Chapter III (2)

Comes Sunday, long'd for by each smart coquette,
Of Randan, Moulins, Ganat, and Cusset.
In Janus hats,[6] with beaks that point both ways,
Then lively rustics dance their gay _Bourrées_;[7]
With painted sabots strike the noisy ground,
While bagpipes squeal, and hurdy-gurdies sound.
Till sinks the sun--then stop--the poor man's fête
Begins not early, and must end not late.
Whilst Paris belle in costliest silk array'd,
Runs up, and walks in stateliest parade;
Each comely damsel insolently kens;
(So silver pheasants strut 'midst modest hens!)
And marvels much what men _can_ find t' admire,
In such coarse hoydens, clad in such attire!

And now 'tis night; beneath the bright saloon,
All eyes are raised to see the fire balloon,
Till swells the silk 'midst acclamations loud,
And the light lanthorn shoots above the crowd!
Here, 'neath the lines, Hygeia's fount that shade,
Smart booths allure the lounger on parade.
_Bohemia's glass_, and _Nevers' beaded wares_,
_Millecour's fine lace_, and _Moulins' polish'd shears_;
And crates of painted wicker without flaw,
And fine mesh'd products of _Germania's_ straw,
Books of dull trifling, misnamed "reading light,"
And foxy maps, and prints in damaged plight,
Whilst up and down to rattling _castanettes_,
The active hawker sells his "_oubliettes!_"

We have our shows at Vichy, and many an itinerant tent incloses something worth giving half a franc to see; most of them we had already seen over and over again. What then? one can't invent new monsters every year, nor perform new feats; and so we pay our respects to the _walrus_ woman, and to the "anatomie _vivante_." We look _up_ to the Swiss giantess, and down upon the French dwarf; we inspect the feats of the village Milos, and of those equestrians, familiar to "every circus" at home and abroad, who

Ride four horses galloping; then stoop,
Vault from their backs, and spring thro' narrow hoop;
Once more alight upon their coursers' backs,
Then follow, scampering round the oft trod tracks.
And that far travell'd pig--_that_ pig of parts,
Whose eye aye glistens on _that_ Queen of hearts;
While wondering visitors the feat regard,
And tell by _looks_ that that's the very card!

Behold, too, another curiosity in natural history, well deserving of "notice" and of "note," which we append accordingly--

From Auvergne's heights, their mother lately slain,
Six surly wolf cubs by their owner ta'en;
Her own pups drown'd, a foster bitch supplies,
And licks the churlish brood with fond maternal eyes![8]

Finally, and to wind up--

Who dance on ropes, who rouged and roaring stand,
Who cheat the eyes by wondrous sleight of hand,
From whose wide mouth the ready riband falls,
Who swallow swords, or urge the flying balls,
Here with French poodles vie, and harness'd fleas,
Nor strive in vain our easy tastes to please.
Whilst rival pupils of the great Daguerre,
In rival shops, display their rivals fair!

OUR FIRST TABLE D'HÒTE DINNER AT VICHY.

We arrived at Vichy from Roanne just in time to dress for dinner. As every body dines _en table d'hôte_., we were not wrong in supposing that this would be a good opportunity for studying the habits, "USAGES DE SOCIÉTÉ" and what not, of a tolerably large party (fifty was to be the number) of the better class of French PROPRIÈTAIRES. On entering the room, we found the guests already assembled; and everybody in full talk already, before the bell had done ringing, or the tureens been uncovered. The habit of general sufferance and free communion of tongue amongst guests at dinner, forms an agreeable episode in the life of him whom education and English reserve have _inured_, without ever reconciling, to a different state of things at home. The difference of the English and French character peeps out amusingly at this critical time of the day; when, oh! commend _us_ to a Frenchman's vanity, however grotesque it may sometimes be, rather than to our own reserve, shyness, formality, or under whatever other name we please to designate, and seek to hide its unamiable synonym, pride. Vanity, always a free, is not seldom an agreeable talker; but pride is ever laconic; while the few words he utters are generally so constrained and dull, that you would gladly absolve him altogether from so painful an effort as that of opening his mouth, or forcing it to articulate. Self-love may be a large ingredient in both pride and vanity; but the difference of comfort, according as you have to sit down with one or the other at table, is indeed great. For whilst pride sits stiff, guarded, and ungenial, _radiating coldness around him_, which requires at least a bottle of champagne and an arch coquette to disperse; vanity, on the other hand, being a _female_, (a sort of Mrs Pride,) has her _conquests to make_, and loves making them; and accordingly must study the ways and means of pleasing; which makes _her_ an agreeable _voisine_ at table. As she never doubts either her own powers to persuade, or yours to appreciate them, her language is at once self-complacent, and full of good-will to her neighbour; whilst the vanity of a Frenchman thus leads him to seek popularity, it seems enough to an Englishman that he is one entitled to justify himself, in his own eyes, for being as disagreeable as he pleases.

On the present occasion, not to have joined in a conversation which was general, at whatever disadvantage we might have to enter into it, would, we felt, have been to subject ourselves to remark after dinner; so putting off restraint, and putting on the best face we could, we began at once to address some remarks to our neighbours. We were not aware at the moment how far the _Anglomania_, which _began_ to prevail some seven years ago in Paris, had spread since we left the French capital. There it began, we remember, with certain members of the medical profession, who had learned to give calomel in _English_ doses. The public next lauded Warren's blacking--_Cirage national de Warren_--and then proceeded to eat raw crumpets as an English article of luncheon. But things had gone farther since that time than we were prepared to expect. At the _table d'hôte_ of to-day, we found every body had something civil to say about English products; frequently for no other reason than that they were English, it being obvious that they themselves had never seen the articles, whose excellence they all durst swear for, though not a man of them knew wherefore. We had not sat five minutes at table (the stringy _bouilli_ was still going round) when a count, a gentleman used to good breeding and _feeding_, opened upon us with a compliment which we knew neither how to disclaim nor to appropriate, in declaring in presence of the table that he was a decided partisan for English "Rosbiff;" confirming his perfect sincerity to us, by a "_c'est vrai_," on perceiving some slight demur to the announcement at _mine host's_ end of the table. We had scarce time to recover from this unexpected sally of the count, when a young _notabilité_, a poet of the romantic school of France, whose face was very pale, who wore a Circassian profusion of _black_ hair over his shoulders, a satin waistcoat over his breast, and Byron-tie (_noeud Byron_) round his neck--permitted his muse to say something flattering to us across the table about Shakspeare. Again we had not what to say, nor knew how to return thanks for our "immortal bard;" and this, our shyness, we had the mortification to see was put down to _English coldness_; for how _could_ we else have seemed so insensible to a compliment so personal? nor were we relieved from our embarrassment till a dark-whiskered man, in sporting costume, (who had brought every thing appertaining thereto to table except his gun, which was in a corner,) gave out, in a somewhat oracular manner, his opinion, that there were no sporting dogs _out of_ England; whistling, as he spoke to Foxe, and to Miss Dashe, to rise and show their noses above the table! The countess next spoke tenderly of _English soap_, and almost sighed over the soft whiteness of her hands, which she indulgently attributed to the constant use of soap prepared by "_Mr Brown de Vindsor_." This provoked a man of cultivated beard to declare, that he found it impossible to shave with any razors but _English_ "_ones_;" concluding with this general remark on French and English manufactures, that the French _invented_ things, but that the English improved them. (_Les Français inventent, mais les Anglais perfectionnent._) Even English medicine found its advocates--here were we sitting in the midst of Dr Morison's patients! A lady, who had herself derived great advantage from their use, was desirous of knowing whether our Queen took them, or Prince Albert! It was also asked of us, whether Dr Morison (whom they supposed to be the court physician) was _Sir_ Dr Morison, (Bart.,) or _tout simplement_ doctor! and they spoke favourably of some other English inventions--as of Rogers' teeth, Rowland's macassar, &c.; and were continuing to do so, when a fierce-looking demagogue, seeing how things were going, and what concessions were being made, roused himself angrily; and, to show us that _he_ at least was no Anglo-maniac, shot at us a look fierce as any bonassus; while he asked, abruptly, what we thought in England of one whom he styled the "Demosthenes of Ireland"--looked at us for an answer. As it would have been unsafe to have answered _him_ in the downright, offhand manner, in which we like both to deal and to be dealt by, we professed that we knew but one Demosthenes, and he not an Irishman, but a Greek; which, by securing us his contempt, kept us safe from the danger of something worse; but, our Demosthenic friend excepted, it was a pleasant, unceremonious dinner; and we acquitted ourselves just sufficiently well not to make any one feel we were in the way. A lady now asked, in a whisper, whom _we_ look upon as the first poet, Shakspeare, Dumas, or Lord Byron; and whether the _two_ English poets were _both_ dead. A reply from a more knowing friend saved our good breeding at this pinch. As a proof of our having made our own way amongst the guests at table, we may mention that one sallow gentleman, who had been surveying us once or twice already, at length invited us to tell him, across the table, what case is ours, and who our physician? To be thus obliged to confess our weak organ in public is not pleasant; but _every_ body here does it, and what every body does must be right. A gentleman who speaks broken English favours the table with a conundrum. Another (the young poet) presents us with a brace of dramas, bearing the auspicious titles of "La Mort de Socrate," and "Catilina Romantique"--_of which anon_. But, before we rise from our dessert, here is the conundrum as it was proposed to us:--"What gentleman always follow what lady?" Do you give it up? _Sur-Prise_ always follow _Misse-Take!!_

So much for our amusements at Vichy; but our Vichyana would be incomplete, unless we added a few words touching those far-famed sources for which, and not for its amusements, so many thousands flock hither every year. The following, then, may be considered as a brief and desultory selection of such remarks only as are likely to interest the general reader, from a body of notes of a more professional character, of which the destination is different:--Few springs have been so celebrated as those at Vichy, and no mineral waters, perhaps, have performed so many real "Hohenlohes," or better deserved the reputation they have earned and maintained, now for so many centuries! Gentle, indeed, is their surgery; they will penetrate to parts that no _steel_ may reach, and do good, irrespective of persons, alike to Jew or Gentile; but then they should be "drunk on the premises"--exported to a distance (and they are exported every where) they are found to have lost--their chemical constitution remaining unchanged--a good deal of their efficacy. Little, however, can Hygeia have to do with chemistry; for the chemical analysis of _all_ these springs is the same while the _modus operandi_ of each, in particular, is so distinct, that if gout ails you, you must go to the "Grande grille;" if dyspepsia, to the "Hôpital;" or, if yours be a kidney case, to the "Celestius," to be cured--facts which should long ago have convinced the man of retorts and crucibles at home (who affirms that 'tis but taking soda after all), that he speaks _beyond_ his warrant. Did ever lady patroness, desirous of filling her rooms on a route night, invite to that end so many as Hygeia invites to come and benefit by these springs? And what though she reserve the right of patent in their preparation to herself, does she not generously yield the products of her discovery in the restoration of health and comfort to thousands, whom neither nostrum nor prescription, the recipe nor the fiat, could restore? In cases, too, beyond her control, does she not mitigate many sufferings that may not be removed? To all that are galled with gall-stones, to those whom the _Chameleon litmus paper_ of "coming events casts their shadows before;" to Indian _livers_ condemned, else hopelessly, to the fate of Prometheus, preyed upon by that vulture _Hepatitis_, in its _gnawing_ and chronic forms; and to the melancholy hypochondriac, steeped at once both in sadness and in pains--she calls, and calls loudly, that all these should come and see what great and good things are in store for them at Vichy. And finally, difficult though gouty gentlemen be to manage, Hygeia, nothing daunted on that score, shrinks not from inviting that large army of _involuntary_ martyrs to repair thither at once. Yes! even gout, that has so long laughed out at all pharmacopoeias, and tortured us from the time "when our wine and our oil increased"--Gout, that colchicum would vainly attempt to baffle, that no nepenthe soothes, no opium can send to sleep--Gout, that makes as light of the medical practitioner as of his patient; that murdered _Musgrave_, and seized her very own historian by the hip[9]--this, our most formidable foe, is to be conquered at Vichy! Here, in a brief time, the iron gyves of _Podagra_ are struck _off_, and _Cheiragra's manacles_ are unbound; enabling old friends, who had hitherto shaken their _heads_ in despondency, once more to shake _hands_.

But Vichy, be it understood, neither cures, nor undertakes to cure, every body; her waters have nothing to do with your head, your heart, or your lungs; their empire begins and ends below the _diaphragm_; it is here, and here alone, that her mild control quells dangerous internal commotions, establishes quiet in irritated organs, and restores health on the firm basis of _constitutional principles_. The real _doctors_ at Vichy are the _waters_; and much is it to be regretted that they should not find that co-operation and assistance in those who administer them, which Hippocrates declares of such paramount importance in the management of all disease; for here (alas! for the inconsistency of man) the two physicians _prescribed_ to us by the government, while they gravely tell their patients that no good can happen to such as will think, fret, or excite themselves, while they formally interdict all _sour_ things at table, (shuddering at a cornichon if they detect one on the plate of a rebellious water-drinker, and denouncing honest fruiterers as poisoners,) yet foment sour discord, and keep their patients in perpetual hot water, alike _in the bath_ and _out of the bath_; more tender in their regard for _another_ generation, they recommend all nurses to undergo a slight course of the springs to _keep their milk_ from turning sour, yet will curdle the _milk of human kindness_ in our lacteals by instilling therein the sour asperity which they entertain towards each other, and which, notwithstanding the efforts of the ladies to keep peace between them, by christening one their "_beau médecin_," and the other their "_bon médecin_," has arrived at such a pitch that they refuse to speak French, or issue one "_fiat_" in common.[10]

A remarkable fact connected with the natural history of the Vichy waters is the following:--Whenever the electrical condition of the atmosphere undergoes a change, in consequence of the coming on of a storm, they disengage a large quantity of carbonic acid, while a current of electricity passes off from the surface. At such times baths are borne with difficulty, the patients complaining of præcordial distress, which amounts sometimes to a feeling of suffocation; the like unpleasant sensations being also communicated, though to a less extent, to those who are drinking the waters.[11]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Polydrusus sericea.]

[Footnote 2: Carabus auratus.]

[Footnote 3: Scholia flavicomis.]

[Footnote 4: Victor Hugo's beautiful line on _maternal affection_.]

[Footnote 5: Rondolitier was a celebrated ichthyologist and sportsman of the old school; and those desirous of further information respecting the capture of fish by "fiddling to them," may be referred to his work on fishes, _ad locum_.]

[Footnote 6: These hats are very peculiar; they are highly ornamented with ribands, and have acquired, from their peculiarity in having a double front--"chapeaux a deux bonjours."]

[Footnote 7: For a lively description of this dance _vide_ Madame de Sevigne's _Letters to her Daughter_. That ecstatic lady, who always wrote more or less under the influence of St Vitus, was in her time an _habituée_ at Vichy.]

[Footnote 8: These wolves were six weeks old, in fine condition, and clung to the teats of their foster parent with wolf-like pertinacity. As long as she lay licking their little black bodies and dark chestnut heads, or permitted them to hide their sulky faces and ugly bare tails under her body, they lay quiet enough, but when she raised her emaciated form to stretch her legs, or to take an airing, at first they hung to her dugs by their teeth; but gradually falling off, barked as she proceeded, and would snap at your fingers if you went to lay hold of them. Out of the six, one was gentle and affectionate, would lick your hand, slept with the owner, and played with his ears in the morning, without biting; if his own ears were pulled, he took it as a dog would have done, and seemed to deprecate all unkindness by extreme gentleness of manner, for which he was finely bullied by his brother wolves accordingly. The bitch seemed equally attached to all the litter; for _instinctive_, unlike _rational_ affection, has no favourites. At first the wolves boarded in the same house with us, which afforded abundant opportunity for our visiting them, _a l'improvisto_, whenever we pleased. On one of these occasions we saw two rabbits, lately introduced into their society, crunching carrots, _demissis auribus_, and quite at their ease, while two little "wolves" were curiously snuffing about; at first looking at the rabbits, and then _imitating_ them, by taking up some of their _prog_, which tasting and not approving, they spat out--then, as if suspecting the rabbits to have been playing them a trick, one of them comes up stealthily, and brings his own nose in close proximity to that of one of the rabbits, who, quite unmoved at this act of familiarity, continues to munch on. The wolf contemplates him for a short time in astonishment, and seeing that the carrots actually disappear down his "oesophagus," returns to the other wolf to tell him so. His next step is to paw his friend a little, by way of encouraging him to advance. So encouraged he goes up, and straight lays hold of the rabbit's ear, and a pretty plaything it would have made had the rabbit been in the humour! In place of which he _thumps_ the ground with his hind legs, rises almost perpendicularly, and the next moment is down like lightning upon the head of the audacious wolf, who on thus unexpectedly receiving a double "colaphus" retreats, yelping! The other wolf is more successful; having crept up stealthily to the remaining rabbit, he seizes him by his furry rump--off bounds he in a fright, while the other plants himself down like a _sphinx_, erects his ears, and seems highly pleased at what he has been doing! We used sometimes to visit the wolves while they slept; on these occasions a slight whistle was at first sufficient to make them start upon their legs; at last, like most sounds with which the ear becomes familiar, they heard it passively. All our attempts to frighten the rabbits by noises _while they were engaged in munching_, proved unsuccessful.]

[Footnote 9: Sydenham.]

[Footnote 10: So notorious and violent has this hydromachia become, that it has at length called forth a poem, styled the _Vichyade_, of which the two resident physicians are the Achilles and Hector. The poem, which is as coarse and personal as the _Bath Guide_, is not so clever, but is much read here, _non obstant_.]

[Footnote 11: An ingenious physician assures us, that he has for years past been in the habit of consulting his patients in place of his barometer, and has thus been enabled to foretell vicissitudes of weather before they had manifested themselves, by attending to the accounts they gave of their sensations in the bath. There are seven springs, whose united volumes of water, in twenty-four hours, fill a chamber of twenty feet dimensions, in every direction.]

IT'S ALL FOR THE BEST.