One laughs with tears in one's eyes. One
moment confounded with the absolute childhood of the simplicity, in
the next one is a little afraid of the keen edge of the shrewdness.
This call gave me an insight into a French circle which both amused
and delighted me. Coming home, M. Belloc enlarged upon Beranger's
benevolence and kindness of heart. "No man," he said, "is more
universally popular with the common people. He has exerted himself
much for the families of the unfortunate deportes to Cayenne." Then he
added, laughing, "A mechanic, one of my model sitters, was dilating
upon his goodness--'What a man! what sublime virtue! how is he
beloved! Could I live to see his funeral! _Quelle spectacle! Quelle
grande emotion!'"_
At tea, Madame M. commented on the manners of a certain English lady
of our acquaintance.
"She's an actress; she's too affected!"
Madame Belloc and I defended her.
"Ah," said M. Belloc, "you cannot judge; the French are never natural
in England, nor the English in France. Frenchmen in England are stupid
and cross, trying to be dignified; and when the English come to
France, it's all guitar playing and capering, in trying to have
_esprit.
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