Punch: Punch (91.1886)

136

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [September 18, 1886.

A WATER COURSE.

VI.

The Bad Patient's Diary—Jane's Progress—Oysters—Theory—
Fact—At Doctor's—The Strange Case—Halves—Consultation
—Novelty—Sensations—Result—Puzzled.

"When you once get into the swim, so to speak, in a water course
such as this, then, whether it he at Royat, or Aix-les-Bains, or Vichy,
or Homburg, or even at La Bourboule and Le Mont Dore, the stream
is very strong, and you are carried on rapidly to the end of your
stay. The first week is exciting, if the place is itself a novelty; if
not, it is only less exciting ; we walk up into the pine woods,—

" "Whene'er we take our walks abroad."

"when," as Dr. Putteney says, "we pine for air"—(this is'the
effect of the place on him), and we take the week to settle down.
The second week is generally dull, yet at the end of it the time seems
to have flown. Third week begins slowly; hut as the climax of the I she is looking so

appears something of the effervescent and sparkling character which
is, she informs me, the peculiarity of the Source Cesar. The
Romans discovered these baths, and this particular spring may
have been the source of C^esae's greatness. The question—

" Upon what meat does this our Cjesab, feed,
That he is grown so great ? "

is, as it is termed in theatrical slang, "a little bit of fat" that
would never have been put into the mouth of Cassius, " lean and
hungry" as he was, had Shakspeaiie only known of the waters at
Royat, which C jjsae used to drink, and in which he used to bathe;
and out of which, after a few dozen oysters,—for they find heaps of
oyster-shells here among the Roman remains,—he used to come out
re-invigorated.

By the way, although I am considering Cousin Jane's case, and
have so got back to CiESAB, to whom historically she owes her rapid
improvement in health, I cannot help diverging on the subject of
Oysters, to note down, for some future work of my own on Chris-
tianity in Britain, the theory, which is strongly supported by facts,
that Britons, who never would he slaves (except when they couldn't
help it), owed their conversion entirely to Oysters. I am not going
to discuss this further or to commence the first chapter of my history
now, but before the thoughtful reader I place facts and theory: —
1st. It is undeniable that the Romans loved oysters: 2nd. That
directly they heard of oyster-beds they went to them: 3rd. They
found the beds ready-made for them, and originated the old riddle
(which occurs in the works of Josephus Millekit/s) about taking
the oysters out of their beds and tucking in themselves : 4thly. The
Romans became Christians without ceasing to be oyster-eaters,—in
fact it is probable that they practised oysterities,—and consequently
the British oyster-openers, and oyster-bed-makers, were the first to
encounter the Christianised Romans, who lost no time in converting
the natives, and thus the British became Christians by the dozen.
From the oysters, d nos moutons; second course. To resume.
Naturally
Jane's progress
is annoying to
me, but politely
and cousinly, I
am delighted. I
compliment her,

twenty-first day approaches, when the course will be over, then the
time and money go with startling rapidity.

By my Diary of Pains and Penalties I find I am at the end of the
first week. What is the result ? "Well ? No, decidedly not well;
that is, according to my Diary, which records a variety of alarming
symptoms—sleepless nights, sleepy days, troubles in toes—where the
shooting season has commenced before the Twelfth—pains in the
nose, limp legs, wrestlings with sciatica, and what the meteorological
reports term " Disturbances " generally, resulting in " Depression."

An annoying circumstance is, that Cousin Jane, who has not been
strictly ordered here, as I was, but only "recommended" to the
waters, is becoming better and better every day. I cannot help
remarking it. The improvement in her health is so marked that it
forces itself on general observation. She takes a bath of Cesar water
every day, into which she goes like cold lamb, and out of which she
comes like boiled lobster, and is all the better for it. She is able to
walk about briskly; she doesn't hesitate as to taking a liqueur with

Peu de Cheveux aux Petits Cheraux.
her cup of coffee after dinner; she insists on venturing at least four
francs on the petits chevaux, and in her manner there suddenly

well. But I can-
not compliment
myself. Do I
look well? Jane
says I do. But
I don' t believe it,
and I'm sure 1
don't. A high
colour isn't
health: it may
be "the picture
of health," but
health isn't a

question of the ^MIS^^^S^SS^i ''WF'i
picture, but of ~\A III aSK^ V^P^ffljjSl^llBffl

the frame. g-'JJJsF^ sa^SS? <i\\\\\''

"Whatever was Source aux Toe-martyr,

the matter with

me before coming to Royat, I am quite sure as to there being plenty
the matter with me, and to spare, now, after just a week of the
treatment.

My Sensational Diary is assuming formidable proportions. If I
neglect it for half a day, the next morning I set myself to work to
remember all the sufferings of yesterday afternoon. If you do not
jot down pains at the moment, as they occur, when you can really
feel what you are describing—the secret of all truly graphic writing
—you are apt to describe the twinges, the smarts, and the aches
coldly, as if you were writing the history of somebody else. Vou are
likely to take a very different view of a pain you suffered several
hours ago, from what you will take of the pain which afflicts you at
the time of writing, and which itself is the immediate cause of your
putting pen to paper. In a retrospect of pain you are inclined to
philosophise and probably attempt to trace its cause. In a description
of a pain, making its presence felt as you write, you do not stop to
pick and choose your words, but your style is short, sharp, jerky,
powerfully graphic, and minutely accurate.

I_ determine not to disturb Dr. Hammond Putteney, who, not
taking the waters in any form, eating and drinking everything, and
smoking all day, is in the enjoyment of most perfect health, and
apparently of a thorough holiday, but to go quietly to Dr. Rem, show
him my Diary, and astonish him.

I call upon him. He is within. I wait: at last I usher myself
into his sanctum. "Will I be seated ? I will. So will he, at his desk,
and once more he pulls out his note-book and refers to my particular