Does the average Frenchman still pinch pretty girls in a crowd?

Foreword from the original edition of "The Frenchman", published in 1949

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THIS BOOK was not planned at all.

Not long ago in New York I went with my wife, Yvonne, to a musical comedy. Musical comedies always make me hungry and, after the show, we had a bite in a restaurant. On leaving it, I found myself face to face with a horse-faced gentleman. With the feeling of seeing a dear friend again, I seized his hand and shook it violently.

"Bon soir, Fernandel! [Hi, Fernandel]," I cried. "Comment ça va [What's cooking?]," and I pressed him against my chest. "I am here only for one night," Fernandel answered with a forty-eight-tooth smile. "Tomorrow I return to Canada. But before I leave for France, I'll stop again for a day in New York."

I stopped slapping his back, blushed, stuttered a polite "Good night," and disappeared with extraordinary speed. ... I had suddenly realized that I had never met him before. Seeing Fernandel innumerable times on a movie screen had tricked me into the illusion that he was one of my oldest friends. On our way home, Yvonne, who has been my inspiration during my entire life, started to inspire me again. "You must photograph him," she said. "Life will print his pictures."

"He is much too unknown here," I answered. "His face will never interest twenty million readers."

"So make it interesting," Yvonne continued to inspire me. "O.K.," I exclaimed suddenly, "I shall interview him but he will answer my questions with his face only."

A difficult time was ahead for me. I had to find the right questions. (I am a handy man with the camera, but the four mother tongues in my mouth are something of an impediment to my speech and writing.)

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Yvonne would scream in her sleep: "Who is it?"

"It is I," I would answer grammatically and gently. "I just found another question for Fernandel and am writing it down."

Finally the great moment came. Fernandel stopped for a day in New York and for an hour in my studio. I surrounded him with strob lights and took out my Rolleiflex. "Do you speak English?" I asked. "Not one word," Fernandel answered. "Why are you so pleased about it?"

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