To return to Remy, however, his experiments were so instantaneously crowned with success as even to be a surprise to himself; and in order to encourage him and Gehin, a coadjutor he had chosen, the Emulation Society of the Vosges voted them a considerable sum of money and a handsome bronze medal. It was not, however, till 1849 that the proceedings of the two attracted that degree of notice which their importance demanded both in a scientific and economic sense. Dr. Haxo of Epinal then communicated to the Academy of Sciences at Paris an elaborate paper on the subject, which at once fixed attention on the labours of the two fishermen—in fact, it excited a sensation both in the Academy and among the people. The government of the time at once gave attention to the matter, and finding, upon inquiry, everything that was said about the utility of the plan to be true, resolved to have it extended to all the rivers in France, especially to those of the poorer districts of the country. The artificial system of fish-breeding was by this mode of action rapidly extended over the chief rivers of France, and added much to the comfort of the people, and in some cases little fortunes were realised by intelligent farmers who appreciated the system and had a pond or stream on which they could conduct their experiments in safety.
The piscicultural system has culminated in France, chiefly under the direction of Professor Coste, in the erection of a great establishment at Huningue, near Bale, for the collection and distribution of fish-eggs. In order to see this place with my own eyes, and so be enabled to describe exactly how the piscicultural business of France is administered, I paid a visit to the great laboratory along with some friends in the autumn of 1863, having gone by way of Paris in order to see that city in its holiday trim during the fêtes of the Emperor. The weather was so hot, and pleasure-seeking so fatiguing, that my little party made but a brief stay in the gay capital. It was a pleasant relief indeed when we had obtained our tickets for Mulhausen, done the penance of the salle d’attente, and then, attaining our seats, had left the sultry city behind us. The air became at once cool and moist, and the torturing Paris thirst left us—that fierce thirst which no quantity of well-mixed vin ordinaire and water, no amount of brandy and eau de seltz, could assuage. After reaching the outskirts of the city, and passing those manufactories, wood-yards, tile-depôts, brickfields, and stone-yards, which are common to the environs of all large towns, we could see well about us, and enjoy the sights and sounds of French agriculture—all but the perfume of the rotting flax in process of manipulation in the watery pits; we certainly did not enjoy that potent compound of all that is awful in the way of smell. It was pleasant to note the industry of the small farmers, all busy with their wives and families on their little allotments, or rather estates, for numbers of them are owners or perpetual holders of the land on which they work; and it looks curious to eyes accustomed to the large fields of England to see the little patches which compose the majority of French farms. We saw no particularly choice landscape scenery on the line of rail by which we travelled—via Troyes and Chalindrey—but there was no lack of picturesque villages and immense barns, giving cheerful token of a rude plenty, and there was no end of tall pollard trees, and numerous vineyards; besides, here and there, upon a bit of stubble, we were agreeably surprised by the whitter of an occasional covey of partridges.
Bent on a piscatorial tour, I noted with care—to the occasional wonderment of my friends—the spots of water that pretty often fringed the line of rails, and wondered if they were populated by any of the finny tribe; if so, by what kind of fish, and whether they had been replenished by the aid of pisciculture? There was evidently fishing in the districts we passed through, because at many of the stations we encountered the vision of an occasional angler, and a frequent “flop” in many of the pools which we passed convinced me that fair sport might be had; and the entry of an occasional Waltonian into some of the stations with twenty pounds weight of trout quite excited everybody, and made some of us long to whip the waters of the district of Champagne, through which we were passing. And a close inspection of the national etablissement de pisciculture at Huningue has convinced me that if any river in France be still fishless, it is not through the fault of a paternal government.
Travelling is pleasant in France, for although the trains are slow, they are safe and punctual. The distance from Paris to Mulhausen is fifteen hours by the ordinary train, but we did not feel the journey at all tedious. In my compartment were a priest, who spoke a very “leetle” English, but who could evidently read a great deal of Latin; a shrewd Edinburgh news-agent—who, like most Scotchmen, took nothing for granted, but saw and judged for himself; and his daughter, a young lady on her way to “do” the Rhine, but who took no interest in pisciculture. Then there was a lively English gentleman, who seemed to have an intimate acquaintance with every fish in the Thames; he had netted whitebait (and eaten them) off Blackwall, he had taken perch out of the East India Dock, killed a monster pike near Teddington, and had caught no end of gudgeon at various picturesque spots on the great river.
“Bah,” said my Scotch friend, joining in the conversation, “did you ever kill a salmon, man? I hate gudgeon and such small fry; give me the river Isla, about the ‘Brig o’ Riven,’ a good stout rod with no end of tackle, and an angry seventeen-pound fish sulking behind a big stone—then you may have sport; or favour me with good trolling-tackle and a boat on deep Loch Awe, with the castle of Kilchurn glooming its great shadow over us, and the eternal hills rising tall around, and I will take out trout that will outweigh a hundred gudgeon; or give me a trout-rod and a pleasant ramble along the picturesque Shochy, and I will manage to fill my basket with fish worth taking home; but away with your Thames gudgeon, they can only satisfy a Cockney linendraper.”
Verily my shrewd Scottish friend, with his reminiscences of monster fish and his fervid manner, waxed eloquent; he even startled the priest; and as for the Englishman he looked quite chapfallen. I had to come to the rescue, and defended as well as I could Thames angling, and reminded the enthusiastic Caledonian that they once had very fine salmon in the Thames, and would some day, if all goes well, have them again; and that gudgeon-fishing in the midst of such fine scenery was at least a healthy and happy way of having a pleasant day’s “out,” even if the sport was not quite so fierce as hunting for salmon in the river Isla at the “Brig o’ Riven.”
The salmon of the Tay, it was also hinted to the news-agent, were not so famous as those of the Severn. “But we have twenty for your one,” was the quick reply, “and at the Stormontfield breeding-ponds we are raising them by the hundred thousand. The rental of the Tay, sir, is equal to what the whole revenue of the French fisheries was a year or two ago.” “Very likely, sir,” I replied; “but then the Tay is what you may call a Highland stream—good for fish, no doubt; and the Thames is a splendid river in its own way, but no one pretends that it is a fish river; it is the highway of the greatest commerce in the world, and——” “Pooh, man,” said the Scotchman, “the Tay is as celebrated for commerce as for fish. Have you ever been to Dundee?” And then, chuckling to himself at his rather rich idea of comparing Dundee to London, my friend sank back in his corner of the carriage and looked as if he could have slain a thousand London gudgeon-fishers, and the twinkle in his eye waxed brighter and brighter as he continued his chuckle.
As even the longest journey will come to an end, the train arrived in due time at Mulhouse, or Mulhausen, as it is called in the German, and it being late and dark, and our whole party being somewhat fatigued, we allowed ourselves to be carried to the nearest hotel, a large, uncomfortable, dirty-looking place, where apparently they seldom see British gold, and make an immense charge for bougies. Had we had the necessary time to spare, my little party would have been interested in seeing Mulhouse, which is a manufacturing town of considerable size, where many of the operatives are the owners of their own houses; but being within scent of Switzerland, having the feeling that we were in the shadow of its mountains, and almost within hearing of the noise made by its many waters, we hurried on by the first train to Bale. The distance is short, and the conveyance quick. Almost before we had time to view the passing landscape, which is exceedingly beautiful, being rich in vineyards and orchards, and rapidly turning Swiss in its scenery, we were stopped at St. Louis by the custom-house authorities, who, it is but proper to say, are exceedingly polite to all honest travellers. I would advise any one in search of the etablissement de pisciculture at Huningue to leave the train at this station. Not knowing its proximity at the time of my visit, I went right on to Bale.
Poets might go into raptures about Bale—Bale the beautiful—with the flowing Rhine cutting it into two halves, its waters green as the icefields which had given them birth, its houses quaint, its streets so clean, its fountains so antique; but we had no time to go into raptures—our business was to get to Huningue, and curiously enough we had wandered into the fishmarket before we knew where we were. Like various other fishmarkets which we have visited, it contained no fish that we could see, but it is so picturesque that I determined to place a view of it in this work. Hailing a voiture, our party had no end of difficulty to get the coachman to understand where we wanted to be driven. I said, “To Huningue;” he then suggested that it must be “Euiniguen,” and my Scotch young lady friend, who was all in a glow about the “beautiful Rhine,” as, of course, a young lady ought to be, suggested that the pronunciation might be “Hiningue,” which proved a shrewd guess, as immediately on hearing it we were addressed in tolerable but very broken English by a quiet-looking coachman, who said, “Come with me; I have study the English grammaire; I know where you want to go, and will take you.” Although I could not help wondering that a celebrated place, as we all thought Huningue ought to be, was not better known, I felt pretty sure our coachman knew it; and having persuaded my Scotch friend and his young lady to take a drive, we at once started for the etablissement de pisciculture, where we were all of us most hospitably received by the superintendent, who at once conducted us over the whole place with great civility and attention.
