I had heard that one scaled the side of a
German bed on a stepladder and then fell headlong into its smothering
folds like a gallant fireman invading a burning rag warehouse; but
this hotel happened to be the best hotel that I ever saw outside
the United States. It had been built and it was managed on American
lines, plus German domestic service - which made an incomparable
combination - and it was furnished with modern beds and provided
with modern bathrooms.
Probably as a delicate compliment to the Kaiser, the bathtowels
were starched until the fringes at the ends bristled up stiffly
a-curl, like the ends of His Imperial Majesty's equally imperial
mustache. Just once - and once only - I made the mistake of rubbing
myself with one of those towels just as it was. I should have
softened it first by a hackling process, as we used to hackle the
hemp in Kentucky; but I did not. For two days I felt like an
etching. I looked something like one too.
In Vienna we could not get a bedroom with a bathroom attached
- they did not seem to have any - but we were told there was a
bathroom just across the hall which we might use with the utmost
freedom. This bathroom was a large, long, loftly, marble-walled
vault. It was as cold as a tomb and as gloomy as one, and very
smelly. Indeed it greatly resembled the pictures I have seen of
the sepulcher of an Egyptian king - only I would have said that
this particular king had been skimpily embalmed by the royal
undertakers in the first place, and then imperfectly packed. The
bathtub was long and marked with scars, and it looked exactly like
a rifled mummy case with the lid missing, which added greatly to
the prevalent illusion.
We used this bathroom ad lib.: but when I went to pay the bill I
found an official had been keeping tabs on us, and that all baths
taken had been charged up at the rate of sixty cents apiece. I
had provided my own soap too! For that matter the traveler provides
his own soap everywhere in Europe, outside of England. In some
parts soap is regarded as an edible and in some as a vice common
to foreigners; but everywhere except in the northern countries it
is a curio.
So in Vienna they made us furnish our own soap and then charged
us more for a bath than they did for a meal. Still, by their
standards, I dare say they were right. A meal is a necessity, but
a bath is an exotic luxury; and, since they have no extensive
tariff laws in Austria, it is but fair that the foreigner should
pay the tax. I know I paid mine, one way or another.
Speaking of bathing reminds me of washing; and speaking of washing
reminds me of an adventure I had in Vienna in connection with a
white waistcoat - or, as we would call it down where I was raised,
a dress vest.
