_Interviewer._ As a keen student of your fascinating works, permit me
to render to you my respectful homage.
_Distinguished Foreigner in London._ Certainly. I observe that you
speak the French of the capital with fluency.
_Int._ You flatter me. I am only an ordinary journalist. Possibly you
prefer to converse in our local language?
[Illustration]
_D. F._ On the contrary, I have only recently acquired the English
word, "Yes." Curiously enough, this is my first voyage of discovery
to your shores. I had, of course, often heard of England, and your
literature is not unfamiliar to me. My secretary reads to me the works
of your popular poet, ROBERT BROWNING.
_Int._ Do you not, with your--er--limited knowledge, if I may so say,
of our language, find that writer's meaning somewhat obscure?
_D. F._ Oh no; for my secretary translates him into idiomatic French
verse at sight.
_Int._ M. ZOLA has also only recently discovered us. How do your
novelists find the necessary models for their English types?
_D. F._ Nothing simpler. Tradition, _voilà tout_. The Englishwoman,
with her large feet, projecting teeth, and execrable French--we know
her because we have always known her. It is not necessary to have seen
her in the flesh. Indeed, it is only a marvel to me that I find the
type so rare in its own country.
_Int._ Might I dare to ascribe such traditional views to the prejudice
of ignorance? Your Press, I believe, does not educate itself by
foreign travel.
_D. F._ I cannot speak for others, but personally, if I do not offend
the laws of courtesy by saying this in the city whose hospitality I
now enjoy, I detest your race. I regard you as insular.
_Int._ We cannot, of course, help being born on an island. But we
correct this defect by constant visits to the mainland, and from these
we have learnt a profound respect for the tastes of our neighbours.
_D. F._ I am greatly gratified by this. Nothing has impressed me so
favourably here as your cordial appreciation of our people. I met a
distinguished British novelist who was actually acquainted with the
literature of my own Provence!
_Int._ May I ask what other features of our comparatively inaccessible
island have attracted your notice?
_D. F._ Above all things else, the sinister silence of your city. On
the Stock Exchange, down Cheapside, among vendors of journals, you can
hear a pin drop. Everywhere the taciturnity of the tomb.
_Int._ And what of our institutions and types?
_D. F._ Nothing has impressed me so deeply as the Great Wheel at
Earl's Court. It is a monument of national ardour and aspiration.
This, and Mr. STANLEY, and your guardsmen, and your way of cooking
meat, have left the most indelible impression upon my sentiment and
constitution. I dislike the last two of them.
_Int._ In cooking, we freely yield you the saucepan. But how has our
military given you offence?
_D. F._ I object to the size of its chest, and its manner of occupying
the pavement. I have seen a guardsman in Whitehall against whom, in
the heyday of my youth, I should indubitably have projected my person.
_Int._ It would have been a rash and perhaps irreparable act. But tell
me more. Kindly hold up once again the veracious mirror, that we may
see ourselves as others see us. We are so apt to be blind to our own
national defects, unless the impartial observer, like yourself, throws
a flood of light upon our idiosyncrasies.
_D. F._ I should like a few more days in which to complete my study,
and verify my anticipations, of your interesting city. Meanwhile, let
me refer you to M. GABRIEL MOUREY'S new work--_Passé le Détroit_. The
Ulysses of our century, he has gained a wide knowledge of your race,
having been a fearless traveller in _L'Underground_, and seen some
of your most typical fogs. You may learn much from him. He is read
eagerly at home, where the thirst for books of romantic travel and
exploration grows hourly. I wish you the good day. _Yes._
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