Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 55, No. 340, February, 1844. Various
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specimen of persiflage. After doing ample justice to an excellent repast, during which he had scarcely uttered a word,
"Monsieur Louet threw himself back in his chair and looked at us all, one after the other, as if he had only just become aware of our presence, accompanying his inspection with a smile of the most perfect benevolence; then, heaving a gentle sigh of satisfaction—'Ma foi! I have made a capital supper!' exclaimed he.
"'M. Louet! A cigar?' cried Méry: 'It is good for the digestion.'
"'Thank you, most illustrious poet!' answered M. Louet; 'I never smoke. It was not the fashion in my time. Smoking and boots were introduced by the Cossacks. I always wear shoes, and am faithful to my snuff-box.'
"So saying, M. Louet produced his box, and offered it round. We all refused except Méry, who, wishing to flatter him, attacked his weak side.
"'What delicious snuff, M. Louet! This cannot be the common French snuff?'
"'Indeed it is—only I doctor it in a particular manner. It is a secret I learned from a cardinal when I was at Rome.'
"'Ha! You have been to Rome?' cried I.
"'Yes, sir; I passed twenty years there.'
"'M. Louet,' said Méry, 'since you do not smoke, you ought to tell these gentlemen the story of your thrush-hunt.'
"'I shall be most happy,' replied M. Louet graciously, 'if you think it will amuse the company.'
"'To be sure it will,' cried Méry. 'Gentlemen, you are going to hear the account of one of the most extraordinary hunts that has taken place since the days of Nimrod the mighty hunter. I have heard it told twenty times, and each time with increased pleasure. Another glass of punch, M. Louet. There! Now begin.—We are all impatience.'
"'You are aware, gentlemen,' said M. Louet, 'that every Marseillais is born a sportsman.'
"'Perfectly true,' interrupted Méry 'it is a physiological phenomenon which I have never been able to explain; but it is nevertheless quite true.'
"'Unfortunately,' continued M. Louet, 'or perhaps I should say fortunately, we have neither lions nor tigers in the neighbourhood of Marseilles. On the other hand, we have flights of pigeons.'
"'There!' cried Méry, 'I told you so. They insist upon it.'
"'Certainly,' replied M. Louet, visibly vexed; 'and, whatever you may say to the contrary, the pigeons do pass. Besides, did you not lend me the other day a book of Mr Cooper's, the Pioneers, in which the fact is authenticated?'
"'Ah, yes! Authenticated in America.'
"'Very well! If they pass over America why should they not pass over Marseilles? The vessels that go from Alexandria and Constantinople to America often pass here.'
"'Very true!' replied Méry, thunderstruck by this last argument. 'I have nothing more to say. M. Louet, your hand. I will never contradict you again on the subject.'
"'Sir, every man has a right to his opinion.'
"'True, but I relinquish mine. Pray go on, M. Louet.'
"'I was saying, then, that instead of lions and tigers we have flights of pigeons.' M. Louet paused a moment to see if Méry would contradict him. Méry nodded his head approvingly.
"'True,' said he, 'they have flights of pigeons.'"
Satisfied by this admission M. Louet resumed.
"'You may easily imagine that at the period of the year when these flights occur, every sportsman is on the alert; and, as I am only occupied in the evening at the theatre, I am fortunately able to dispose of my mornings as I like. It was in 1810 or '11, I was five-and-thirty years of age; that is to say, gentlemen, rather more active than I am now. I was one morning at my post, as usual, before daybreak. I had tied my decoy pigeon to the cimeaux, and he was fluttering about like a mad thing, when I fancied I saw by the light of the stars something perched upon my pine-tree. Unfortunately it was too dark for me to distinguish whether this something were a bat or a bird, so I remained quite quiet, waiting for the sun to rise. At last the sun rose and I saw that it was a bird. I raised my gun gently to my shoulder, and, when I was sure of my aim, I pulled the trigger. Sir, I had omitted to discharge my gun on returning from shooting the evening before. It had been twelve hours loaded, and it hung fire.
"'Nevertheless I saw by the way in which the bird flew that he was touched. I followed him with my eyes till he perched again. Then I looked for my pigeon; but by an extraordinary chance a shot had cut the string which tied him, and he had flown away. Without a decoy I knew very well it was no use remaining at the post, so I resolved to follow up the thrush. I forgot to tell you, gentlemen, that the bird I had fired at was a thrush.
"'Unluckily I had no dog. When one shoots with a decoy, a dog is worse than useless—it is a positive nuisance. I was obliged, therefore, to beat the bushes myself. The thrush had run along the ground, and rose behind me when I thought I still had him in front. At the sound of his wings I turned and fired in a hurry. A shot thrown away, as you may suppose. Nevertheless I saw some feathers fall from him.'
"'You saw some feathers?' cried Méry.
"'Yes, sir. I even found one, which I put in my buttonhole.'
"'In that case,' said Méry, 'the thrush was hit?'
"'That was my opinion at the time. I had not lost sight of him, and I continued the pursuit; but the bird was scared, and this time flew away before I got within range. I fired all the same. There is no saying where a stray shot may go.'
"'A stray shot is not enough for a thrush,' said Méry, shaking his head gravely. 'A thrush is a very hard-lived bird.'
"'Very true, sir; for I am certain my two first shots had wounded him, and yet he made a third flight of nearly half a mile. But I had sworn to have him, and on I went. Impossible to get near him. He led me on, mile after mile, always flying away as soon as I came within fifty or sixty paces. I became furious. If I had caught him I think I should have eaten him alive, and the more so as I was beginning to get very hungry. Fortunately, as I had calculated on remaining out all day, I had my breakfast and dinner in my game-bag, and I eat as I went along.'
"'Pardon me,' said Méry, interrupting M. Louet; 'I have an observation to make. Observe, my dear Dumas, the difference between the habits of the human race in northern and southern climes. In the north the sportsman runs after his game; in the south he waits for it to come to him. In the first case he takes out an empty bag and brings home a full one; in the other he takes it out full and brings it home empty. Pray, go on, my dear M. Louet. I have spoken.' And he recommenced puffing at his cigar.
"'Where was I?' said M. Louet, who had lost the threat of his narrative through this interruption.
"'Speeding over hill and dale in pursuit of your thrush.'
"'True, sir. I cannot describe to you the state of excitement and irritation I was in. I began to think of the bird of Prince Camaralzaman, and to suspect that I, too, might be the victim of some enchantment. I passed Cassis and La Ciotat, and entered the large plain extending from Ligne to St. Cyr. I had been fifteen hours on my feet, and I was half dead with fatigue. I made a vow to Our Lady of La Garde to hang a silver thrush in her chapel, if she would only assist me to catch the living one I was following; but she paid no attention to me. Night was coming on, and in despair I fired my last shot at the accursed bird. I have no doubt he heard the lead whistle, for this time he flew so far that I lost sight of him in the twilight. He had gone in the direction of the village of St. Cyr. Probably he intended to sleep there, and I resolved to do the same. Fortunately there was to be no performance that night at the Marseilles theatre.'"
The worthy basso goes to the inn at St. Cyr, and relates his troubles to the host, who decides that the object of his pursuit must have halted for the night in a neighbouring piece of brushwood. By daybreak M. Louet is again a-foot, accompanied by the innkeeper's dog, Soliman. They soon get upon the scent of the devoted thrush.
"'Every body