Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/346

"Oh dear," said Francesca in a tone of deep depression, "I've got to write two letters in French."

"It is," I said, "a punishment for having wasted your time in early youth. During the hours nominally devoted to French you were thinking of hockey or bicycles or poetry. Instead of attending to the irregular verbs you were preparing a speech on the subjection of women. And now you can't play hockey and you don't want to bicycle and you're the despot of your household, but you can't write the simplest letter in the French language without groaning and tearing your hair."

"All that," she said, "is very eloquent, but it isn't very helpful."

"I do not pretend," I said, "to be a dictionary or a phrase-book. Short of that, if there is anything I can do you have only to appeal to my better nature and you will find me bubbling over with French of the most idiomatic kind. But tell me, to whom do you propose to write?"

"To Belgian refugees, of course. We must all do what we can to help them, poor things."

"Of course we must," I said; "but do you think our letters will help them much?"

"Well, they want to know things and we're bound to answer them."

"Quite true," I said; "but are you sure that our French will help to reconcile them to living in England? Might it not be of so English a quality that they would feel more than ever that they were amongst strangers? Couldn't we call in person and smile at them and say, 'Oh oui' in a friendly manner so as to make them think they're really at home? I merely throw out the suggestion, you know."

"You can leave it," she said, "where you threw it. It's no use to me. We've got to write these letters."

"Very well," I said, "let's get to work. How shall we begin?"

"'Chère Madame' would be all right, wouldn't it?"

"'Chère Madame' would be simply splendid if the lady is married."

"Married?" said Francesca. "She has been married twenty-four years and has had ten children."

"No one," I said, "could possibly be more worthy of all that is implied in 'Chère Madame'. Let us put it down at once before we forget it."

"Anyhow," said Francesca more cheerfully, "we've got started, and that's more than half the battle."

"Francesca," I said, "you never made a greater mistake in your life. The beginning of a letter in French is, no doubt, important, but it is the merest child's play compared with the end. Are you going to ask this mother of ten children simply to receive your salutations? Or dare you soar still higher and pray her to be well willing to agree the expression of your sentiments the most distinguished? Or to accept the assurance of your most high consideration? You think they're all pretty much the same, but they're not. There are heavy shades of difference between them and you can't help going wrong. Is it worth while to risk exposing your ignorance to a lady who has been married twenty-four years? Pause before it is too late."

"Well," said Francesca, "I can't help it. If ever I get so far in this blessed letter I shall just make a dash for it and ask her to agree whatever comes into my head first. It'll probably be my distinguished sentiments, because I've taken a fancy for that style. It's jolly to think one has such sentiments."

"All right," I said, "have it your own way, but don't blame me if when you next meet her your Belgian lady shows what the novels call evident signs of constraint."

"She won't worry about a little thing like that. She's the dearest old thing in the world, but she's in a great state about the chimney in her sitting-room, which is one of the most successful smokers ever built."

"Hurrah!" I cried, "now we've got the middle of the letter, and that makes it complete. Ramoneur is the French for sweep, so we'll write something like this:—

Chère Madame,
Je vous enverrai le ramoneur.
Agréez, Madame, mes sentiments distingués.

And then you'll sign it and send it off."

"Will that do?" said Francesca. Isn't it just a little too curt? They're our guests, you know, and we ought to do all we can to make them feel at home."

"Well," I said, "we could throw in a few words about the weather."

"But perhaps they don't worry about the weather in Belgium."

"Then it'll be something new for them. And you might add some neat little sentence about hoping that the children are all in good health."

"Neat little sentences," said Francesca, "don't grow on gooseberry bushes, but I'll do my best. That polishes off number one. Now we must consider number two. This time I have to answer a daughter. Somebody, it appears, has been good enough to indicate to Papa a place where he can procure himself cheaply a summer costume made to measure, and it pains them to see Mamma without a suitable dress at a moment when nature is adorning herself with her most beautiful attire. Can I say where Mamma can obtain a dress which will restore her peace of mind?"

"Francesca," I said, "this does not concern me. It is too sacred. All I can do is to suggest that couturière is a not inappropriate word. And this time you can finish up with the assurance of your highest consideration."

"It sounds haughty," said Francesca, "but I'll chance it."