Ding-dong, ding-a-dong, sound the bells all the day, The bells are all sounding ding-dong, ding-a-dong"But where's my dear bridegroom ling'ring so long?" The bridegroom has meanwhile taken his seat Seven years there sits he, until his forgotten -"Latest Poems." Fritz Reuter Water-Cure SPRING was gone and summer had come, when one Sunday morning Hawermann received a letter from Bräsig, dated from Warnitz, in which his friend requested him to remain at home that day, for he had returned, and intended to call on him that afternoon. When Bräsig arrived, he sprang from his saddle with so much force that one might have thought he wanted to go through the road with both legs. "Oho!" cried Hawermann, "how brisk you are! You're all right now, aren't you?" "As right as a trivet, Karl. I've renewed my youth." "Well, how have you been getting on, old boy?" asked Hawermann, when they were seated on the sofa and their pipes were lighted. "Listen, Karl. Cold, damp, watery, clammy-that's about what it comes to. It's just turning a human being into a frog, and before a man's nature is so changed, he has such a hard time of it that he begins to wish he had come into the world a frog. Still, it isn't a bad thing! You begin the day with the common packing, as they call it. They wrap you up in cold, damp sheets, and then in woolen blankets, in which they fasten you up so tight that you can't move any part of your body except your toes. In this condition they take you to a bath-room, and a man goes before you ringing a bell to warn the ladies to keep out of your way. Then they put you, just as God made you, in a bath, and dash three pails of water over your bald head, if you happen to have one, and after that they allow you to go away. Well, do you think that that's the end of it? No, Karl, there's more to follow: but it's a good thing, all the same. Now you've got to go for a walk in a place where there's nothing on earth to do. I've been accustomed all my life to walking a great deal, but then it was doing something-plowing or harrowing, spreading manure or cutting corn-and there I'd no occupation whatever. While walking, you are expected to drink ever so many tumblers of water, ever so many. Some of the people were exactly like sieves; they were always at it, and they used to gasp out, 'What splendid water it is!' Don't believe them, Karl, it is nothing but talk. Water applied externally is bad enough, in all conscience, but internally it's still more horrible. Then comes the sittingbath. Do you know what a bath at four degrees below zero is like? It's very much what you would feel if you were in hell, and the devil had tied you down to a glowing iron chair, under which he kept up a roaring fire. Still, it's a good thing! Then you've to walk again till dinner-time. And now comes dinner. Ah, Karl, you have no idea what a human being goes through at a water-cure place! You've got to drink no end of water. Karl, I've seen ladies, small and thin as real angels, drink each of them three decanters as large as laundry-pails at a sitting. And then the potatoes! Good gracious! as many potatoes were eaten in a day as would have served to plant an acre of ground! These waterdoctors are much to be pitied; their patients must eat them out of house and home. In the afternoon the water-drinking goes on as merrily as before, and you may now talk to the ladies, if you like; but in the morning you may not approach them, for they are not then dressed for society. Before dinner some of them are to be seen running about with wet stockings, as if they had been walking through a field of clover; others have wet bandages tied round their heads, and all of them let their hair hang down over their shoulders, and wear a Venus's girdle round their waists, which last, however, is not visible. But in the afternoon, as I said, you may talk to them as much as you like, but will most likely get short answers, unless you speak to them about their health, and ask them how often they have been packed, and what effect it had on them; for that is the sort of conversation that is most approved of at a water-cure establishment. After amusing yourself in this way for a little, you must have a touche, that is, a great rush of ice-cold water-and that's a good thing too. Above all, Karl, you must know that what every one most dislikes, and whatever is most intensely disagreeable, is found to be wholesome and good for the constitution." "Then you ought to be quite cured of your gout," said Hawermann, "for, of all things in the world, cold water was what you always disliked the most." "It's easy to see from that speech that you've never been at the water-cure, Karl. Listen; this is how the doctor explained the whole thing to me. That confounded gout is the chief of all diseases in other words, it is the source of them all, and it proceeds from the gouty humor which is in the bones, and which simply tears one to pieces with the pain; and this gouty substance comes from the poisonous matter one has swallowed as food-for example, Kümmel, or tobacco, or medicine from the apothecary's. Now you must understand that any one who has gout must, if he wishes to be cured, be packed in damp sheets till the water has drawn all the tobacco he has ever smoked, and all the Kümmel he has ever drunk, out of his constitution. First the poisonous matter goes, then the gouty matter, and last of all the gout itself." "And has it been so with you?" "No." . Why didn't you remain longer, then? I should have stayed on, and have got rid of it once for all, if I had been you." "You don't know what you are talking about, Karl. No one could stand it, and no one has ever done it all at once. But now let me go on with my description of our daily life. After the touche, you are expected to walk again, and by the time that is finished it has begun to grow dusk. You may remain out later, if you like, and many people do so, both gentlemen and ladies; or you may go into the house and amuse yourself by reading. I always spent the evening in studying the water-books written by an author named Franck, who is, I understand, at the head of his profession. These books explain the plan on which the water-doctors proceed, and give reasons for all they do; but it's very difficult to understand. I could never get farther than the first two pages, and these were quite enough for me, for when I'd read them I felt as light-headed and giddy as if I had been standing on my head for half an hour. You imagine, no doubt, Karl, that the water in your well is water? He does not think so. Listen. Fresh air is divided into three parts: oxygen, nitrogen, and black carbon; and water is divided into two parts: carbon and hydrogen. Now, the whole water-cure the'ry is founded on water and air. And listen, Karl, just think of the wisdom of nature: when a human being goes out into the fresh air, he inhales both black carbon and nitrogen through his windpipe, and as his constitution cannot stand the combination of these two dreadful things, the art of curing by water steps |