To-day this dread visitation
descends on Jacques; but who can tell - so the neighbors say to
themselves - when the same fate may strike some other household now
happily unconscious! All along the narrow way sorrow-drooped heads
protrude in rows; from every casement dangle whiskers, lank and
stringy with sympathy - for in this section every true Frenchman
has whiskers, and if by chance he has not his wife has; so that
there are whiskers for all.
From the window of the doomed wretch's apartments a derrick
protrudes - a crossarm with a pulley and a rope attached. It bears
a grimly significant resemblance to a gallows tree. Under the
direction of the presiding functionary the tub is made fast to the
tackle and hoisted upward as pianos and safes are hoisted in
American cities. It halts at the open casement. It vanishes
within. The whole place resounds with low murmurs of horror and
commiseration.
Ah, the poor Jacques - how he must suffer! Hark to that low, sickening
thud! 'Tis the accursed soap dropping from his nerveless grasp.
Hist to that sound - like unto a death rattle! It is the water
gurgling in the tub. And what means that low, poignant, smothered
gasp? It is the last convulsive cry of Jacques descending into the
depths. All is over! Let us pray!
The tub, emptied but stained, is lowered to the waiting cart. The
executioner kisses the citizen who has held his horse for him
during his absence and departs; the whole district still hums with
ill-suppressed excitement. Questions fly from tongue to tongue.
Was the victim brave at the last? Was he resigned when the dread
moment came? And how is the family bearing up? It is hours before
the place settles down again to that calm which will endure for
another month, until somebody else takes a bath on a physician's
prescription.
Even in the sanctity of a Paris hotel a bath is more or less a
public function unless you lock your door. All sorts of domestic
servitors drift in, filled with a morbid curiosity to see how a
foreigner deports himself when engaged in this strange, barbaric
rite. On the occasion of my first bath on French soil, after
several of the hired help had thus called on me informally, causing
me to cower low in my porcelain retreat, I took advantage of a
moment of comparative quiet to rise drippingly and draw the latch.
I judged the proprietor would be along next, and I was not dressed
for him. The Lady Susanna of whom mention has previously been
made must have stopped at a French hotel at some time of her life.
This helps us to understand why she remained so calm when the
elders happened in.
