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- 11299
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- 2026-01-30T03:48:16.153Z
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- 11242
- text
- THE MARQUIS DE GRANDVIN
A countryman of Lafayette and Bartholdi, this gentleman is not unknown
to some Americans, more especially perhaps, to some of us New Yorkers.
He is an honorary member of most of the Fifth Avenue clubs, anything but
unwelcome at their chance gatherings, while at their premeditated
banquets his appearance--and he always happily times it--is commonly
hailed by a plausive clapping of hands simultaneous with the vocal
salutation. But a person of genial temper is not only very likely to be
a popular man’s man, but also, and beyond that, a favourite with the
ladies. For it is something less venial than mere error in the old
philosopher penally branded with a horrible name--misogynist, I
think--and a soggy soul he must have been; it was something less venial
than error in him to say, as he did, that women, however apt to that
grand passion which makes the one divine rapture of life, have
nevertheless a constitutional incapacity for good-fellowship, that is,
in the masculine acceptation of the term. Assuredly, Hymen knows, too
few of them practically demonstrate their capacity for it. Some musky
dew-drops from the Garden expelled Eve unwillingly carried away
quivering in her hair. More than man, she partakes of the paradisiac
spirit. Under favourable conditions evincing a quicker aptitude to
pleasure than man. How alert to twine the garland for the holiday! How
instinctively prompt for that faint semblance of Eden, the picnic in the
greenwood!
Now there is something in the fine, open, cheery aspect of the Marquis
de Grandvin that conveys a thrill to these frames so exquisitely strung
to happiness. Not invariably running the risk of incurring dark clouds
from their lords, the dames and sisters of the Benedicks of the clubs,
at their balls and parties, cast upon the Marquis that kindled merry
glance which, according to the old French epic whose theme is
Roncesvalles, the ladies bestowed upon Roland; not alone smitten by the
fame and taken with the person of that noble accredited nephew of
Charlemagne, but rightly inferring him to be not more a David against
the Saracen than a champion against still more flagitious infidels,
impugners of the sex. Yes, it is by instinct that all superior women
recognise in this gentleman a cordial friend. Nor do they approve him
the less for his friendly alliance with his charming sphere. This is a
verity not out of keeping with another, namely, this feminine
appreciation of the Marquis, gracious though it be, hardly extends to
such of his qualities as partake of the Grand Style, as one may say, the
highly elevated style; a style apparently demanding for its due
appreciation a robust habit, in short, the masculine habit. For the most
part, it is for his less exalted qualities that the ladies approve de
Grandvin. They approve him for the way in which he contributes to those
amenities and gaieties in which the sexes upon common ground
participate, and wherein, thanks to their gallantry of good-nature, the
countrymen of the Marquis de Grandvin have always excelled.
The foregoing hints as to what is the standing in America, or at least
among some of us Americans, of the genial foreigner here ushered into a
regard less exclusive; that, by patriotic intention goes before the
recital, show that not alone in his own sweet France are the blended
suavity and power of his genius estimated at their just rate, but that
in the high circles of every European capital he is received with even
more than good-will.
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