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Updated: June 23, 2025
All the warmth of his idealism is concentrated upon a certain ‘Américain, Catholique et gentil-homme. . . ’” The smile which for a moment dwelt on his lips was not unkind. “At the same time he has a very good grip of the material conditions that surround, as it were, the situation.” “What do you mean?
"Yes," said the venturesome Américain in retort, "such as it was; assignats, liberanzas, bons Claiborne will give us better money than that when he starts his bank." "Hah! his bank, yes! John Law once had a bank, too; ask my old father. What do we want with a bank? Down with banks!" The speaker ceased; he had not finished, but he saw the apothecary.
"Ze great Kennedy, ze detectif Américain to put it tersely in our own vernacular, wouldn't it be a fool thing for me to appear at the Vesper Club where I should surely be recognized by someone if I went in my ordinary clothes and features? Un faux pas, at the start? Jamais!"
He wrote them to the Cafe Americain, to Bignon's, to Tortoni's, to the Maison Doree, to the Cafe Riche, to the Helder, to the Cafe Anglais, to the Napolitain, everywhere, everywhere. He wrote them to all the officials of the republican government, from the magistrates to the ministers. And he was happy, perfectly happy. One morning as he was starting out to go to the council it began to rain.
Our national vanity might be flattered by hearing that the phrase "L'oeil Américain" is used to describe an eye whose piercing vision is escaped by nothing, were we not told that it dates from the translation of Cooper's Leatherstocking tales into French, and has no reference, as "Natty Bumpo" would say, to "white gifts."
Romance to him means only an elaborate and circumspect winking at some perfectly obvious and duly checked little baggage; it means to him only a scarlet-cushioned seat along the mirrored wall of the Café Américain, a thousand incandescents, a string quartette sighing through "Un Peu d'Amour," a quart of "wine." For him, there is romance in the pleasure girls who sit at the tables touching St.
A peasant was drawing water at the pump, and the handle made a noise; a priest chatted with three French ladies who had come over from a neighbouring seaside resort. And then a woman in deep mourning emerged from a tiny shop and took her bicycle from against the wall and spoke to me. "Vous etes Americain, monsieur?" I acknowledged it.
Rod, Monsieur?" "How did you know that?" A dimple appeared near her mouth in either cheek. "You know, in the country, one knows everything," she said. "Au revoir," he said, starting up the stairs. "Mais, Monsieur. You should have told me. If I had known I should not have asked you to pay in advance. Oh, never. You must pardon me, Monsieur." "All right." "Monsieur est Americain?
"Ze great Kennedy, ze detectif Americain to put it tersely in our own vernacular, wouldn't it be a fool thing for me to appear at the Vesper Club where I should surely be recognised by someone if I went in my ordinary clothes and features? Un faux pas, at the start? Jamais!"
Finally he gradually uttered, with a thick accent, the following extremely impressive dictum: "C'est l'americain." I felt much pleased, and said "Oui, j'suis americain, Monsieur." He rolled half over backwards in his creaking chair with wonderment at such an unexpected retort.
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