Strange, costly creatures--popping in and out of little wooden
houses, seated, solitary on artificial rocks, or pacing up and down
within the limits prescribed by the keeper of the show--tell us,
'Monsieur l'administrateur,' something about their habits; stick some
labels into the sand with their Latin names, tell us how they manage to
feather their nests, whether they 'ruminate' over their food--and we
shall have added to our store of knowledge at the seaside!
It is all admirably managed ('administered' is the word), as everything
of the kind is in France. In order to bathe, as the French understand
it, you must study costume, and to make a good appearance in the water
you must move about with the dexterity and grace required in a ball
room; you must remember that you are present at a _bal de mer_, and that
you are not in a tub. There are water velocipedes, canoes for ladies,
and floats for the unskilful; fresh water for the head before bathing,
and tubs of hot water afterwards for the feet, on the sands; an
appreciating and admiring audience on the shore; a lounge across the
sands and through the 'Etablissement,' in costumes more scanty than
those of Neapolitan fish girls!
Yes, youth and beauty come to Trouville-by-the-sea; French beauty of the
dresden china pattern, side by side and hand in hand, with the young
English girl of the heavy Clapham type (which elderly Frenchmen
adore)--all in the water together, in the prettiest dresses, 'sweetly
trimmed' and daintily conceived; all joining hands, men and women having
a 'merry go round' in the water--some swimming, some diving, shouting,
and disporting themselves, and 'playing fantastic tricks before high
heaven,'--to the admiration of a crowded beach.
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