cries of "Go it, Grasset!" "At him again, Pétaud!!" "Shut his mouth!" But to our great disappointment the contestants were too much afraid of spoiling their fine clothes to get to their hands, and the dispute might have lasted till the crack of doom,—for there was no danger of their breath giving out,—if it had not been for the priest, who wanted to get to the castle in time for dinner,—so he smoothed them down, telling them it was bad manners to be late, and worse yet to show their evil tempers in the house of the Lord, that they could settle their difficulties another time,—and in short he got them all in motion. I was not near enough to hear all this, but I could see that he put his two big hands behind their heads and brought their faces gently together for the kiss of peace, and out they all came at last, marching in two lines, with the big priest in the middle. When masters fall out, we are always the gainers, so we were well pleased to see three at the head of the column, instead of one.
When they had all gone into the castle where their well-earned feast awaited them, we remained outside sniffing the delicious odors of a dinner we were not to share; but it was a sort of satisfaction to hear the list of dishes, for there were three of us there, Tripet, Bauldequin and I, who knew what was good, so our mouths watered as we heard all the toothsome things, and we approved or not as seemed best to us, the final decision being that the dinner was not so bad on the whole, only we ought to have been consulted, as persons of experience. When jugged hare was mentioned, every one had his own recipe to give,—for by this time we had a circle of auditors,—and there was lively disputing to and fro, in which I took part, as I always maintain that a man who is not interested in such subjects is nothing but a fish.
The best housekeepers in the town are Mistresses Perrine and Jacquette, who are rivals in the art of dinner-giving; each tries to eclipse the other, and naturally each has her partisans, for our best jousts in Clamecy take place at table. No one loves a good argument better than I do, but I would rather be doing myself than hear the exploits of others, and I cannot grow fat by talking of other men's dinners. Tripet was of my way of thinking, and you may guess that I was delighted when he whispered to me:
"It is ill talking of good drink to the thirsty, or of love to a neglected lover; I can't stand any more of this sort of thing; it is as if a beast were gnawing at my vitals; let us find some place where we can feed him."
I told him to come along with me, that I knew where to look for the best remedy for his complaint; of course neither of us thought for a moment of going home, it was after two o'clock, and we should have found tempers boiling and soup cold, so we made for the Dolphin Inn at the corner of the High Street. It was market day, so the room was crowded, but we managed to get a table, and after all nothing is so appetizing as to see one's friends around one, unless it be to sit down all alone to a good meal,—both ways are best.
For some time we had better use for our jaws than to talk. A delicate little shoulder of lamb with cabbage fully occupied us; on top of that a pint of the best, just to clear the mist from our eyes,—you know the proverb, "To eat dry, blinds the eye. Food unwined makes a man blind," but when we had washed the dust out of our throats we had time to look about and enjoy ourselves. At the next table sat a vicar from the country and an old woman, a farmer's wife, full of respect for his Reverence, bowing and bending her old head and turning up her eyes as if in the confessional; and he too had something of the same air, sitting sidewise, returning bow for bow, but with his mouth full, radiating forgiveness of sins from a full stomach.
Further on was our notary, Pierre Delavau, who was treating a brother lawyer to a good solid meal. The air was thick around them with talk of interest, money, politics, contracts—Roman republics, etc., for he likes to dabble in such things on a holiday, but in everyday life is a conservative loyal subject of the King.
My eye lighted presently on Perrin Le Queux, who caught sight of me at the same moment, and waved his glass towards me with the greatest cordiality,—old fox, in his stiff starched blouse! I'll bet he saw me the moment I came in, but as he owes me the price of a fine carved oak chest for the last two years, he was conveniently short of sight. He jumped up and came over to our table.
"The best of luck!" said he, holding out his bottle, and when I shook my head he still pressed it on me. "At least you will have a bite of dinner," he said, thinking of course I would refuse, having already dined, but I took him up at once. "So much to the good on my bill," thought I to myself.
We began all over again, but this time without undue haste, as the first rage of hunger was abated and the crowd thinning out,—there are always people who leave as soon as they have swallowed their food,—and there remained only men of ripe age and wisdom who know what's what, and reckon a good dish to be equal to a good deed any day. I sat where I could feel the sunshine and fresh air through the open door, where some chickens were picking at the crumbs, and an old hound lay dozing on the threshold; outside were the street cries, "Fine fish!" "Mend your windows!" and the shrill voices of women. On the other side of the dusty square were two big white oxen lying down with their legs folded under them, peacefully chewing the cud, with their eyes half shut, while from the sunny roofs came the cooing of pigeons. Really I could have cooed or purred myself if any one had Stroked my back. We all began to talk from table to table, in perfect good-fellowship, the country vicar, the notary, his partner, the innkeeper (Baiselat by name), and I, and as we were all full, and contented with our lot, we took a certain pleasure in discussing the hard times and the political situation. We all groaned over the bad state of business, the high cost of living, the poverty and ruin of France, general decadence of the race, mistakes in administration, etc., but we were careful to name no names, for the ears of the great are as large as their fortunes, and who knows when an unlucky word may drop into them? Truth, as we know, is at the bottom of a well, so we ran but little risk in abusing those of our masters who were the farthest off, especially that wretched Concini brought from Florence under the fat Queen's petticoats. Each had something to say against him, and with perfect justice, for if you catch two curs fighting over a bone, you beat your own dog, of course, but you half kill the stranger. However, I took the other side of the argument, partly for love of fair play, and partly out of perversity; so I said the dogs should be treated alike, that any one would suppose, to hear people talk, that all our evils were imported from Italy, whereas if the truth were known plenty of wicked things, and wicked people too, grow in our own garden. To this they all declared with one voice that a scamp from over the Alps was three times worse than one of us, and that three honest Italians were not equal to a third of a good Frenchman. I answered that man is pretty much the same animal wherever you find him, that I knew a good one when I saw him, and liked him, even if he came out of Italy, but this raised a perfect riot, and they all fell on me at once saying they knew I talked like that because I was a wanderer and a gadabout, always stumping along the highroad. I had to admit that there was some truth in this, for in my time I did kick about the world a good deal, when our good lord the old Duke—father of the present man—sent me to Mantua to study the enamels, potteries, and art industries which were afterwards transplanted here. The whole journey from St. Martin's to St. Andrew's in Mantua was made on my two feet, with a stick in my hand, so you may guess if I spared shoe-leather! I love to feel the ground under me, and the world before me where to choose, but don't say another word about it, or I shall be off again, like a true son of those Gauls who pillaged the world. "I should like to know what you ever brought back from your travels by way of booty," they said. As much as any of my ancestors; all that I could cram into my head or my eyes,—empty pockets if you like, but Lord! what a lot I saw and heard and tasted,—it is a treat only to think of it. A man cannot know all and see all, but he can do his best, and I was like a big sponge in the ocean, or rather like a ripe bunch of grapes full to bursting of the rich juices of the earth; you would have a fine vintage if you could squeeze me, but I mean to keep it for my own particular drinking; you fellows pretend to look down on it, so much the better for me. When I first came home you know I tried to share some of my good things with you, the treasures I had picked up in sunny climes, but people here have no curiosity except about the doings of their neighbors; the rest of the world seems too far off, there is as good at home, and they think those who come from Rome are none the better for their journey. I never try to force a thing down any man's throat, so I kept what I had for myself, and let people go on in their own way, and I even went along with them, for that is the path of wisdom; you can't make people happy against the grain, but you can share content with them.
Following this plan I joined in the usual hymn of praise. What pride, what joy to be a Clamecyan! and I believe it, by Heavens! so I sat there furtively drawing Delavau's nose, and the curate's long arms which he flaps about when he speaks, and we talked about our good town;—a place where I was born must have merit,—besides, all human plants flourish here, they are not thorny and spiteful, even if their tongues are somewhat long and sharp at the end. No one is the worse for a little gossip, particularly if you get as good as you send; at bottom you love your neighbor as yourself, and would not hurt a hair of his head.
We are all proud of our province, which remained calm in the midst of the excitement everywhere else; our Provost Ragon would not join the Guisards, the League, the heretics, the Catholics, or any of the extremists, persecutors, or rebels; and it was here that St. Bartholomew came to wash his bloody hands, where we all stood firm around our good Duke, like an island of safety against which the waves of trouble dashed themselves in vain,—I cannot speak without emotion of Duke Louis, and our late King,—how we loved them both!—for we really seemed made for one another, in spite of faults on both sides; no one is perfect in this world, of course, but these very faults in them were endearing, and brought us closer together; they were so human! We used to laugh and say, "Nevers is younger than ever," or "Our good King is once more a father to his people!" Those were the good times, and we can truly say that we had the cream of it then—Delavau knew Duke Louis as well as I, but the honor of having seen King Henry is mine alone, and I love to tell for the hundredth time of how it happened. It always seems a new story to me and to my friends too, for they are Frenchmen of the right sort, and so I told them once more of the gray King mounted on a gray horse with his gray hat, his gray coat, his elbows sticking through the sleeves,—his gray eyes, the outside all gray, but pure gold within!
Just as I was in the middle of my story the notary's clerk ran in to call him to a dying client, so I was interrupted, for he had to leave at once, which was all the more annoying as he had a story of his own on the tip of his tongue. I knew he had been hatching it for an hour, but I wanted first to get off my own little tale. I must admit in all fairness that his was funny when it did come; he has not his equal for a story with a dash of salt to it.
We all went out together, cheered from head to foot. It must have been just about five o'clock or a bit later, and see how in three short hours I had raked in two good dinners, and an order from the notary for an oak press, to say nothing of all the fun we had had going over old stories:—well, we just stopped to take a thimble full of cherry brandy and a biscuit at Rathery's, the apothecary, and then the party broke up. Delavau had finished one story and begun another, so as we wanted to hear the end of it we went on with him as far as Mirandole, and there we left him at last, only stopping to lean against the wall for a minute or two, long enough to say good-by.
It was now rather too late to go home, or perhaps I should say too early, so I walked down towards Béyant with a man who was pushing his barrow loaded with charcoal, trumpeting his wares as he went. On the way we met a blacksmith coming up trundling a wheel before him; when it slackened speed he made a running jump and sent it flying on ahead, for all the world like those allegories where you see men pursue Fortune which always eludes their outstretched hand. This impressed me as a very good image, and I made a note of it for future reference. I was in two minds which way to take towards home, when I saw a funeral issuing out of the hospital gates. First came two tiny choir-boys, giggling together as they walked, one carrying a cross three times as high as himself clutched against his little fat tummy. Behind came the body under its pall, borne by four tottering old men, and then the vicar. I felt it a matter of simple politeness to go with the poor sleeper to his last lodging, for misery loves company, and then I wanted to hear what the widow had to say. As is the custom, she was walking beside the officiating priest pouring out her sad tale; how the departed was taken ill, what remedies were applied, how he died, his faults, his virtues, his affection, in short the story of his life and hers, while the priest's chants filled in the pauses. Before we had gone far our numbers were swelled by many worthy souls with ears to hear and hearts to feel, so at last we came to the resting-place where they put down the bier at the edge of the grave. You know a pauper cannot take his wooden shirt with him—not that he sleeps the less sound for that,—so they lifted the pall and the coffin lid, and let him slide down into his hole. I threw a handful of earth over him, and made the sign of the Cross, to keep bad dreams away, and then went off at peace with all the world; since morning I had seen and heard everything, rejoiced with the fortunate, and wept with the sorrowful. My cup was full, and, the day being over, I sauntered back along the water-side.
I was making for the junction of the two rivers, meaning to follow the Beuvron to my own house, but the lovely evening tempted me on till almost without knowing it I found myself outside the town and I kept on by the bewitching little Yonne nearly to the narrows at La Forêt. The water flowed by calm and still with scarcely a ripple on its smooth surface; my sight was drowned in it, as a fish is held by the hook; the whole sky was entangled by the river as if in a net, where it seemed to float with its rosy clouds caught among the reeds and grasses, and the golden sun rays trailing in the water. There was an old cowherd on the bank with his two skinny cows: I went and sat down beside him, and as he was rather shaky on his pins, I told him of a remedy for his rheumatic complaint;—(I am rather a good doctor when I have time for it),—so he told me all about himself, his ills and sorrows, but he seemed jolly enough, and even resented my thinking him younger than he was. He was seventy-five years old, and took pride in it, saying the older you were, the more you could bear. It seemed quite right to him that we should all have to suffer, and, on the other hand, he said God's favors fall alike on the just and the unjust, so all is as it should be; rich and poor, gentle and simple will sleep at last in the same Father's arms. As he talked his quavering old voice mingled with the chirp of crickets, the water pouring over the dam, the smell of wood and tar blowing towards us from the harbor, the tranquil flowing river, the fair reflections all melting into the peaceful evening.
When he had gone I walked back alone with my hands behind my back, watching the circles in the water, and was so absorbed that I forgot where I was till I heard a well-known voice on the other bank, and saw I was just opposite our house. There was my wife,—gentle soul!—shaking her fist at me out of the window! I fixed my eyes on the stream and made believe not to see her, but she was reflected upside down as if in a glass; I did not say a word, but shook all over with inward laughter, and the more I laughed the angrier she got. It was too killing to see her bobbing up and down in the Beuvron head first! At last she lost all patience; I heard doors and windows banging behind her, and she came rushing out after me like a whirlwind. She had to cross a bridge to get at me, and the question was which? Right or left, for we were just between the two. She made for the little foot-bridge to the right, and I naturally took the other, where I found Gadin planted on the very same spot where I had left him in the morning.
Night was falling as I came to my own door. Though I am not like that lazy Roman who was always complaining that he had lost a day, still I do not know where time goes, though none of this day has been lost, and I am content enough, but if only there were forty-eight hours instead of twenty-four! I do not feel that I always get my money's worth, for my glass is no sooner filled than it is empty; there must be a crack in it. I sometimes think I envy people who sip and sip without ever coming to the bottom. It cannot be that their glass is longer than mine, that would be too much to bear. "Hi there! you landlord of the Sun, fill up my mug to the brim when you are pouring out the daylight! " But I have nothing really to complain of, for the Lord has blessed me with an appetite that nothing can ever satisfy, so I love both day and night and cannot get enough of either.
Swift flying day of April, are you gone indeed? But it is good to feel that I have not lost a moment of your sweet presence. I have kissed and held you close in my arms;—so now welcome, dear night, it is your turn to share my couch, but good Lord! I forgot, there will be three of us, for the old woman is just coming up to look for me.