Diary of a Pilgrimage [25]
and made my way to the dressing-room at the end of the car, and had a wash.
It is difficult to wash in these little places, because the cars shake so; and when you have got both your hands and half your head in the basin, and are unable to protect yourself, the sides of the room, and the water-tap and the soap-dish, and other cowardly things, take a mean advantage of your helplessness to punch you as hard as ever they can; and when you back away from these, the door swings open and slaps you from behind.
I succeeded, however, in getting myself fairly wet all over, even if I did nothing else, and then I looked about for a towel. Of course, there was no towel. That is the trick. The idea of the railway authorities is to lure the passenger, by providing him with soap and water and a basin, into getting himself thoroughly soaked, and then to let it dawn upon him that there is no towel. That is their notion of fun!
I thought of the handkerchiefs in my bag, but to get to them I should have to pass compartments containing ladies, and I was only in early morning dress.
So I had to wipe myself with a newspaper which I happened to have in my pocket, and a more unsatisfactory thing to dry oneself upon I cannot conceive.
I woke up B. when I got back to the carriage, and persuaded him to go and have a wash; and in listening to the distant sound of his remarks when he likewise discovered that there was no towel, the recollection of my own discomfiture passed gently away.
Ah! how true it is, as good people tell us, that in thinking of the sorrows of others, we learn to forget our own!
For fifty miles before one reaches Munich, the land is flat, stale, and apparently very unprofitable, and there is little to interest the looker-out. He sits straining his eyes towards the horizon, eagerly longing for some sign of the city to come in sight.
It lies very low, however, and does all it can to escape observation; and it is not until he is almost within its streets that he discovers it.
THE REST OF SUNDAY, THE 25TH
We Seek Breakfast.--I Air My German.--The Art of Gesture.--The Intelligence of the Premiere Danseuse.--Performance of English Pantomime in the Pyrenees.--Sad Result Therefrom.--The "German Conversation" Book.--Its Narrow-minded View of Human Wants and Aspirations.--Sunday in Munich.--Hans and Gretchen.--High Life v. Low Life.--"A Beer-Cellar."
At Munich we left our luggage at the station, and went in search of breakfast. Of course, at eight o'clock in the morning none of the big cafes were open; but at length, beside some gardens, we found an old-fashioned looking restaurant, from which came a pleasant odour of coffee and hot onions; and walking through and seating ourselves at one of the little tables, placed out under the trees, we took the bill of fare in our hands, and summoned the waiter to our side.
I ordered the breakfast. I thought it would be a good opportunity for me to try my German. I ordered coffee and rolls as a groundwork. I got over that part of my task very easily. With the practice I had had during the last two days, I could have ordered coffee and rolls for forty. Then I foraged round for luxuries, and ordered a green salad. I had some difficulty at first in convincing the man that it was not a boiled cabbage that I wanted, but succeeded eventually in getting that silly notion out of his head.
I still had a little German left, even after that. So I ordered an omelette also.
"Tell him a savoury one," said B., "or he will be bringing us something full of hot jam and chocolate-creams. You know their style."
"Oh, yes," I answered. "Of course. Yes. Let me see. What is the German for savoury?"
"Savoury?" mused B. "Oh! ah! hum! Bothered if I know! Confound the thing--I can't think of it!"
I could not think of it either. As a matter of fact, I never knew it. We tried the man with French. We said:
"Une omelette aux fines herbes."
As he did not appear to understand that, we gave it him in bad English. We twisted and turned the unfortunate
It is difficult to wash in these little places, because the cars shake so; and when you have got both your hands and half your head in the basin, and are unable to protect yourself, the sides of the room, and the water-tap and the soap-dish, and other cowardly things, take a mean advantage of your helplessness to punch you as hard as ever they can; and when you back away from these, the door swings open and slaps you from behind.
I succeeded, however, in getting myself fairly wet all over, even if I did nothing else, and then I looked about for a towel. Of course, there was no towel. That is the trick. The idea of the railway authorities is to lure the passenger, by providing him with soap and water and a basin, into getting himself thoroughly soaked, and then to let it dawn upon him that there is no towel. That is their notion of fun!
I thought of the handkerchiefs in my bag, but to get to them I should have to pass compartments containing ladies, and I was only in early morning dress.
So I had to wipe myself with a newspaper which I happened to have in my pocket, and a more unsatisfactory thing to dry oneself upon I cannot conceive.
I woke up B. when I got back to the carriage, and persuaded him to go and have a wash; and in listening to the distant sound of his remarks when he likewise discovered that there was no towel, the recollection of my own discomfiture passed gently away.
Ah! how true it is, as good people tell us, that in thinking of the sorrows of others, we learn to forget our own!
For fifty miles before one reaches Munich, the land is flat, stale, and apparently very unprofitable, and there is little to interest the looker-out. He sits straining his eyes towards the horizon, eagerly longing for some sign of the city to come in sight.
It lies very low, however, and does all it can to escape observation; and it is not until he is almost within its streets that he discovers it.
THE REST OF SUNDAY, THE 25TH
We Seek Breakfast.--I Air My German.--The Art of Gesture.--The Intelligence of the Premiere Danseuse.--Performance of English Pantomime in the Pyrenees.--Sad Result Therefrom.--The "German Conversation" Book.--Its Narrow-minded View of Human Wants and Aspirations.--Sunday in Munich.--Hans and Gretchen.--High Life v. Low Life.--"A Beer-Cellar."
At Munich we left our luggage at the station, and went in search of breakfast. Of course, at eight o'clock in the morning none of the big cafes were open; but at length, beside some gardens, we found an old-fashioned looking restaurant, from which came a pleasant odour of coffee and hot onions; and walking through and seating ourselves at one of the little tables, placed out under the trees, we took the bill of fare in our hands, and summoned the waiter to our side.
I ordered the breakfast. I thought it would be a good opportunity for me to try my German. I ordered coffee and rolls as a groundwork. I got over that part of my task very easily. With the practice I had had during the last two days, I could have ordered coffee and rolls for forty. Then I foraged round for luxuries, and ordered a green salad. I had some difficulty at first in convincing the man that it was not a boiled cabbage that I wanted, but succeeded eventually in getting that silly notion out of his head.
I still had a little German left, even after that. So I ordered an omelette also.
"Tell him a savoury one," said B., "or he will be bringing us something full of hot jam and chocolate-creams. You know their style."
"Oh, yes," I answered. "Of course. Yes. Let me see. What is the German for savoury?"
"Savoury?" mused B. "Oh! ah! hum! Bothered if I know! Confound the thing--I can't think of it!"
I could not think of it either. As a matter of fact, I never knew it. We tried the man with French. We said:
"Une omelette aux fines herbes."
As he did not appear to understand that, we gave it him in bad English. We twisted and turned the unfortunate