r as I can judge she sang
disgustingly. The whole charm of her 'art' lay in her kicking up her
legs on every suitable occasion, and not being embarrassed when
people walked into her dressing-room. She usually selected translated
vaudevilles, with singing in them, and opportunities for disporting
herself in male attire, in tights. In fact it was--ough! Well, I ask
your attention. As I remember now, a public ceremony took place to
celebrate the opening of the newly constructed bridge. There was a
religious service, there were speeches, telegrams, and so on. I hung
about my cherished creation, you know, all the while afraid that my
heart would burst with the excitement of an author. Its an old story and
there's no need for false modesty, and so I will tell you that my bridge
was a magnificent work! It was not a bridge but a picture, a perfect
delight! And who would not have been excited when the whole town came to
the opening? 'Oh,' I thought, 'now the eyes of all the public will be
on me! Where shall I hide myself?' Well, I need not have worried myself,
sir--alas! Except the official personages, no one took the slightest
notice of me. They stood in a crowd on the river-bank, gazed like sheep
at the bridge, and did not concern themselves to know who had built
it. And it was from that time, by the way, that I began to hate our
estimable public--damnation take them! Well, to continue. All at once
the public became agitated; a whisper ran through the crowd,... a
smile came on their faces, their shoulders began to move. 'They must
have seen me,' I thought. A likely idea! I looked, and my singer, with a
train of young scamps, was making her way through the crowd. The eyes of
the crowd were hurriedly following this procession. A whisper began in a
thousand voices: 'That's so-and-so.... Charming! Bewitching!' Then it
was they noticed me.... A couple of young milksops, local amateurs
of the scenic art, I presume, looked at me, exchanged glances,
and whispered: 'That's her lover!' How do you like that? And an
unprepossessing individual in a top-hat, with a chin that badly needed
shaving, hung round me, shifting from one foot to the other, then turned
to me with the words:

"'Do you know who that lady is, walking on the other bank? That's
so-and-so.... Her voice is beneath all criticism, but she has a most
perfect mastery of it!...'

"'Can you tell me,' I asked the unprepossessing individual, 'who built
this bridge?'

"'I really