_To those about to travel_ via _Dover and Calais_.--Ask when _The
Empress_ makes the journey. Something like a boat, and the day our
party went by her she did the crossing in the hour, and I won't
positively swear it wasn't a minute or so under that time. There's a
crossing-sweeper for you! The Empress of the Sea! Mind you it was a fine
day, and what I should say would be considered a calm sea, though there
were several sufferers.
If not in a hurry--and who can hurry in such weather?--the easiest
travelling is by the 11 A.M. from Victoria; admirable _Empress_ for the
crossing; and a good twenty-five minutes or more for one of the best
buffet-luncheons in France. Stay the night in Paris, and off to your
Royat, your Aix, or wherever it may be, as early as possible.
_At the Paris-Lyon Station, en route for Royat._--Owing to the gentle
influence of Colonel WATERS, attached to the L. C. & D. corps in Paris,
and to the indefatigable exertions of his lieutenant in uniform, GUSTAV
HERLAN, the P. L. & M. Company have consented to put a _lit-salon_
carriage on to their day-train as quite an exceptional concession to an
invalid, who might be supposed to have thus addressed them:--
Pity the sorrows of a gouty man,
Whose trembling limbs have brought him to your door,
Who asks you to oblige him with--you can--
A simple _lit-salon_ and nothing more.
The perfect comfort of this arrangement for a long journey is worth the
price including the _supplement_, which I am paying when a cheery voice
cries, "Hallo! old chap," and I recognise PULLER, whom I haven't seen
for some time. I return his greeting heartily. "You've got a _coupe
reserve_?" he exclaims gleefully, and literally skipping for joy. I
never saw a man in such spirits. He is not absolutely young, nearer
forty than thirty for example, looking so wonderfully fresh, that
turn-down collars and a jacket would suit him perfectly. He is as
clean-shaved as a Benedictine Monk or a Low Comedian. He says of
himself--he is the waggish companion to whom I alluded in my previous
notes--"I am well preserved in high spirits." He insists on paying the
extra seat and _supplement_. Cousin JANE (again going to Royat for the
Caesar Baths) says she shall be delighted, and so PULLER is to come with
us. Certainly am delighted to see PULLER. Will he have his things
brought here? He will, "_a l'instant!_"--he pronounces it "_ar long
stong_," and roars with laughter as if he had delivered himself of the
rarest witticism. Then he skips off down the platform, waving an
umbrella in one hand and a stick in the other. Suddenly PULLER'S social
characteristics all flash across me. I haven't seen him for years, and
had forgotten them. I recollect _now_, he is what they call "an
inveterate punster," and loves when abroad (though an accomplished
linguist) to speak the language of the country in which he may be
temporarily sojourning with a strong English accent; it is also a part
of his humour to embellish his discourse with English idioms literally
translated,--or, _vice versa_, to give French idioms in colloquial
English; so that on the whole his conversational style, when in foreign
parts, is peculiar. The impression left in my memory years ago of
PULLER, is that he is a wonderfully good-natured fellow unless a trifle
puts him out, when he flares up suddenly into red heat; but this is
seldom, and he cools down directly if allowed to stand. When he is not
in the highest possible spirits he is an agreeable companion, as he can
give some interesting, but utterly untrustworthy, information on most
subjects, and, when this comes to an end, he falls asleep suddenly,--he
does everything suddenly,--but, as I have since ascertained, does not
snore. When at his office in London he is the second partner of an
eminent firm of Solicitors with a varied and extensive business. For a
safe and sound legal opinion in any difficult matter, specially on the
Chancery side, there is no one to whom I would sooner go myself, or
recommend a friend than JAMES PULLER, of HORLER, PULLER, PULLER (J.),
BAKER AND DAYVILLE. For the greater part of the year JAMES PULLER is
hard at work, and is gravity itself, except on certain social and
festive occasions. But in vacation-time he gives up Law and goes in for
Lunacy. "I feel," he says, when he returns, still capering on the
platform, this time with his stick in one hand and his hat in the other,
"I feel like a school-boy out for a holiday," and, allowing for the
difference of age and costume, he looks the character.
Travelling is very tiring; so is rising early in the morning (which is
included in the process of travelling) after a night spent in fitful
dozing, one's rest being broken by nervous anxiety as to whether the
waiter will remember to call one at the cruel hour of 6.30, or not, and
determining to be up at that time exactly, and if he doesn't appear
punctually, to ring for him to bring the bath and the boots; then
preternatural wakefulness, then the drowsiness, then the painful
emptiness, then the necessity for extraordinary energy and bustle,--all
this fatigues me so much, that when at last I find myself in a
comfortable railway-carriage, I sink back, and prepare to make up for
the lost sleep of the previous night.
PULLER has been travelling all night right through, yet he is now as
fresh as the proverbial lark. He is smoking. He came up smoking. I am a
smoker, but at an early hour on a hot day, and comparatively
unbreakfasted, I do not like the smell of the last half-inch of a strong
and newish cigar such as PULLER is now smoking. He is sucking at this
last morsel of it as if it were the only one he should take (I wish it
were) for another month, and as if it went to his heart to part with it.
"Don't you smoke your cigars rather short?" I ask, mildly, by way of a
hint.
"No," he replies, quickly; "I smoke them rather long. Had him there,
eh?" he says playfully, turning to Cousin JANE, who, I regret to say,
encourages him with an appreciative smile. After his fit of chuckles has
subsided (in which I do not join), he takes off his hat _a la
francaise_, and addresses himself to Cousin JANE.
"If Madame does not oppose herself to that I shall smoke."
JANE graciously returns, "Oh dear no, I do not mind smoke," which isn't
at all what I want her to say on this occasion. PULLER throws away what
is left of his cigar, and, producing an enormous case, offers me what he
calls "a beauty,"--very big, very dark one, with a bit of red and gold
paper wrapped round its middle, as if it were in a delicate state of
health and might suffer from rheumatism,--but I decline it, saying
pointedly, "I can't stand smoking so early, and before breakfast."
"Oh," he returns in an offhand manner, "can't you? I can smoke any time,
it doesn't affect _me_. Besides, I had a first-rate breakfast at the
fork, and spoon too, at the buffet,"--he pronounces this word as written
in English--this is his fun (i.e.__, the fun of a high-spirited
Solicitor on a holiday), and forthwith he lights the big cigar, changes
his seat so as to face us both, and then commences a conversation about
all sorts of things, seasoned with his jokes and comic French, at which
he laughs himself uproariously, and appeals to me to know if it,
whatever the joke may be, "Wasn't bad, was it?" And when I beg him to
spare some of his witticisms, as he'll want them for the friends he's
going to meet at Royat--(thank Heaven, he _is_ going to meet
friends!)--he only says, "Oh, there's lots more where these came from,"
and off he goes again. Fortunately he turns to Cousin JANE, and
instantly I close my eyes, and pretend to be overcome by fatigue. If
JANE is wise she will do the same. JANE is tired, but tolerant.
Finding that neither of us is up to much talking (I have inadvertently
opened an eye) he says, "Look here, I'll show you my travelling-bag," as
if it was something to amuse children. This delights him immensely. He
opens it and explains its compartments, tells how he shaves, what soap
he uses, how he invented a peculiar pomade for travelling, and how he
had thought out this bag and had everything made to fit into its place.
He takes out everything, brushes, combs, razors, glass-pots, knives,
brushes, one after the other, expatiating on their excellence as if he
were a pedlar anxious to do a deal, and we were his casual, but likely,
customers. Then finding our interest waning, he shuts it up, and saying
that the best of travelling in a _lit-salon_ is that you can stretch
your legs, he forthwith begins capering, asks JANE if he mayn't have the
pleasure of the next waltz and so forth, until fortunately, he discovers
the secret of the seat which pulls out and becomes a bed, and is so
struck with the idea that he exclaims, "By Jove! this is first-rate!
pillows, mattresses, everything! I've never slept in one of these! I
haven't been to bed all night. You don't mind my taking forty winks--do
you?"
O dear no--take eighty if he likes.
"Ah, then," he says in broken English, "I go to couch myself. I salute
you the good morning, Mister and Missis. I have well envy of to sleep."
And thank goodness in another minute the high-spirited Solicitor is fast
asleep, and _not_ snoring.
Then we all drop off. At Montargis he awakes, breakfasts at the buffet:
we breakfast in our _salon_. He returns, puffing another cigar, stronger
and bigger than the previous one: but smoking yields to sleeping and his
high spirits become less and less. After his second or third sleep he
becomes hungry. The train is late. He becomes hungrier and hungrier.
Again he smokes; but his cigars are dwindling in size and growing paler
in colour. He calculates when the hour of dinner will be. He foresees
that it will not be till past eight and we breakfasted at eleven. Hunger
has deprived him of all his jokes, all his high spirits; he is
hopelessly depressed, and preserves an almost sullen silence till we
reach Clermont-Ferrand, when the sight of the Commissionnaire of the
Hotel Continental slightly restores him, and as we get into the Omnibus
he whispers to me feebly, "I say, let's cry '_Vive_ BOULANGER!'"
I beg him to hold his tongue, or the police will be down on him. I fancy
this warning has its effect, in his present state of hunger, as he
limits himself to whispering out of the window to any passer-by who
happens to be in uniform, "_Vive_ BOULANGER!" but I am bound to say,
nobody hears him, so finding the fun of the jest exhausted within the
first ten minutes, he drops it, and once more collapses, shakes his head
wearily over his wretched state, and expresses in pantomime how he is
dying for something to eat. JANE and myself recognise Clermont-Ferrand
and draw one another's attention to all points of interest, more or less
incorrectly. Then, after noticing how familiar all the land-marks seem
_en route_, we find we have been taken by a different road from the one
we need to travel in order to avoid the dust.
Ha! Here is Doctor REM. Welcome to Royat! Same rooms, New Proprietor,
but same Hotel in effect, it is the Continental. M. HALL, of what
nationality I do not know, exerts himself to see that everything shall
be right for everybody who has just arrived. There are several others by
this train, all requiring special and individual attention, and all,
somehow, getting it. New faces, but civility and readiness to oblige
everywhere. The weather perfect!--perhaps a trifle too perfect. But
Royat is high up, and, if it is hot here, what must it be down below at
Vichy or at Aix! Dinner in the Restauration of the Hotel, where we pant
for air because other visitors, chiefly French, of advanced years and in
various stages of "The Cure," will not allow a door or window to be
opened. We finish dinner, and hurry off for our coffee in the garden of
the Casino Samie. End of first day.
P.S.--I said last week I could not find the English newspapers in the
reading-room of the Cercle. I have since seen them, _Times_ and
_Telegraph_. But the only one sold outside is apparently the _Morning
Post_. Lord SALISBURY is coming.
* * * * *