TOO MANY BACHELORS

Southland Times, Issue 18827, 21 May 1920, Page 2

TOO MANY BACHELORS

PLAIN SPEAKING FROM THE FRENCH. PARIS, March 18. Bachelors are having an unenviable time in France to-day (says the correspondent of the Daily Mail). I bethought me of a bachelors’ club at which I had spent pleasant evenings before the war. There were ten members. Each was extremely well-to-do and enjoyed life. Each had his fashionable flat, ran two or three useful horses, handled with skill and enthusiasm speedy cars, fenced, travelled, went everywhere, and knew exerybody, and flatly declined to imperil his good time by anything so banal as marriage. They were quite determined never to marry. I rang up one of them yesterday. Celestin is now thirty-four and the annual turnover of his various businesses averages well over a quarter of a million. He picked up a Croix de Guerre during the war. We agreed to lunch at a pleasant old hahnt where the marvel of the cooking constantly causes a host to forget his social duties. As a bachelor what did it matter? -Celestin was friendliness itself but curiously embarrassed. A fine car drew up at the entrance. From it emerged a young and exquisitely dressed woman. She came straight to our table. “My wife,” murmured Celestin.

Before I had recovered from the shock it had transpired that there were already three little Celestins. I was shown a photograph by a ridiculously proud father. Strangely enough I found myself murmuring; “A splendid thing for France.” At once young Madame France replied, “Exactly/ said she. “We can’t afford to have our young men leading empty, selfish lives now. We have got to pull France together again, and one way to do it is to give her fine, strong children. I don’t think you in England yet realise what the losses in France have been, nor the leeway we have got to make up. If you did there would be a great deal less of this political estrangement and jealousy which sometimes seems to make peace very much more difficult than war. We should all get together over our babies and forget our small racial differences in the great common human interest.’ She smiled adorably. “Babies,” she said, “ matter more than treaties.” “But,” I asked, “what about the Bachelors’ Club?” We went through the names. All had come through ■•with only small hurt and all had done bravely. Only one remained unmarried. “My husband,” said ,young Madame France “was the last one.” Celestin looked quite uncomfortable. “Frankly, old chap,” said he, “we have to recognise that to become herself again France has got to have more Frenchmen. The war has taught us to look facts in the face. We have discarded a lot of old artificialties and shams.” I looked at the two splendidly healthy young people. Celestin guessed my thoughts. “France will be all right,” he said. “We are leading the right kind of lives. Lots of work and fun and a jolly home for the centre of it all. And, of course, the babies.” Albert is the sole survivor of the Bachelors’ Club. “He won’t be a bachelor much longer." said young Madame France, and she wore a most determined expression. We had reached the office. “By the way,” said Celestin suddenly to me, "I suppose you are the same old hardened bachelor you used to be?” “As a matter of fact,” I replied, “I am on my honeymoon.”