"_Salubrities at Home_" (_pace_ Mr. ATLAS, who will recognise this
temporary adaptation of his world-renowned title) I should say are Buxton
(for most people), Bath (for some), Harrogate (for others), and,--besides a
variety of North, South, East and West, too numerous to be mentioned in
these notes,--Ramsgate for nearly all.
"_Salubrities Abroad_" are Homburg, Aix-les-Bains, Carlsbad, &c., &c., and
Royat, where I find myself again this year. "Scenes of my bath-hood, once
more I behold ye!" There is "A Salubrity at Royat," which people of certain
tendencies cannot easily find elsewhere. It is a cure for eminent persons
of strong Conservative tendencies. Lord SALISBURY was here last year, and
my friend Monsieur ONDIT, who is in everybody's confidence, tells me that
his Lordship will revisit a place where the _traitement_ did him so much
good. I believe he underwent the "Cherry-cure," at all events his Lordship
was seen in public constantly eating them out of a paper-bag. _What did he
do with the bag?_ My answer is, "he popped it." Down went the cherries, and
bang went the bag and fifty centimes. Well, did not Royat effect some
change in his conservatism? What has been the result? But I am not here to
talk politics.
* * * * *
Everybody is talking of the BOULANGER-FERRY incident. This is Aug. 4, and
nothing has happened.
"Il n'y a pas de danger,"
Dit Général BOULANGER;
"Tout va, je crois, s'arranger,
Chez FERRY, mes amis."
I haven't time to proceed with this, but, so far, the idea is at any poet's
disposition to continue as he pleases, my only stipulation being that the
air to which it is to be sung shall be "_Marlbrook_."
My other friend, BENJAMIN TROVATO, of Italian extraction, tells me that
BOULANGER is half English, and had an English education. BEN informs me
that the General has never forgotten the rhythms he learnt in his happy
English nursery; and that, when he read that M. FERRY had called him a
"_St. Arnaud de Café-Concert_," he sang out, recollecting the old catch,--
A Note, a Note!
Haste to the Ferry!
in which his friends were unable to join, owing to their ignorance of the
words and tune.
When driving through Clermont-Ferrand from the Station up to Royat, we
(three of us) had a small omnibus to ourselves. One of the party (a wag, of
whom, and of the circumstances of our meeting, more "in my next") insisted
on our calling out, "_Vive_ BOULANGER!" We did this several times in the
most crowded parts, but the cry obtained no response, and aroused no
excitement, as, being uttered with the greatest caution (at my instance),
nobody heard it.
* * * * *
But what a thing to fight about! If duelling were an English fashion, how
fruitful of "incidents" this Session would have been. How often would Mr.
TIM HEALY have been "out"? And Mr. DE LISLE'S life would have hung upon a
Lisle thread!
* * * * *
Note for strangers about to visit Royat.--The Continental Hotel has lost a
little territory, as half of what was its terrace has been returned to the
present proprietor of the hotel next door, with whom we Continentals have
no connection, not even "on business," it not being "the same concern" and
under one management as it was last year. But what the Continental Hotel
has sacrificed in domain, Monsieur HALL, our obliging landlord, has more
than made up in comfort and cooking. Dr. BRANDT sees his patients in a
charming Villa of Flowers. The weather is lovely.
* * * * *
We are all surprised at seeing one another here. Each person (or each
couple or party) seems to think that he alone (or they alone) possess the
secret of Royat's existence. We certainly are not a mutual admiration
society at Royat. When we come upon one another suddenly, each exclaims,
"Hallo! what are _you_ here for?" is if the other were a convict "doing his
time." Everyone thinks he knows what he is here for, but very few tell what
he thinks he knows. And, by the way, the best-informed among us doesn't
know very much about it.
* * * * *
In the Reading-room of the _Cercle_ there ought to be (as advertised in a
local journal) at least three English newspapers daily. I have not seen
them as yet. The only London paper arriving here regularly, and to be
purchased every day early at the Newsvendor's, is the _Morning Post_.
_Vive_ Sir ALGERNON! Can this be the attraction for Lord SALISBURY? Why
come out so far afield to read the _Morning Post_? Or wasn't it here,
during Lord SALISBURY'S visit last year, and is he still ignorant of its
having been subsequently demanded and supplied this season? And when he
comes and finds it--"O what a surprise!"--no, thank goodness, we have
escaped from this song--for a time, at least.
* * * * *
Too hot to write any more journal. The hundredth bell is sounding for the
fiftieth _déjeuner_. My _déjeuner_ is finished. There are bells here
perpetually. All day and all night. In vain would Mr. IRVING as _Mathias_,
put his hands to his ears and close the windows. The bells! The bells!
Distant bells, near bells, sheep-bells, goat-bells, a man with pipe (not
tobacco but tune, or what he and the goats consider a tune), dinner-bells,
guests'-bells, servants'-bells, church-bells (not much), chapel-bells
(early and occasionally), horse-bells, donkey-bells, breakfast-bells,
supper-bells, arrival-bells, departure-bells, tramway bells, crier's-bells,
with variations on drum or trumpet, and several other bells that I shall
notice in the course of the twenty-four hours, but have forgotten just now.
* * * * *
The "_petits chevaux_" have not been stopped by the Government; they are
running as fast as ever. There are two bands, playing morning, afternoon,
and evening. The _Casino Samie_ is as lively as ever, or, as my waggish
acquaintance at once expressed it, in that vein of humour for which he is
so specially distinguished, "The Samie old game," and to sit out in the
garden, with a fragrant cigar and coffee, before retiring for the night, is
indeed a calm pleasure, or would be but for the aforesaid waggishness, of
which more anon.
* * * * *
Soldiers about everywhere, Boulangering. Up in the hills is a splendid
echo. This morning, having caught the very slightest cold, I went up into
the mountains to get it blown away. Suddenly I sneezed. Such a sneeze! It
reverberated all over the mountain like the firing of a battery. Again!
again! These sneezes nearly shook me off the rock, and sent me staggering
on to the _plateau_ below. The effect must have been alarming, as the third
sneeze fetched out the military, horse and foot, at full gallop, and the
double. _L'ennemi? C'était moi!_ They scoured the mountain sides, but I did
not sneeze again. I have a sort of idea that my sneeze upset the entire
preconcerted arrangements for a review. The Boulangerers retired--so did I.
* * * * *
'Tis the hour of _douche_. RICHARD, the attendant, will be there to give it
me. _Douche-ment, douche-ment._ Gently does it! O RICHARD, O _Mon
Roy-at_!... _Au revoir!_
* * * * *
Mrs. R. went to see the _première_ of a new piece about which there had
been considerable excitement in the theatrical world. "It was quite a
novelty for me," said the good lady to a friend; "every literal person was
there of any imminence, and my nephew, who is connected with papers
himself, told me that the stalls were full of crickets. He pointed them all
out to me. Most interesting."
* * * * *
[Illustration: "LE MONDE OÙ L'ON S'AMUSE."
_Miss Ponsonby de Tomkyns_ (_just out_). "OH, PAPA! SUCH AN _EXQUISITE_
CONCERT IT WAS AT LADY MIDAS'S! THE DUCHESS WAS THERE, AND THE
MOWBRAY-MASHAMS, AND LORD AND LADY WROTTENHAM, AND COUNT EDELWEISS, AND
CAPTAIN DE COURCY, AND SIR MAINWARING CARSHALTON AND HIS WIFE, AND--IN FACT
EVERYBODY ONE CARES TO MEET."
_Mr. P. de T._ "INDEED! AND WHO PLAYED AND SANG?"
_Miss P. de T._ "WHO PLAYED AND SANG? WELL--A--A--REALLY, DO YOU KNOW, I
DON'T REMEMBER!"]
* * * * *
"GLASS FALLING!"
_Head of the House, loquitur_:--
Dear me! Going back? I can hardly conceive it.
I thought we were in for a spell of "Set Fair."
A serious change? No, I will not believe it;
I _can't_, I declare.
I've tapped it with confidence morning by morning,
This glass which has never deceived me before;
And now to go wrong in this way, without warning!--
It's really a bore.
Of course it's too bad to be _true_, for the weather
So settled has seemed, and has promised so well,
And why it should go and break up altogether
Nobody can tell.
Tap! Tap! Yes, it's true, it is certainly dropping.
Things seem--for the moment--a bit out of joint,
For of course there is not the least fear of its _stopping_
At such a low point.
No, no, that's absurd; the idea makes one pallid.
This many and many a day from my door
Without a top-coat or a gingham I've sallied;
And now, will it pour?
O nonsense! The omens have all been so cheery;
_The Times_, in its forecasts, have been so cock-sure.
Can we all have been wrong? Nay, a prospect so dreary
I cannot endure.
Some local disturbances truly I've heard of.
Our foes make the most of such little mishaps;
But then they mean nothing; it's really absurd of
The ignorant chaps.
At Spalding or Coventry weather may vary;--
And yet, when the "area of change" gets too wide,
Men fancy it's more than a passing vagary;--
Ay, even _our_ side.
Tap! Tap! Yes there _is_ a perceptible tumble.
One can't "square" the weather or "get at" the glass.
A storm? Oh! 'twas merely the least little rumble,--
'Twill probably pass.
Yes. Up in the North there 'tis always unsettled;
I fancy we shan't be so shifty down South.
No, really there's not the least call to be nettled,
Or down in the mouth.
I'll take my umbrella,--a useful possession,
Yes, even in summer with wind in the east.
But this--oh! it's merely a "local depression";--
I _hope_ so, at least!
* * * * *