Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 July 1875 — The Tour Frenchman of the Day. [ARTICLE]

The Tour Frenchman of the Day.

Taine, in his “Notes on Psris," rives the following satirical picture of the Frenchman of the day: I “Bo it is; monsieur my nephew has a May just as any pretty woman. I watched mim as he moved about the room giving his orders. And, true enough, in what does he differ from a pretty woman? He is not so pretty, and that is about all; in everything else on the same level. His mina is occupied in about the same way; when he has thought over his toilet, his furniture, how to play his little parts of a young gentleman, he is at the end of his chapter of ideas. He has a wardrobe full of besots and bottines; for two years he oscillated from Renard to Dusautoy, to fix himself on Renard, unless perhaps he should return to Dusautoy. As for waistcoats, he is said to have a genius in that line; the first cutter at Ren&rd’s holds him in respect, And the trier-on with the fine figure, who serves for the shop advertisement, is not more proud of his form than he. 1 studied his bachelor neglige , his panta loons with socks attached, his charming summer-coat and w r aistcoat to match, and the exquisite mauve cravat, which he wore around his standing collar w ith its fresh, turned-down points. His chin is smooth shaven, but his ample whiskers are joined hy his mustache, and over his face there flit by turns a blase air and a look of self-satisfaction. Hi 6 hands are white and soft; on his pink fingers he wears a large ring; from time to lime he lifts his hands to let the blood run from them. Sometimes by a mechanical gesture he carries them to his ear, which is small; or to his collar, a chef <Vautre of taste and audacity; or to his hair, which lies in graceful wavy lines upon his temples. He understands his smile; he moderates it, or keeps it half-way between ease and ennui. He knows how to bend his neck, to cross bis legs, rest his chin in his hands, stretch himself in easy-chairs, listen to or say the sost insipid things without ayawn. My nephew, what an amiable creature you are! and how little you would have to learn if, all at once changed into a woman and lady of fashion, you were obliged to arrange your own head-dress, to wear false braids, to round out a, puffing skirt, and to twist yourself, with the requisite mixture of grace and decency, through the aflectations and nonsense of a reception. *> “ How does he pass his days? He gets up at nine, wraps himself in his dressinggown, and his servant brings him his chocolate. He reads the newspapers, smokes cigarettes, lounges till eleven, when he dresses. This is an operation of itself. He has had a large table set up in his dressing-room, seven feet long, wide in proportion, with three basins, I know not how many boxes, phials and looking-glasses. There are three brushes for head,'one for the beard, one for the mustaches, pincers to draw out hairs, plasters with which to stick those which are obstinate, pomades, essences, soaps. 1 went in; it was like an arsenal. After this he breakfasts, smokes again, turns over the leaves of a novel, and pays some visits. Last year he finished liis law-reading: that took two hours a day; he dragged his ball and chain with an air of fatigue; it was the last link of his university chain. Now he is iree and he is happy—eloing nothing, reading nothing. I believe that he has run over ‘La Vie de Jesus,’ but only that he may be able to talk about it, to be in the fashion. His great invention this year is a cane-head. He took to Verdier a dozen sticks which were sent me from Brazil, and in exchange he ordered this canehead, which has given him a reputation in the world. One day, in the early spring, he made a wager that he, with some twenty young men of his club, would go out together in white waistcoats, white coats, tall white hats. This expedition set the fashion, and he was not a little proud of his audacity and his success. “ About four o’clock he takes a turn in the Bois. He has a fair horse. He rides well, and does not look badly. Ordinarily he dines at the club. He generally gets home by midnight. Twice a week he goes to the theater: he prefers the Palais Royal. He is quite steady, as he said just now; he has no violent passions, nor temper even. Nearly all the young men are so nowadays; moderate in everything, even in their" follies. “What is he good for? Not an idea has he ever had of learning anything, of actine for himself, or,on his own judg ment. fepeak to him of a long voyage, even of pleasure—for instance, a tour to Jerusalem or Cairo —he makes a wry face. In his heart of hearts he would rather see one of Sechan’s decorations at the opera. 1 sent him over to London; he was bored to death by fogs and visits. When he found that the theaters and casinos of the place were only fit for counter jumpers, he came back in a hurry. He likes country parties well enough, and chateau life. He has quite a success in it, because he wears fresh gloves and dances well; his real preference is tor exquisite and heavy dinners, and those great arm-chairs with pitched backs in which digestion is so easy in the open air, aided by a cigar. At his age, men of my time were all crazy about politics and literature. I belonged to a society for the regeneration of the human race, and we had fisticuff fights at college over the ‘ Orientales’ of Victor Hugo. As for him he looks upon literature as he does upon love —it helps to pass an evening when there is nothing else to do with his evening. He likes amusing novels, but not those that are sad, or hard to understand. I have sometimes t&lked-to him of the choice of a career; he would resign himself to it, if necessary, as to any disagreeable labor, whatever it might be, no matter what; only he would not like ’anything away from Paris, nor too engrossing. He wants his evenings, his mornings, his Sunday, one day of absence each week, two months’ vacat ; on, and he says his digestion suffers when he has to work between the hours of meals, from eleven to five o’clock.” s