Punch: Punch (101.1891)

88

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[August 22, 1891.

SOME CIRCULAR NOTES.

Prospect of Holiday—An Entree—A Character in the Opening—
Light and Leading—French Exercise—Proposition—Accepta-
tion—Light Comedian—Exit—Jeudi alors—The Start.

Chapter I.

I am sitting-,'fatigued, in my study. I have not taken a holiday
this year, or last, for the matter of that. Others have ; I haven't.
Work ! work ! work!—and I am wishing that my goose-quills were
wings ("so appropriate ! " whisper my good-natured friends behind
their hands to one another), so that I might fly away and be at rest.
To this they (the goose-quills, not the friends) have often assisted
me ere now. Suddenly, as I sit " a-thinking, a-thinking," my door
is opened, and, without any announcement, there stands before me a
slight fig are, of middle height , in middle age, nothing remarkable
about his dress, nothing remarkable about his greyish hair and close-
cut beard, but something very remarkable about his eyes, which
sparkle with intelligence and energy; and something still more
remarkable about the action of his arms, hands, and thin, wiry
fingers, which suggests the idea of his being an animated semaphore
worked by a galvanic battery, telegraphing signals against time at
the rate of a hundred words a minute, the substantives being occa-
sionally expressed, but mostly "understood,"—pronouns and prepo-
sitions being omitted wholesale.

"What! Daubinet ! " I exclaim, he being the last person I had
expected to see, having, indeed, a letter on my desk from him, dated
yesterday and delivered this morning, to
say that he was then, at the moment of
writing, and practically therefore for the
next forty-eight hours—at least, so it
would be with any ordinary individual—
in Edinburgh. But Daebexet is not an
ordinary individual, and the ordinary
laws of motion to and from any given
point do not apply to him.
He is a Flying Frenchman—
here, there, and everywhere ;
especially everywhere. So
mercurial, that he will be

advance of Mercury himself, and having written a letter in the
morning to say he is coming, it is not unlikely that he will travel
by the next train, arrive before the letter, and then wonder that you
weren't prepared to receive him. Such, in a brief sketch, is mon
ami Daebenet.

"Aha! mevoieHV he cries, shaking mv hand warmly. Then he
sings, waving bis hat in his left hand, and still grasping my right
with his, " Void le sabre de mon pere!" which reminiscence of
Offenbactt has no particular relevancy to anything at the present
moment, but it evidently lets off some of his superfluous steam.
He continues, always with my hand in his, " J'arrive I inattendu !
Mais, mon cher,"—here he turns off the French stop of his polyglot
organ, and, as it were, turns on the English stop,—continuing his
address to me in very distinctly-pronounced English, "I wrote to
you to say I would be here," then pressing the French stop, he con-
cludes with, " ce matin, rfest-ee pas ? "

" Parfaitement, mon cher," 1 reply, giving myself a chance of
airing a little French, being on perfectly safe ground, as he
thoroughly understands English; indeed, he understands several
languages, and, if I flounder out of my depth in foreign waters, one
stroke will bring me safe on to the British rock of intelligibility
again ; or, if I obstinately persist in floundering, and am searching
for the word as for a plank, he will jump in and rescue me. Under

these circumstances, I am perfectly safe in talking French to him—
"Maisje ne vous attendais ce matin"—I've got an idea that this is
somelJiing uncommonly grammatical—"« cause de votre lettre que
je vWns de rccevoir"—this, I'll swear, is idiomatic—" ce matin.
La voild."' I pride myself on " La," as representing my know-
ledge that " lettre," to which it refers, is feminine._

Caramba!" he exclaims—an exclamation which, I have every
reason to suppose, from want of more definite information, is
Spanish. " Caramba!" that letter is from Edinburgh ; fai visite
Glasgow, the Nord et partout, etje suis de retour, I am going on

business to Reims, pour re-
venir par Paris, — si vous
voudrez me donncr le plaisir
de votre compagnie—de Jeudi
prochain a JSIardi—vous serez
mon invite, — et je serai
charme, tres charme."

Being already carried away
in imagination to Reims, and
returning by Paris, I am at
once inclined to replv,

"Enchante! with the
greatest pleasure."

"Hoch! Hoch! Hurra!"
he cries, by way of response,
waving his hat. Then he
sings loudly,'' And—bless the
Prince of "Wales ! " After
which, being rather proud of his mastery of
Cockneyisms, he changes the accent, still sing-
ing, '' Blaass the Prince of Waiees ! " which he
considers his chef d'ceuvre as an imitation of
a genuine Cockney tone, to which it bears
exactly such resemblance as does a scene of
ordinary London life drawn by a French .artist.
Then he says, seriously—"Eh bien ! allons!
C est fixe—it is fixed. We meet Victoria, et
alors, par London, Chatham & Dover, from
Reims via Calais, tres bien, — train cVonze
heures precises,—bien entendu. J'i/ suis. Lhr
Diener! Adios.' A reverderla! Addio,
amico caro!" Then he utters something
which is between a sneeze and a growl, sup-
posed to be a term of endearment in the Russian
« Vurevoir'" tongue. Finally he says in English, " Good-
bye

His hat is on in a jiffy (which I take to be the hundredth part of a
second) and he is down the stairs into the hall, and out at the door
" like a Hying light comedian" with an airy "go" about him, which
recalls to niy mind the running exits of Cdcaeles Wtn'DHAm in one
of his lightest comedy-parts. " An revoir ! Pour Jeudi alors!"
I hear him call this out in the hall, the door bangs as if a firework
had exploded and blown my vivacious friend up into the air, and he
has gone.

" Jeudi alors " arrives, and I am at Victoria for the eleven o'clock
Express to the minute, having decided that this is the best, shortest,
and cheapest holiday I can take. I've never yet travelled with my
excellent French friend Daebixet. I am to be his guest; all respon-
sibihty is taken off my shoulders except that of my ticket and luggage,
and to travel without responsibility is in itself a novelty. To have
to think of nothing and nobody, not even of oneself ! Away ! away !

Politesse. — The following version of our great popular Nayal
Anthem will be issued, it is hoped, from White-
hall (the French being supplied by the Lords of
the Admiralty in conjunction) to all the musical
Naval Captains in command at Portsmouth. The
graceful nature of the intended compliment cannot
escape the thickest-headed land-lubber :—

Dirige, Madame la France,
Madame la France dirigera les vagues !
Messieurs les Fran^ais ne seront jamais, jamais, jamais,
Esclaves!

The effect of the above, when the metre is
carefully fitted to the tune (which is a work of
time), and sung by a choir (with accent) of a
thousand British Blue-jackets, will doubtless be quite electrical.

Kote by a Travelled Fellow Ferst Classic.—There's no pas-
sage in any Classical author, Latin or Greek, so difficult as is the
passage between Dover and Calais on a rough day, and yet, strange
to say, the translation is comparatively easy.

A Picture o?r the Lixe.—Sketch taken at the Equator.