_Thirteenth day of Cure at Royat. Hotel Continental._--The view from my
window is charming, whether on a bright morning or a moonlight night.
But I am not contented with it. There is within me an "OLIVER, asking
for more." Had I the faith which moves mountains, I would order that
hill opposite to be removed, so as to give me a more extensive, and a
grander view.
* * *
_The Beggars at Royat._--A nuisance and a disgrace to the place. Why are
these wretched creatures allowed to trade on their fearful afflictions?
Are there no free hospitals, no charitable institutions, where they can
be taken care of? Of course there are. Is there no power to compel them
to go in? Is there no "_traitement_" for them?
* * *
As for the little beggar boys and girls who are brought up to the trade
and who waylay us all day, cannot they be put to some useful work and be
forced into school? These able-bodied paupers should be employed in
mending the footpaths leading up to Gravenoire and the environs, which
are in a very bad condition.
* * *
I do not object, indeed by this time I take rather kindly to the _vin du
pays_, but I detest what Mr. "DUMB-CRAMBO" would call--
[Illustration: The Whine of the Country.]
* * *
_A propos_ of walks in a wretched condition, why don't their Worships,
the Maires of Royat and Chamaliere, lay their heads together and mend
the footpaths? In making the above suggestion, I do not contemplate
wood-pavement. No: but I do think that these beggars might be utilised.
* * *
_Pensees d'un Baigneur._--A bather has plenty of time to emulate the
celebrated parrot. What can he do--the bather not the parrot--in his
bath, except think? He can talk, hum, or sing. He can recite: and
exercise his voice and memory. But this would attract attention, and I
fancy the talking, singing, or reciting bather would very soon be
requested to keep quiet. Therefore he must think. He may not sleep: it
is not permitted by the faculty. No: thinking is the thing. The time in
a bath,--thirty-five minutes of it--passes as a dream, and the thoughts
are as difficult to catch and fix as butterflies. Here are a few:--
It is absolutely necessary to please oneself even in things apparently
indifferent. Out of politeness, I yielded yesterday to an invitation to
take a drive of two hours. I was ill for nearly a couple of days
afterwards.... So was the kind person who took me. I believe she meant
it well, and intended it as an act of politeness. (N. B. This was
written within the first seven days of the "_traitement_". This sort of
thing must come out of you. The waters bring out selfishness and
ingratitude.)
* * *
Morning after morning I find myself staring at the notice on the wall at
the foot of my bath. From that I gather that I am a "titulaire." My
bath-cell is No. 17. So as Titulaire I am Number Seventeen,--like a
convict. My Gaoler, the bathman, does not know me perhaps by any other
name than "Monsieur &c., Dix-Sept." Ah, well, I never thought I should
be seventeen again. But I am--at Royat. How it must be re-juvenising me!
* * *
I have been looking over a list of excursions to various "Salubrities
Abroad." Among them I find this:--"_De Lyon en Savoie et en Dauphine par
Saint-Andre-le-Gaz, et retour_".
"St. Andrew-the-Gas" sounds a novel name in a calendar. He was evidently
a Saint much in advance of his time. An excellent man of course
"according to his lights."
* * *
I saw a subject here for Mr. MARKS, R.A. A bearded Franciscan Monk in
his brown habit, with cord and rosary at his waist, sending a telegram
at the telegraph office. Imagine the surroundings. Mr. MARKS might call
it an Anachronism.
* * *
When abroad, I make notes of the names of any new dishes. The following
one was new to me as a name, not as a dish, which was simple enough,
"_Culottes de boeuf a la fermiere_". What next? "_Calecons de veau a
la baigneuse?_" "_Gilets de mouton a la bergere?_" "_Culottes de veau a
la Brian O'Lynn?_" "_Chapeau de volaille a la coq?_"
* * *
_Music._--This morning, the fifteenth of my sojourn here, the band is
playing something new. This is refreshing, as I am becoming a little
tired of the overtures to _Zampa_, _Guillaume Tell_, _Italiano in
Algeria_, selections from the _Huguenots_ (highly popular as a good
finish to any concert) and the dance music, waltzes and mazurkas, which
have been popular for the last two years.
* * *
The clocks of Royat are still in an undecided state. The uninitiated
person who takes his time--(_Note, en passant for all baigneurs
here_--Never be in a hurry, and always "take your time," no matter from
where you take it)--from the Hotel, and starts at 7.30 in order to reach
his bath by 8,--a walk of five minutes,--will find, on arriving at the
_Etablissement_, that it is just 8.5, so that he has taken a quarter of
an hour to do the distance. If he starts from the _Etablissement_ at
8.30, to meet a friend at the station, on arriving there he will
discover that it is 8.15 by the Railway Clock, so that he is at the end
of his journey a quarter of an hour before he set out, having done the
distance in considerably less than no time,--a record worth preserving.
The Post Office Authorities, in despair, have put up a notice informing
everybody that their clock has no connection with that of the
_Etablissement_, which may just do what it likes and be wound to it, and
ignoring all church-clock authority and all municipal authority too,
they (the Post Office Authorities aforesaid) announce that they intend
to take their time from the Railway station, but even then will give
themselves a margin of five minutes one way or the other, so that the
public wishing to send letters must ascertain what the post times
_ought_ to be, and then give themselves another margin of at least ten
minutes on the safe side. The calculation is not very complicated when
you are accustomed to it, and its uncertainty lends a gentle stimulus to
the ordinary routine of the uneventful life at Royat.
* * *
For "Excursions from Royat by Rail or Road," see my Guide-Book,
forthcoming.
* * *
This advice, "_See my Guide_," or "_See my History_," is perpetually
recurring as a friendly hint--it really being a most artful way of
introducing an advertisement to your notice--in that invaluable
publication, the _Guides Diamant, P. Joanne_, series, HACHETTE & CIE.,
without which no traveller's pocket or bag is completely furnished. Time
for _siesta_.
* * * * *