Punch (100.1891)

Apbil 11, 1891.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 169

bad English. And the tale shall be of France—France, where the
ladies always leave the dinner-table before the men. Note this, and
use it at page ninety of thy first volume. And thy French shall be
worse than thy English, for thou shalt speak of a frissonement, and
thy friends shall say, " Nous blaguons le chose."

MR. PUNCH'S PRIZE NOVELS.

No. XVI.—GERMFOOD.

{By Maky Morally, Author of " Ginbitters ! " " Ardart," dsc, etc.)

[The MS. of this remarkable novel was tied round with scarlet ribbons, " Stop ! " I cried, in despair, " stop, fiend!—this is too much ! " I
and arrived in a case which had been once used for the packing of bottles of sprang at the monster, and seized it by the throat. Oar eyes, peer-
rum, or some other potent spirit. It is dedicated in highly uncomplimentary ; ing into each other's, seemed to ravage out, as by fire, the secrets
terms to "Messieurs les Marronneurs glacis de Parts." With it came a hidden in our hearts. My blood hurled itself through my veins,
most extraordinary letter, from which we make, without permission, the , There was something clamorous and wild in it. Then I fell prone
following startling extracts. "Ha! Ha! likewise Fe Fo Fum. I smell blood, ! on the ground, and remembered that I had eaten one marron for
galloping, pantiog, whirling hurling, throbbing, maddened blood My brain dinner> Ttis e kined everything, and I remembered no more till

is on fire, mv ren is a flash of lightning. 1 see stars, three stars, that is t „__„ j ____ur j r 1 /, , •, ,

to say, one oAhe best brands plucked from the burning. I'm 'going to 1 Came to ™J*elt> and f°un,d the divisional surgeon busily engaged

make your flesh creep. I'll give you fits, paralytic fits, epileptic fits, and uPon me wlth a Pompe d estomac.

fits of hysteria, all at the same time. Have I ever been in Paris? Never. chaptee III

Do I know the taBte of absinthe i How dare you ask me such a. question ?

Am I a woman? Ask me another. Ugh! it's coming, the demon is upon 1 Mr father, M. le Due Dl Spepsion, belonged to one of the oldest
me. I must write three murderous volumes. I must, I must! "What was French families. He had many old French customs, amongst others
that shriek ? and that ? and that? Unhand me, snakes! Oh!!!!—M. M."] j that of brushing his bearded lips against my cheek. He was a stern

p j man, with a severe habit of addressing me as " Monfils." Generally

ohaptee x. ^ j ke disapproved of my proceedings, which was, perhaps, not un-

I was asleep and dreaming—dreaming dreadful, horrible, soul- natural, taking all the circumstances of the case into consideration,
shattering dreams—dreams that flung me head-first out of bed, and i Why have I mentioned him ? I know not, save that even now,
then flung me back into _ degraded as I am, memo-

bed off the uncarpeted ^sjjB|| ries of better things

floor of my chamber. But J>----—sometimes steal over me

I did not wake — why Iflf^^^^^l^MCi a ^e ^e soiemn sound 01

should I?—it was unne- jim; H^-,;iiltt^!lS ^ ®Sw church-bells pealing in a

cessary — I wanted to I ml llll'illli > i I |p:I|!ft| \ I cathedral belfry. But I

dream — I had to dream _ ifc-^ffSi '[I'll ii I ll ii\ i III I I bave done with home,

and therefore I dreamt. JMili ' T - _. with father, with pat-

I was walking home from p. ft ' <*r*0 f'^' >' f'l V ! N -S f riotism, with claret, with

a cheap restaurant in one __Jl „Li__.^. S^SDriili FTITI11—^TillT^"-----1 walnuts, and with all

of the poorer quarters of liBSlfflHIiiF>'' ?\dt/ fffi'mM V\\ Pi V '' IPT I ' |if iiM' simple pleasures, Cava

Paris. "Poorer quar- A^r--- - -'JyW 1 RMIll || |t|lli I ll ' sans dire. They talk to

ters" is a nice vague .i|'" j|Plr'3* *r~~r~ " $k ' ' f*- me of Good, and Nature,

term. There are many ;/- f| j | ''P^^'ili^Mil'^Mll^' ' The words are meaning-

poerer quarters in a large '" ' j -r~~W^^i ( $rs :" "3m ' - less to me. Are there

city. This was one of ,//?" ! I , > I \\ \ ?%\ -' ' realities behind these

them. Let that suffice W {jWjf1 M Ijlill!';! Lg£$-. '« ^J^^^^^^v ^S^f^. words—realities that can

to the critical pedants — Ik W\ A /*£&>^fi: '/f^?'^ ("'' fH ^^Z^r**1"*^^ touch the heart of a con-

who clamour for accuracy ^ Mr\ ^A*~ ' /'',^\:°^^T(3s's' L o ?a^asS^ r' ^jjfl Ai nrme<i marroneur ? Cold

and local colour. Accu- ntr\ ^m~-4^-^i''i^k^J^J> * '"g o I 'kjtfm^ '".©Ha r^cr_' rl an<* pitiless, Nature sits

racy! pah! Shall the --^"'^(Ty^ \ f__W |^^Kt#9 « ^oOVMs'^f a^0^ ^e a mathemati-

soaring soul of a three- * / \ L# ^TfiS. 7\!»» i{ s* @ W ui.'&^mll ^ cian> with his balance

volumer be restrained by / J^p) imf^ - - - -^S^^^IT WL ®Wy regulating the storm-

the debasing fetters of a \ / //^ " ^ - _ -^b^&sf ~ „ H^- pulses of this troubled

grovelling exactitude? : / £- *~ - ~ I " - \\a'nAz^ ®Jm ~ ~ world. Bah! I fling

Never! I will tell you ~ ~^mT x ^- ^ ~ - ^ ~~ ~* ~ '■ myself in her teeth. I

what. If I choose, I ~ \ \ \ \ /T^^T - - ^^^C- ^^Yl'ffi: " ■■ _ ■ brazen it out. She quails,

who speak to you, moi ZL. ^-»S=^^k ^"'^^^^ -^^--~^'/^%^^^^^^^^^^^\ ..... - '——— For, since the accursed

qui vous parle, the Seine \____ \-^^------^ - - food passed my lips, the

shall run red with the 7^T"-'-. rsV ^sa^^^RS- " strength of a million

blood of murdered priests, "^fo^ mMiC imi..'! i".'. ----^ ~*&^^&^^=^^SrJ=~~ demons is in me. I am

and there shall be a tide ' v.^^^^rTx3..; '~^E-2 pitiless. I laugh to think

in it where no tide ever ^-^=^=^SE^Zr^t^^ °^ the fool I once was in

was before, close to Paris —____--__ '^^s^E^^^ZEZZ^t^^1^111 the days when I fed my-

itself, the home of the --zz—-^-:—'Zz.'^z^^11^1^—- self on Baba au Jthum,

Marrons Glaces, and ~~~ and other innocent dishes,

into the river I shall plunge a corpse with upturned face and Now I have knowledge. I am my own good. I glance haughtily

glassy, staring, haunting, dreadful eyes, and the tide shall turn, into- [Ten rhapsodical pages _ omitted.—Ed._ Punch.'] But

the tide that never was on earth, or sky, or sea, it shall turn in my ■ there came into my life a false priest, who was like the ghost of
second volume for one night only, and carry the corpse of my victim a fair lost god—and because he was a fair lost, the cabmen loved him
back, back, back under bridges innumerable, back into the heart j not—and he had to die, and lie in the Morgue—the Morgue where
of Paris. Dreadful, isn't it ? Allons, mon a?ni. Qu'est-ce-qu'il-y-a. murdered men and women love to dwell—and thus he should

Je ne sais quoi. Mon Dieu J There's idiomatic French for you, discover the Eternal Secret!

all sprinkled out of a cayenne pepper-pot to make the local colour
hot and strong. Bah ! let us return to our muttons !

Chaptee YS'

t

Again—again—again! The moon rose, shimmering like a Marron
Chaptee II. Glace over Paris. Oh! Paris, beauteous city of the lost. Surely

... ' , . in Babylon or in Nineveh, where Semieamis of old queened it over

_ What was that ? Something yellow, and spotted—something ! men? never was such madness-madness did I say ? Why ? What
sinuous and lithe, with crawling catlike motion. No, no! Yes, \ did j mean ? Tush ! the struggle is over, and I am calm again,
yes ! ! A leopard of the forest had issued from a side-street, a cul de . tbough my blood still bums tumultously. The world is very evil.
sac, as the frivolous sons of Pans, the Queen of Vice, call it. It was My father died choked by a marron. I, too, am dead-1 who have
moving with me, stopping when I stopped, galloping when I : written this rubbish—I am dead, and sometimes, as I walk, my
gal oped, turning somersaults when I turned them. And then it loved one glides before me in aerial phantom shape, as on page 4,

spoke to me—spoke, yes, spoke, this thing of the desert—this wild
phantasm of a brain distraught by over-indulgence in marrons glaces,
the curse of ma patrie, and its speech was as the scent of scarlet
poppies, plucked from the grave of a discarded mistress.

"Thou shalt write," it said, " for it is thine to reform the world."
I shuddered. The conversational "thou "is fearful at all times;
but, ah, how true to nature, even the nature of a leopard of the
forest. The beast continued—" But thou shalt write in English."

Vol. II. But I am dead—dead and buried—and over my grave an
avenue of gigantic chestnuts reminds the passer-by of my fate :
and on my tombstone it is written, "Here lies one who danced a
cancan and ate marrons glaces all day. Be warned ! "

the end.

Quite Exceptional Theateicae News.—Next Thursday at the
Spare me!" I ventured to interpose. Vaudeville, the Press and the usual Free-Admissionaries will, be let

In English," it went on, inexorably—"in hysterical, sad, mad, < in for Money.

vol. c.