MY FRENCH FRIEND: A STORY OF MISPLACED CONFIDENCE
It was Goldsmith, the simple-hearted, that uttered the words,
'what is friendship but a name.' I think the story I shall relate will justify the bitterness of the sentence. I was sent to Paris on business, and there in the course of my commercial transactions made the acquaintance of Monsieur Julien, a round, good-humoured little Frenchman, with a charming vivacious little wife, several years his junior. They seemed a happy little couple, and I enjoyed many pleasant hours in their pretty Parisian suburban residence. Two things I regretted-one that my imperfect French and my French friends' imperfect English made our conversation somewhat limited. Another thing was the absence of my friend Johnson-the jolliest pal a fellow could have in a trip to France.
He it was who in a former visit taught me to learn French from what he called the living grammar. I conjugated the nouns, and learned the tenses under his advice with one of the prettiest little cocottes that could be found in the Quartier Latin. My devotion to the study was intense. It was 'I cuddle, you cuddle, we cuddle,' from night till morning; and I can say fairly that we 'spent' in teaching each other our respective languages no little energy; Johnson was indeed a jolly fellow. He would knock down a gendarme, bilk a cocher or a garcon, and rumple the linen of a laundress with equal equanimity. He raised so many bellies in the gay capital that the registrar of births had to increase their staff, owing to the way he had exercised his; and he infused so much English life into French female nature that he might fairly claim to have brought about international relations.
A great traveller was Johnson, and I remember one night when he came home more than muddled, in fact positively tight, he sat by his bedside, and looking at his manly pego, which stood up and stared him saucily in the face, he thus apostrophized it: 'My flow trav'ler, you served me a sorry trick, just because I was tight; is that any reason you sh'd'nt do your duty? Havn't you tasted the choice juice of Jew and Gentile? Havn't you revelled between the thighs of the lovely Circassian; penetrated the busy forest of a moustachioed Spanish woman; parted the fair curls of a German frau; touched the cold clammy interior of a New Orleans negress; penetrated the musk-smelling secret corner of a Mandarin's wife; and drove home to the vitals of a Scotch fish wife?
And now to-night when you had a nice little bit of French stuff, warm as toast, soft as a new kid glove, sweet as one of Madam Finette's bon-bons, you turn up your nose, or rather you don't turn up at all, but sulk like an infernal school gal over her bread and butter. Confound you, sir; serve me another trick like that and I'll ram you up to the hilt in the tight, brown, and unsavoury port hole of the Concierge.'
This is a digression, but I only introduce it to show what a jolly fellow Johnson was, how sorry I was that he, an accomplished French scholar also, did not share with me the charming company of Monsieur and Madame Julien.
During my stay with the Juliens I could not help noticing that Madame was somewhat free in her manner, and I fancied that once or twice she gave me a look which seemed to indicate that she would like to see if English 'ros bif' enabled me to do her the justice which I fear her elder and somewhat corpulent partner denied her.
I, however, took no advantage of her half invitations. I already had a mistress in Ninette, the daughter of my concierge, a pretty little morsel, ripe and melting as a plum, acquiescent and charming, ready to make the beast with two backs, to play the game of 69, to exercise the delicate manipulation of her soft fingers, or do the lolly-pop trick with her ripe lips at a moment's notice.
After seeing the sights of Paris, and spending a very pleasant time, I at last left, gave Ninette a parting canoodle, which was intended to comfort her, but no doubt made her regret my absence more keenly, and then I bade good-bye to the Juliens, inviting them to come and see me at the time of the Exhibition, when they meant to come to London, and I asked them to put up with me at my pleasant though modest lodgings in the Brompton Road. With many presses of the hand, with tears and embraces, I parted from my French friends, and came to London, looking happily forward to the time when I should see them again.
To a busy man, time soon slips by and before I had found a suitable successor to my pretty Ninette, the Exhibition came on, and the Juliens were in London.
By an evil fate and peculiar circumstances I could not accommodate them, but my friend Johnson, the accomplished French scholar, was introduced. With that ready wit which marked all his doings, he found them a pretty and cheap place, and there he was a constant visitor, teaching the Frenchman English and duly chaperoning them over the sights of London.
Business is a hard task master, it called me from London, and I had to go to Coventry. There, unlike Mr. Tennyson, I did not hang with grooms and porters on the bridge, but I made up to my little dark-eyed chambermaid, and hung onto her with all the tenacity I was capable of.
How I first got hold of this little demoiselle is a story worth telling. When the little charmer showed me to my room, I could not help noticing the neat turn of her pretty ankle as she tripped up the stairs before me. I saw also that she did not particularly mind showing it. This fired me. I could feel a certain important in function, and not insignificant in size, part of my anatomy grow stiff, and poke up its saucy head, as if it sniffed the tussle not very far off.
Arriving in the bed-room it did not take me long to enter into a conversation about Coventry, that led to Lady Godiva, and I asked what Peeping Tom expected to see? Gradually and skilfully I conducted the discourse until, to cut matters short, I was enjoying a gentle amble on a steed that would not have suffered in comparison with gentle Godiva herself.
I brought this gentle amble to a full stop in due time and dismounted, but not until I had revelled in the bliss of as delightful a canoodle as a man could have. 'Send a fellow to Coventry' means generally something unpleasant; send me to Coventry again, and if I don't have another bit of exercise, if I don't again put pego in excelsis, and lubricate Miss Patty's canoodler with love's essence, may my most particular and intimate acquaintance, Master Pego himself, forget his cunning and his shadow grow considerably less.
On my return I thought of my old friend Julien, and walked in the direction of his house, anticipating a pleasant time with him, Madame, and my friend Johnson. As I neared the house who should I meet but Julien himself. Heavens what a change!
The dapper little man looked pale, shrunken, unshaved, and shabby. His eye had lost its brightness, he looked as if he had been on a booze. He trembled and looked as used up as a man who had spent a week in the tender arms of a Billingsgate fishwife.
'My dear friend,' said I, 'how are you? How is Madam?
How is Johnson?'
'Sucre — dam Madame; dam Johnson. Perfide' was his savage return. 'Pardon, my fren, I have a story to tell you, but we cannot talk here. Come, there is a cafe, let us go, and as Shakespeare says, 'unfold my tale.''
We went into the cafe, I called for some refreshment, and poor old Julien unfolded his tale.
'Ven you left me, my fren,' said he, 'I was ver sorry; I could not myself contain. I shed von two dear tear, but Madame she try and comfort me, and Johnson, sacref perfide! he made me vot you call jolly! We mix punch so dat I sip it and tink it a trink for de gods. He tell de funny story until I larf like one dam fool, and he tell de story vot you call smutty until I blush, but I larf and my member him stand like so much as bring back de days of my youthfulness. Madam love his company, ve have pleasant time altogether, he chaperon us to every place where ve get amusement, and all go happy and merry as you say as de bells of one marriage. Den, sacrel I get a letter from Paris; it tell me there is some pisiness of importance. I must go to Boulogne to see my agent, or I have one great loss. I feel my heart preak, but I must go. I said to myself I vill not take my vife avay just as she enjoy herself. I go; I settle my pisiness, I soon come pack, and in the meantime I leave my friend Johnson to amuse my vife. I have all trust; I have no fear; I have in my eyes no green; no jealousy, no suspicion. I bid my vife goot-bye. I tell her I shall not be long. I go avay and start for Boulogne. In the evening of that same day I call, before I take the boat, at my London agent, I think vot you call Hooray. A letter there from my agent tell me that all is arranged, I need not put an end to my holidays. Joy! I go home, and I am just going to knock at ze door ven I have what you call von happy thought. I vill go in through the back garden, catch my vife unawares, and give her von pleasant surprise. I go in, I reach the parlour, my vife not there; I go to the drawing room, my vife not there. I feel the tear come in my eye. Poor ting, I say. She so upset at my going away, she be overcome and go to her room. I go quietly to my room, and I knock at the door, you English are more rude, you would enter your vife's room at once. A Frenchman knows his vife not like to be caught perhaps doing von P. I hear von funny sound. I cannot help myself, I look through the keyhole. Sacrel I see Monsieur Johnson there on the bed, top of Madame Julien! I vait. Sacrel I look again. I see Madame Julien top of Monsieur Johnson! At last I shout — you perfide Anglais. Come here; open the door; unlock
