MAX O'RELL IN MAORILAND.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume IX, Issue 18, 30 April 1892, Page 448

MAX O'RELL IN MAORILAND.

BAILED UP AND PUMPED BY THE * GRAPHIC ’ EDITOR.

Thep.e is no doubt the predicament was an awkward one. The 'Frisco mail boat Monowai already berthed at the wharf, Max O’Rell on board, and the Graphic interview fiend non est. To miss the opportunity, to have nothing in the Graphic of so eminent a man, so capital a raconteur, so genial a humorist, it was not to be borne. The paste pot and scissors were impatiently put aside, and jamming his hat on bis furrowed forehead, the editor slid out to do the job himself. Half way up the wharf he met a well-built, rather portly, and decidedly nautical-looking gentleman, evidently a stranger from the curious way he looked about him. He was for all the world like some genial amateur sailor, some opulent steam yacht proprietor, and yet, as the man in the play says, those eyes, that mouth, those pincez nez, that nose, and above all that smile—yes, it must be the great man himself. Yet impossible ; this bluff sailor in officer’s peaked cap, pea-jacket and pants of aquatic serge, the great Max, the inimitable Blouet? It seemed absurd, and yet the likeness to the photographs was unmistakable. ‘Assume a virtue if you have it not,’ quoth the editor, and squaring up to the nautical gentleman, asked with reportorial cheek, ‘ Are you Mr Max O’Rell—l mean M. Paul Blouet?’ Next minute it was all over. A couple of flourishes of the hat, a semi-naval salute from ‘ Captain ’ O’Rell to follow, and the introduction was complete. Then the talking began. He is the most unfrenchified Frenchman you could possibly imagine. He speaks English with a very pronounced Yankee intonation, and with the veriest soupeon of French accent. Yet he is a true Frenchman in genial courtesy, intense in the celerity of his observations and judgments, and his keen sense of humour. He smiles with his eyes more than with his mouth, though that is continually twitching, and he seems to have a difficulty in restraining himself from saying a whole host of good things. They are, however, his capital, and must be carefully treasured. His thirst for knowledge is intense, and his questions always pertinent. ‘ Yes,’ he rattled away, ‘ we have had a charming trip, perfect weather, a captain who is courtesy and amiability itself—delightful—charming. A regular yachting tour it has been. I have, too, my ladies with me—my wife and my daughter, and of course they have made it more pleasant,’and he fairly beamed through his eye-glasses. ‘ What splendid fish were those I saw as I came up the wharf ! Sclinapper ? A comical name, but doubtless good to eat. Perhaps they will give us some for dinner. What did you say was the name of this street ? Queen street ? Oh, yes, New Zealand is loyal then I Now why can’t the Yankees take an example from your roads ?’ • Yankees take example from our roads !’

• Yes, this street is well paved, well kept. The streets in America, especially in Chicago, are fearful. Quagmires, bogs, ploughed fields —awful I I was once invited to dine with some citizens in Chicago. The roads were impassable ; the hosts were in despair. We could not get to the dinner, for we were all to go together. “ What shall we do with our roads ?” asked one. “ O’Rell here says they are worse than English ploughed fields.” Nobody had an answer, so at last I said, “ Well, gentlemen, everything in America ‘ licks creation.’ The best thing, the only thing you can do with your wretched roads is to boast of them. They are certainly the worst in creation.” I escaped with my life.’ The story loses much in the retelling. Recounted by the effervescing gentleman himself it was irresistible.

‘ Ah, here,’ he continued, * is the type of British old maid. They are übiquitous. One sees them everywhere. We have her on board. She writes letters—reams and reams of letters—about her impressions, and keeps a diary the size of a ledger. By the way, I want some cash—some English cash. Where can I get it ?’ ‘ Have you letters to any of our bankers ?’ • No, but I have what is better—money itself. I want to change some almighty dollars into the coin of this country —English money. Ah, there is my company’s office ’ (the man has the eye of a hawk), and he had slipped into the Union Company’s office before we could say Jack Robinson. • We,’ that is to say the Graphic, mounted guard. Presently rushed round the corner the interview fiend from the evening paper.

‘ Have you seen Max O’Rell ?’ he asked, excitedly. ‘ I have to interview him, and he has left the boat.’ * Young man,’ observed the editor, ‘ Max O’Rell is mine. I have him here safely caught.’ The reporter’s eyes glittered angrily through bis spectacles. The editor took pity. * I will share him with you ; you shall have a bit.’

Max came out, the reporter was produced, and the astute Frenchman immediately began to blarney. He praised the architecture of our streets. * Everything in Yankee land is square,’ he said. ‘ It’s all on one pattern. The States, or counties as you would call them, are square, the towns are divided into squares, the houses are square— ’ ‘ And the men ?’ chipped in a wee small voice, and O’Rell gave one of his chuckles. They are the quaintest chuckles. He begins to laugh with his eyes, and gradually it descends. His nose smiles distinctly—it does indeed—and then his mouth stops its perpetual twitching, and the mirthfulest, merriest, most mischievous and fun-loving smile takes its place, and you roar with laughter for sympathy. A most infectious smile ! It was strange how people recognised him. The chief of the police knew him at once. He walked right up to him and shook hands. At first the courteous Frenchman thought he recollected the jovial Inspector’s face, but was not the least abashed when told he had never seen him before. * I have enjoyed many a laugh at your books,’ said the officer. O’Rell bowed. By the way, he never gesticulates ; never attitudinises ; he does not talk with hands, shoulders, arras, as do many Gauls. He is the most self-contained Bohemian imaginable. Heaps of people introduced themselves. He took it all calmly, was courteous to all. A visit to the Post Office afforded the distinguished visitor the opportunity of trying one of our colonial products. He bought several stamps for letters to be posted and vainly endeavoured to stick them on. ‘ What stamps !’ he said. ‘ They won’t stick. New Zealand must then be famous for stamps that won’t stick.’ Then the questions the man asks—‘ What has happened since I left ? The Anarchists busy ? Ob, that’s nothing—at least in Paris it is not. Gladstone still alive and kicking? Well, well (this with a resigned air). Earthquakes— Unemployed—same old things. ‘ And how do you amuse yourselves here ? A people fond of religious diversion, you say. Oh yes, and what else ? Yachting? Well, that’s nice; and dancing? Delightful! Dancing, yachting, and religious dissipation—charming —excellent,’ and again he smiled.

It was distinctly unfair. Instead of letting himself be pumped O’Rell persisted in pumping. A leading question, however, brought him round. ‘My tour ? Well, I know nothing about it. lam a talking machine. lam going like any other machine to be delivered into the hands of Smythe (the much-travelled). He does what he likes with me. He will take me up and place me down from one platform on to another. I am wound up for say an hour or an hour and a-half. I open my mouth and talk for that time, then I close it, and until next time my duty is done. ‘Do I expect to come to New Zealand ? Most assuredly. I expect Smythe will bring me when the weather grows too hot in Australia. I shall be glad to come. It seems pleasant here.’ Then he launched out into praise of things in general—climate, the harbour, everything. He knows how to flatter. He intersperses his praise with kindly criticism. The taste of the butter is cleverly disguised. Another leading question put in with difficulty elicited another fact.

‘ I expect to be away about nine months from Paris. It may be longer. The contract is for nine months. If the business is exceptionally good there is a clause in the agreement by which the contract may be renewed. ‘ Shall I write a book ? I think not, but then who knows. I shall scarcely be long enough, I fear. What do you say, that’s nothing; men write books who come here, even for a fortnight? Ah, well, very good. I may. Why not? A man may write about an hour’s impressions. I may find time, but as I have said, there is no saying.’ A pleasing incident took place on the way back to the boat. A young and bewilderingly pretty young Yankee lady with two escorts stopped Mr Blouet. ‘ Wall, I want to shake your hands good bye ever so, though its real sad and vurry unpleasant,’ said the girl. • We,’ the editor, withdrew from earshot, but presently, to the infinite delight of passers by and in the very busiest part of Queen-street, the versatile Frenchman kissed and kissed most warmly and paternally the young lady, who blushed and looked ever so confused, but not ill pleased all the same.

‘ The captain’s privilege,’ said O’Rell, as the walk was resumed.

Asking hosts more questions, glancing at photos, at Maoris, and at everything and anything, the steamer wa 9 again reached, and the editor took his leave as an interchange of hand-kissing intimated the presence of the wife and daughter of the most interesting person who has called at Maoriland for some time.