SALUBRITIES ABROAD.
At last I have seen him!—the travelling Englishman, the English Milord of the French Farce—"Oah, c'est moa!" of the Journal Comique.
But if the farce Milord is grotesque, the English "Mees" is equally ridiculous. I met, the other day, a lady of Albion, who was strutting about with an enormous "handled" pince-nez raised to her eyes, while she expressed her opinion "that those foreigners really do dress so absurdly!"
Diary of a Day.—At all these Stations Thermales the pleasantest hours of the day are sacrificed to the interests of the band, the casinos, the cercle, and the evening amusements. Les Baigneurs sérieux ought not to require any amusement after 9·30, and by ten they should be in bed. Their hours for walking and other exercise should be very early in the morning, or late in the evening before dinner. The remainder of the day should be given up to baths, to drinking waters, déjeuner à la fourchette, and rest.
"L'Anglais pour rire."
Mees "O'Shocking!"
By the way, at the top of the daily menu at the Continental Hotel the déjeuner à la fourchette at 11 A.M. is styled "Lunch." Puller resents this as strongly as he does a waiter's answering him, "Yees, Sare," when he has given an order in his best French. Now this meal at 11 A.M. is not an English lunch, but is the French déjeuner à la fourchette. Is it becoming the common practice in hotels on the Continent? If so, the English will soon remember that they don't come abroad for lunch—they can "lunch" well enough at home—but they do come abroad for déjeuner à la fourchette, and, if they do not get it, they will stay away.
"It's confoundedly insulting!" exclaims Puller, indignantly. "Do they think we don't know what a déjeuner à la fourchette means? But, dash it, you know," he goes on, in the tone of a man whom a very little more of this sort of treatment would disgust with life generally, "they're making everybody abroad so English." Then he repeats, "So English, you know," in imitation of some American burlesque actor, and this has the effect of restoring his good humour. He thinks the quotation so apt and so humorous, that he expands in chuckles, and goes out of the salle-à-manger doing a step, and repeating, "So English, you know!" The French, Spanish, and the visitors of various nationalities, shake their heads, shrug their shoulders, and evidently hope he is harmless. The waiters smile, and this reassures the guests.
The special merit of the Royat Drinking Waters and Baths consists in the large amount of iron contained in them. Over the gates of the Park at Royat, where the Etablissement and Buvettes are situated, should be inscribed, for the benefit of English visitors, "Washing and Ironing done here."
The Cravate au Moulin.
The Uncertain Bather.—My acquaintance Mordel is another variety of the genus baigneur. He is dissatisfied only with himself. He is perpetually having a row with himself. The Hotel is good enough, he says; the Doctor is all that can be desired. The baths and waters are managed very well; but the question is, he says to himself, "Was I right in coming here at all? Ought I not to have gone to Aix? or to Vichy? or to Homburg? or to Mont Dore, or to La Bourboule?" "Well, but"—I say to him, with a view to reconciling him to himself—"are the waters doing you good?" He reluctantly admits that they are not doing him any harm—as yet. In this state of uncertainty he remains during the whole course of treatment, and, to the last, he is of opinion that he ought to have gone to some other place, no matter where.
It is a real pleasure to see Smith, of the Colosseum Club, meet Brown, also a member of the same sociable institution. He greets Brown heartily,—never was so glad to see anybody. Yet they are anything but inseparables in London; and it certainly was not owing to Smith's good offices that Brown was elected to the Colosseum. Brown has just arrived at Royat, and is not so effusive at the sight of Smith, as Smith, who has been here ten days, is on beholding Brown. "Thompson's here, so's Jones," Smith tells Brown, beamingly. "Are they?" returns Brown, who recognises the names as those of eminent Colosseum men. "And now," exclaims Smith, heartily, "in the evening we can have a rubber!" This was why Smith was so overjoyed at meeting Brown; not because he was an old friend, not even because he was a member of the same social set, but because he would make a fourth! "You'll want a rubber," adds Smith, cajolingly. "If he does," interposes Puller, in excellent spirits this morning, "he'll have to go to Aix-les-Bains. They don't do the massage here. Aix is the place for Rubbers." The joke falls among us like a bombshell, and the group disperses, each wondering how long Puller is going to remain at Royat. His movements may govern our own!
Uneventful! General Boulanger has called here to-day. No, not on me, but on a noble English poet, who is staying at the Continental. From the portrait in the Salon I should have expected a fine fellow of six feet high, rather Saxon and swaggery. Had he resembled his portrait I should not have believed in him. Now I do. There is hope for Boulanger. He is a short man. Napoleon was a short man. "Il grandira!"
Encore des Pensées.—"There is a time to talk, and a time to be silent." The first occasion is, when I have something to say, and an audience to say it to; the other is, when I don't feel well, and hate everybody equally. Puller, when high-spirited, cannot understand this. Undergoing these Royat Waters, Puller and myself are on a see-saw. When he is up, I am down, and vice versâ. After trying to breakfast together, and to be mutually accommodating, which is done in the most disagreeable manner possible, we separate, on account of incompatibility of temper. Temporarily our relations are strained. This only applies to the morning. I want to be quiet in the morning, and detest early liveliness. Jane and myself, in future, breakfast together at our own time, and at our own table, in a corner. (And this is also within the first seven days of the traitement.)
The dear Old Things who won't have a Door or Window open in our small Salle-à-manger.
By the way, what a chance of réclame I lost on the occasion of Boulanger's visit. It never occurred to me till too late. I ought to have been at the front door, awaiting his departure. At the moment of his leaving, I should have left too. Then the report could have been spread about that I had "gone out with" General Boulanger. How astonished M. Ferry would have been. "Quite a Fairy tale for him," says Puller, who wishes to exhibit his acquaintance with the proper French pronunciation of M. Ferry's name.
The Twenty-Second Morning.—I shall give myself three days' leave of absence, and revisit La Bourboule and Le Mont Dore. These two places are higher up in the mountains of Auvergne.
La Bourboule Revisited.—Very beautiful the line of country between Royat and La Bourboule. But the latter is an out-of-the-way place as compared with Royat, which has the great advantage of being within a quarter of an hour's ride, or walk, of such a real good town as Clermont-Ferrand, whereas La Bourboule and Mont Dore are an hour-and-a-half's drive each of them from their own station, Laqueuille, which is nothing more than a mere country railway station, with a simple buffet, and four hours from Clermont-Ferrand, which I suppose is the market town, and certainly the only place of any importance to which one can go, "there and back again," in a long day.
Of course the descendants of Balbus, who "murum ædificavit" in our old Latin Grammar—(Are Balbus and Caius still at it in the Grammars of the present day?)—could not leave La Bourboule alone, and villas have been springing up in every direction. Shops, too. Already one side of a Boulevard has been commenced, represented by half-a-dozen superior shops, one of which, it is needless to say, is a sweet-stuff emporium, and another a Tabac. Then they've a Hotel de Ville at La Bourboule. In our time there was only a solitary Gendarme, in full cocked-hat and sword, who, as an official, was a failure, but, as a playmate of the children, and a friend of the bonnes, was a decided success. He looked well, and inspired the stranger on his arrival. But the feeling of awe soon wore off. Perhaps he, also, was a baigneur. Invalid Gendarmes might be usefully employed in this manner, their imposing appearance at various watering-places would inspire confidence, while they might be benefiting their physique. Policemen could be also effectively used in this way. "Recruiting Sergents-de-ville" they might be called, engaged in recruiting their own health.
A storm of rain and wind swept us out of La Bourboule—we subsequently heard that there was snow at Mont Dore—and drove us post-haste back to Royat warmth—comparative warmth, that is, for they were having two or three cold, rainy, and gusty days at Royat, too, preceding the day fixed for the Eclipse. But such weather is bearable at Royat, if you have once experienced it at La Bourboule. The valley of Royat is fairly high up, and well sheltered; but as to the situation of La Bourboule and Mont Dore, one may say, reversing the quotation, "And in the highest heights a higher still!" "Only not, by any means still," says Puller, who knows the country, and whom no inducement will lead away from Royat.
I have mapped out a short tour by way of return from Royat, which is at the disposition of anyone who is preparing to make himself a baigneur and a titulaire next season.
My itinéraire is this: London to Paris, taking care to travel by the Empress from Dover to Calais. Inquire beforehand at the L. C. and D. Station. Victoria. Go by the A.M. Dine in Paris at 8·30. In a forthcoming little work I contemplate benefiting the travelling public generally with a few useful details, of which these are only hints. Paris next morning, to Clermont-Ferrand, for Royat. At Royat, I should naturally recommend the Hotel I know best. This is the Continental. It may change hands next year; if it changes hands, it changes heads at the same time, and my advice may or may not be useful.
Stay at Royat for cure; visit—as excursions easily done in a day, when you're in fettle—La Bourboule and Mont Dore. For all information, ask the most civil of men, and the most obliging, the agent, who has an office in a line with the few shops situated on the upper terrace of the Parc. He will tell you everything—and be delighted to do it.
By the way, when once you've settled your tour, take my advice, and visit Messrs. Cook, of Ludgate Circus. Provide yourself with all your tickets beforehand. It will save you a heap of trouble afterwards. Too many Cooks can't spoil your journey, as you will take them on the "play or pay" system, and it binds you to nothing, except, in case of not using them, a slight discount; whereas, on the other hand, it helps the person who is at all "infirm of purpose" to make up his mind, and keeps him to his original plan, which any experienced traveller will agree with me in saying, is, nine times out of ten, the wisest and best course to pursue. Of this more anon in my forthcoming parvum opus on this and cognate subjects.
Royat (if you are a baigneur, recommended here by your Doctor) is an easy place to get to, and to get away from. My friend Skurrie, who, immediately he has arrived at any place, passes all his time there in consulting guide-books, maps, Bradshaws, Cook's tourist books, and local indicateurs, with a view to see how he can best get away, comes to me with a paper full of closely-written details, and says, "Here's my plan:—Royat, Lyon (why do we put an 's' on to it, and make it 'Lyons?' it would be as sensible for the French to call Liverpool 'Liverpools,' or Manchester 'Manchesters.' And why can't the French call London 'London,' instead of 'Londres?')—then Aix-les-Bains (for a massage, and an excursion or two) ... then Geneva. This is, if you've got time to spare. If not, in a week you can make a really refreshing tour by pushing on from Lyon to Geneva, to Bâle, to Heidelberg, to Mainz, down the Rhine to Cologne, then Antwerp, Flushing, Queenborough. This will complete your week, and you will return to England with a store of variety to last you a year."
Valuable Mem. for a certain Architect in his next Building Operation.—"To construct a much-more-Exiter Theatre than the one recently destroyed by fire."