A Maid and a Million Men: the candid confessions of Leona Canwick, censored indiscreetly by James G. Dunton — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
A Maid and a Million Men: the candid confessions of Leona Canwick, censored indiscreetly by James G. Dunton
John Stuart Mill · en
“All right,” I agreed, and we turned our attention to a group of
soldiers at a near-by table who were beginning to warm up for a song.
They were singing verses from the famous “Parley Vous” song. I can only
repeat a few—but then, you probably know the rest, anyway:
“Mademoiselle from Aix-la-bains,
Parley-vous?
Mademoiselle from Aix-la-bains,
Parley-vous?
Mademoiselle from Aix-la-bains,
She gave the Yankees shootin’ pains!
Hinky dinky parley-vous?
“Mademoiselle from Neufchâteau,
Parley-vous?
Mademoiselle from Neufchâteau,
Parley-vous?
Mademoiselle from Neufchâteau,
Would kiss you thus and so and so ...
Hinky dinky parley-vous?
“Mademoiselle from Biarritz,
Parley-vous?
Mademoiselle from Biarritz,
Parley-vous?
Mademoiselle from Biarritz,
If you loved her too much, it made her have fits!
Hinky dinky parley-vous?
“Mademoiselle from Bar-le-duc,
Parley-vous?
Mademoiselle from Bar-le-duc,
Parley-vous?
Mademoiselle from Bar-le-duc,
The names of her lovers would fill a big book.
Hinky dinky parley-vous?”
The way they sang this song was for one man to solo the verse part and
everyone join in the “parley-vous” part. When it once got going, it went
on forever, the crowd joined in to swell the chanting “parley-vous” and
as soon as one soloist ran out of verses, someone else took over the
lead, and on it went. There was something about it that got you: you
couldn’t help but hum along with the melody, and if it continued long
enough you found your eyes closing and your senses slipping off into a
lull of sleep.
So it was this evening. The Captain broke in once to remark that he had
heard at least a hundred verses to that song and I replied that I
guessed there was a verse for every town in France and a few extra; then
we just had another drink and were content to listen to this Song of the
Cities of France.
I couldn’t begin to remember all the variations that we heard that
night, but here are some of them:
“Mademoiselle from the city of Vichy,
Just like the liquor that makes you feel itchy!”
“Mademoiselle from the Côte d’Or—
The Old Gray Mare ain’t the same no more!”
“Mademoiselle from Châteauroux—
Enough for her is too much for you!”
“Mademoiselle from Chamonix,
An Alpine maid with a bag full of tricks.”
“Mademoiselle from Armentières,
She hadn’t been loved for fifteen years.”
“Mademoiselle from Neufchâtel
A chest like a barn, a leg like a bell.”
“Mademoiselle from S.O.S.
A bottle of wine and she says ‘Yes.’”