informal inspection of The Enormous Room. Thank God, I said to myself, it has never looked so chaotically filthy since I have had the joy of inhabiting it. And sans blague, The Enormous Room was in a state of really supreme disorder; shirts were thrown everywhere, a few twine clothes lines supported various pants, handkerchiefs and stockings, the stove was surrounded by a gesticulating group of nearly undressed prisoners, the stink was actually sublime.
As the door closed behind him, the handsome man moved slowly and vigorously up The Enormous Room. His eyes were as big as turnips. His neat felt hat rose with the rising of his hair. His mouth opened in a gesture of unutterable astonishment. His knees trembled with surprise and terror, the creases of his trousers quivering. His hands lifted themselves slowly outward and upward till they reached the level of his head; moved inward till they grasped his head: and were motionless. In a deep awe-struck resonant voice he exclaimed simply and sincerely:
"Nom de nom de nom de nom de nom de DIEU!"
Which introduces the reader to The Washing Machine Man, a Hollander, owner of a store at Brest where he sold the highly utiles contrivances which gave him his name. He, as I remember, had been charged with aiding and abetting in the case of escaping deserters—but I know a better reason for his arrest: undoubtedly le gouvernement français caught him one day in the act of inventing a super-washing machine, in fact, a Whitewashing machine, for the private use of the Kaiser and His Family....
Which brings us, if you please, to the first Delectable Mountain.
