"PUTTING ON THE HUG."
[During President CARNOT's tour he received at Aix-les-Bains "a delegation of children." One of these, clad in a Russian dress, offered him a bunch of flowers, repeating a stanza written for the occasion. M. CARNOT, amid cries of "Vive la France!" "Vive la Russie!" "Vive Carnot!" "Vive la République!" kissed the little girl, saying, "J'embrasse la Russie!">[
Yes—"Vive la France!"—and "Vive la Russie!" too.
Vive—why not?—everybody!
Called once, "Monsieur le Président Faute-de-Mieux"[2]
(By Punch, that foe of shoddy).
I fancy I have justified the name,
Ay, to the very letter.
I may not be a THIERS, but all the same,
France has not found a better.
Tall-talk is tedious, but one must not flinch
When asked the task to tackle;
And he's no Frenchman true who, at a pinch,
Cannot both crow and cackle.
Ah, Vive, once more, the Gallic Cock—and hen!
These Talking-Tours are trying,
But 'tis with windy flouts of tongue or pen,
We keep the French flag flying.
A sop for SAVOY neatly put, elicits
Such "double rounds of cheering."
"Vive CARNOT!" To be sure! My annual visits,
France to the Flag endearing
By sweet-phrased flattery of the Fatherland,
Are sure to swell our legions.
"I wish, France, to be thine!" The effect was grand,
In "Allobrogian" regions.
Vive Everything—especially la Blague!
(What should we do without it?)
Fraternity! the Fatherland! the Flag!—
I work them—never doubt it!
Then "La République" and "La Russie," linked,
Pair off, 'midst acclamations:
Yes, I proclaimed—and never winced or winked—
That "brotherhood of nations!"
"A delegation of young children," Ah!
And they were not the only ones.
"Men are but children of a larger—" Bah!
Wise and strong men are—lonely ones.
Most men—French-men—have touches of the child,
Fondness for show, fine phrases—
Pst! Here my rôle's not cynical, but mild,
And open as dawn-daisies.
"J'embrasse la Russie!" That was rather neat
For "Faute-de-Mieux," at any rate.
Wondrous the magic power of blague, and "bleat"
On Man—mouton degenerate!
That "Bête Humaine," as ZOLA dubs him. Gr—r—r!
The real brutes are braver;
The tiger, when in chase of prey, won't purr,
Nor will the Bear, then, slaver.
The Bear! Reminds me of a horrid dream
I had that night. A funny one,
But startling! I awoke with such a scream!
I dreamt some link (a money one?)
Bound me to a big Bruin, rampant, tall,
A regular Russian Shagbag,
In whose close hug I felt extremely small,
And squeezable as a rag-bag.
I, CARNOT, squeezable! 'Tis too absurd!
A President, and pliant!
But—in my dream—the raucous voice I heard
Of that grim ursine giant.
"Come to my arms! You'll find them strong and snug.
The North's so true—and tender!"—
And then that monster huge put on the hug!
I thought my soul I'd render.
A bear's embrace, like a prize-fighter's grip,
Is close as passion's clasping.
"Welcome!" he grunted. "I'll not let you slip!"
"Thanks! thanks!" I answered, gasping.
"J'em—brasse—la—Rus—sie!" Here my breath quite failed
In that prodigious cuddle.
'Twas but a dream—How was it sleep prevailed
My meaning so to muddle?
"J'embrasse la Russie!" It was neatly phrased
As MOHRENHEIM admitted,
A President, in doggerel stanzas praised,
Must be so ready-witted,
Yet mild Republican and Autocrat,
Hugging in friendly seeming,
Suggest that Someone may be cuddled flat—
At least in restless dreaming.
Footnote 2:[ (return) ]
See Cut so named, p. 279, Vol. 93, Dec. 17, 1887.