You see, my friend? It is now my profession, every afternoon for three
hours, to join the promenade; to display my 'at; to make fast in
the minds of the people 'ow fortunate a discovery is the anti-fat of
Monsieur Blinn.
Monsieur, I am always the gentleman. Am I forced into a vulgar role?
Well, then, there is something about me that redeems it from vulgarity.
I am a movable advertisement, but none the less I am an advertisement of
dignity. Those clothes they furnish, I 'ave made under my own direction.
I adorn my foot in the most poetical of boots. Only a Frenchman might
'ave created my coat. My trousers are poems. I am dressed with that
inspiration of elegance which only a man of my imagination might devise.
Monsieur, I am always the artist. That 'at, I nevaire let 'im go up with
a pop like a jacking-jump. 'E is not to startle the most sensitive of
ladies. W'en 'e arise, 'e arise slowly. 'E is majestic in 'is movement.
'E ascend with gravity. 'E go up with dignity.
For three hours each day, I thus set aside my finer emotions. And all
the town smile; and many 'undreds rush to buy the anti-fat of Monsieur
Blinn. 'Ow is it that the Widow Flanagan----
Curses upon the perfidy of woman! Do not 'old me, I say! Let me go! I
will leap from your window to the stones below! Well, I will restrain
myself. Yes, I will 'ave a drink. _Merci!_
'Ow is it that the Widow Flanagan does not perceive that I thus make of
my 'ead a billboard three hours each day? Monsieur, all Frenchmen are of
an originality w'en driven to it by fate, and not the least of them am
I! To 'er I am still the poor but 'andsome artist. It is in the parlours
of the agent of advertising that I dress myself, I don the 'at, each
day. I wear before my eyes a thick spectacles; I 'ide my black 'air
beneath a gray wig; I 'ave shave my own beard and each day put on
moustache and royal of a colour the same with the wig. There is no
danger that the grave foreigner, so courteous, so elegant, so much the
statesman, who condescend to advertise the anti-fat of Monsieur Blinn,
shall be--shall be--w'at you call 'im?--spotted by the Widow Flanagan.
She does not connect 'im with the 'andsome artist who in'abit 'er
skylight chamber. To do so would be to kill my 'opes. For love is not to
be made ridiculous.
I prosper. I 'ave money each week. I eat. I acquire me some clothes
which are not the same with those worn by the employee of Monsieur
Blinn. I buy me a silk 'at which 'ave no clockwork in 'is inside. I
acquire the--w'at you call 'im?--the front. I dine at the café of the
Widow Flanagan beyond the street. I chat with the Widow Flanagan w'en
I pay my check. Monsieur, the Widow Flanagan at las' know the 'andsome
Frenchman exist! The front, 'e work like a charm. 'E give the genius
beneath 'im the chance to show w'at 'e can do. The front, 'e make--'ow
you call 'im?--'e make good.
'Ave I said enough? You are my friend; you see me, w'at I am. Is it
possible that the Widow Flanagan should look upon me and not be of a
flutter throughout? I 'ave said enough. She see me; she love me. With
women, it is always so!
The day is name; we will marry. Already I look forward to the time that
I am no longer compelled to the service of the anti-fat of Monsieur
Blinn. Already I indulge my fancy in my 'appiness with the beautiful
Widow Flanagan, whose 'usband 'ave fortunately die and leave 'er so ver'
well fix. But, _hélas!_
Grasp me! Restrain me! Again my grief 'ave overpower! 'Ave you a
rough-on-rats in the 'ouse? 'Ave you a poison? Yes, you are my friend.
Yes, I will restrain myself. Yes, I will 'ave a drink. _Merci!_
The day is name. The day arrive. I 'ave shave. I 'ave bathe. I am 'appy.
I skip; I dance; I am exalt; all the morning I 'urn a little tune--O
love, love, love! And such a widow--so plump and so well fix!
The wedding is at the 'ome of Madame Flanagan. Meantime, I am with a
friend. The hour approach. The guests are there; the priest is there;
the mother of the Widow Flanagan, come from afar, is there. We arrive,
my friend and me. It is at the door that we are met by the mother of
the Widow Flanagan. It is at the door she grasp my 'and; she smile, and
then, before I 'ave time to remove my 'at----
Accursed 'at! Restrain me! I will do myself a mischief! Well, yes, I
will be calm. I will 'ave a drink. _Merci_, my friend.
I see 'er face grow red. She scream. She lift 'er and as if to strike
me. She scream again. I know not w'at I must think. The Widow Flanagan
she 'ear 'er mother scream. She rush downstairs. I turn to the Widow
Flanagan, but she 'as no eyes for me. She is gazing on my 'at. Monsieur,
then I know. I 'ave got the wrong one in dressing; and I feel that
accursed thing are lifting itself up to say to my bride and her mother: