It is impossible for me to convey in
words the charm of that delightful gaiete francaise, especially
amongst southern Frenchmen. It bubbles up as spontaneously as the
sparkle of champagne; they were all as merry as children, full of
little quips and jokes, and plays upon words. Our English "pun" is
a clumsy thing compared to the finesse of a neatly-turned French
calembour. They all three, too, had an inexhaustible supply of
those peculiarly French pleasantries known as petites
gauloiseries. I know that I have never laughed so much in my life.
It is only southern Frenchmen who can preserve this unquenchable
torrent of animal spirits into middle life. I was only seventeen;
they were from twenty to thirty years my seniors, yet I do not
think that we mutually bored each other the least. They did not
need the stimulus of alcohol to aid this flow of spirits, for,
like most Frenchmen of that class, they were very abstemious,
although the "Patron" always produced for us "un bon vieux vin de
derriere les fagots," or "un joli petit vin qui fait rire." It was
sheer "joie de-vivre" stimulated by the good food and that
spontaneous gaiete francaise which appeals so irresistibly to me.
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