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  An
  American Girl
  in Munich

  Impressions of a Music Student

  By
  Mabel W. Daniels

  Boston
  Little, Brown, and Company
  1905


  Copyright, 1905,
  BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
  All rights reserved

  Published March, 1905

  THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.




  _To Muetterchen_




I


MUNICH, _September 15, 1902_.

_Dear Cecilia_:--

Here I am in my Mecca at last after a "calm sea and prosperous voyage."
Would that you were with me to share my pleasures, and, yes, I am
selfish enough to add, my troubles, too, for you have such a magical
power of charming away the latter that they seem but trifling vexations.
Then I should so enjoy watching your delicious blue eyes open wide at
these Germans and their queer customs, and oh! how you would elevate the
tip of your aristocratic nose at my box of a study, which, however, I
consider the height of cosiness and comfort--from a German standpoint.

Lest by this last remark I've imperilled my reputation for patriotism,
let me hasten to assure you that I am as far from adopting a foreign
point of view in my contemplation of Man and the Universe as when we
used to walk from college down to Harvard Square and "have out" the
discussions kindled by our four o'clock lecture. It's only in the
concrete things of life that I've been forced to abandon my Bostonian,
and therefore, of course, unimpeachable standards. I have learned how
unwise a thing it would be for me to say to a German landlady, "Show
me an apartment with running water, steam heat, electric lights, and a
porcelain bath-tub." The poor bewildered creature would give me over
at once into the hands of the omnipotent _Polizei_ on the ground of
insanity. But perhaps, after all, the best way of explaining myself is
to follow the injunction in your letter: "Begin at the beginning and
tell me all about it."

_Muetterchen_ and I arrived at Munich late in the evening, and went
directly to a hotel near the station, where we slept soundly after our
long trip. Early the next morning I set out to look for a permanent
abode. On my list were a number of well-recommended _pensions_, and I
chose, naturally, the nearest at hand. It was not so easy to find as
I had at first thought, for a German street has a queer fashion of
changing its name every few blocks, so I deemed it wisest to inquire the
way of a passer-by. Frankly, I had rather prided myself on my knowledge
of the language, fondly imagining that I should have no trouble in
understanding it or in making myself intelligible. With that sublime
assurance born only of ignorance, I approached an honest-faced workman,
and in a charmingly idiomatic sentence inquired the shortest way to
Barer-strasse. He stared at me hard for a moment, and then burst into
a flood of harsh-sounding words, not one of which fell familiarly on my
ear. I was puzzled for a moment, but, thinking I must have mistaken his
nationality, I bowed my thanks and made my way to a policeman on the
corner, who, by the bye, wears a gleaming helmet like those of the
soldier chorus in "Faust." His answer was fully as incomprehensible
as the other, and I realized suddenly, with an overwhelming sense of
helplessness, that this strange-sounding tongue must be the Bavarian
dialect, and to understand it would require a totally new vocabulary. My
enthusiasm was distinctly dampened, but I bravely opened the Red Book,
which I had hitherto scorned, and unfolding the map of Munich to its
full extent, I laboriously studied the tangle of black and red lines for
a quarter of an hour before I found the desired street.

To reach the _pension_ took but a short time, and I was relieved to
discover that the landlady spoke north German and a little English. She
was a large, red-cheeked, breezy person, and I felt very much like a
small boat in tow of a big ship, as I meekly followed at her heels,
while she showed me her vacant rooms, accompanying her smiles, bows, and
gesticulations with a torrent of volubility. Finally she ushered me into
a stuffy room, over-crowded with furniture, which she proudly called
the "salon," and pointing out as _piece de resistance_ a decrepit,
yellow-keyed piano, announced that it was "for the use of the guests."
But the change, dear Cecilia, when I, like the stage villain, disclosed
my identity! The alluring smile melted in a trice; the persuasive tones
disappeared for the sharp rasp of the up-to-date business woman. I
learned that a music student was regarded as an incubus, and shunned
accordingly. Practice hours must be limited from, perhaps, nine-thirty
to twelve and from four to seven. The only possible room was up four
flights. Did I use the loud pedal much? Did I play any "pieces" or only
"five-finger exercises"?

I cannot tell you all the questions she hurled at me. Suffice it to say,
I left, downcast and disheartened, only to meet practically the same
experience at each _pension_ in turn. If there were already a music
student in possession, that was the signal for me instantly to withdraw.
If there were none, I found the rooms so undesirable, or practice hours
so limited, that to remain was impossible.

At length I chanced to encounter, returning from her mornings work at
the Pinakothek, an art student whom I had met on the steamer, and she
told me of a house where she thought there were no _Musikers_ as yet.
With an anxious heart I hurried up the narrow stairs, and interviewed
the landlady, who proved to be a most genial creature. An hour later
we had left the hotel and were ensconced as proud possessors of two
adjoining rooms. The larger we use for a sleeping-room, and the smaller
is dignified by the name of "salon." It is there that I am to work, and
I have already succeeded in making it a little more homelike, by placing
a screen to mitigate the depressing hideousness of the stove, and by
setting out my photographs on desk and table. I have, too, tacked on the
wall the Glee Club pictures and several snapshots which you took that
memorable spring day in the Yard.

The _pension_ itself is small. Indeed, the _Frau Baronin_--which is the
title with which I am to address my landlady--tells me she seldom
has more than ten guests in the house. She also says that most of
her _pensionnaires_ are German, for which we are grateful. I cannot
understand why so many Americans come over here expecting to see
something of the life and then establish themselves in one of those
hotel-like boarding-houses where the majority of the inmates speak only
the English tongue.

The view from our windows is charming, for Maximilians-Platz is one
of the most attractive spots in the city. As I look down on the waving
tops, and green lawns dotted with flowers, I forget that I am in the
city at all. Leaning out on the ledge, with the warm breath of the
wind on my forehead, the twittering of birds and the soft plash of the
fountain in my ears, the temptation to revel in all sorts of Arcadian
dreams would be fairly irresistible, were not this idyllic illusion
suddenly put to flight by the prosaic rumble of passing trams, which
straightway brings me down to the commonplace.

Really, I didn't introduce that fountain just to create a romantic
description, though it does sound rather like a daily theme. The best
part of it is it's real,--and the loveliest thing in Muenchen. You
can read about it any day in the Red Book, and can discover countless
pictures of it, but, believe me, nothing can give you an idea of its
sound as one stands at a little distance. If I were to score it I should
use the strings and a harp--the former divided and subdivided as in the
prelude to Lohengrin; and then perhaps I'd add a clarinet to give the
effect of the birds' call which mingles exquisitely with the plaintive
music of the water.


_Later._

My first appearance in German society was made last evening at
seven-thirty. We were shown by Gretchen, our stout maid, into the
dining-room,--a large room with a long table in the centre, about which
a number of people were sitting. At one end was the Baron. He is very
fat, very jovial, and very red of face. Precisely the same adjectives
somewhat intensified might be applied to his wife, who sat opposite.
When neither of them was talking, they were laughing in the most
infectious fashion imaginable. Isn't it queer to picture the nobility of
Europe as running boarding-houses? I rather fancied I might see some
of its members riding by in magnificent carriages, with high-stepping
horses and clashing chains. I had pictured them as lounging against the
cushions of their coaches with an air of bored grandeur, while
somewhere in the background shone a glint of ermine,--but behold! German
aristocracy bursts upon me in my landlord and landlady.

_Muetterchen_ was given the place of honor at the Baron's right. I sat
next. My _vis-a-vis_ was a Frenchman whom I heard them addressing as
"Herr Doktor." He was as typical of his nation as the Baron of his, and
surveyed me critically from behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. It did
not take me long to discover that he was intensely proud of his English,
which was very bad. On his left sat Frau von Waldfel, a Hungarian, who
monopolized the conversation in a high, rasping voice, and whose red
cheeks, prominent nose, and beady black eyes bespoke aggressiveness
of the most aggressive type. Then came Karl, the Baron's son, a stout,
mischievous, frank-faced boy of fourteen, and on my right hand sat a
blond-haired young man of about five and twenty, whom I should have
acknowledged handsome had not his face been disfigured by several scars.
I put him down at once as a student, for I had not travelled through
Heidelberg on my way southward without learning something of the
duelling custom. We were eight in all.

The first meal in a strange _pension_ is an awful ordeal. We both rather
dreaded it, the more so as no one present spoke English, except Frau von
Waldfel, and we were rather timid about airing our knowledge of German.
Then, too, every one seemed to converse so fast that the words fairly
tumbled over one another. Whenever I heard a totally strange phrase I
soothed my pride by saying, _sotto voce_, to _Muetterchen_, "Again
that demoniacal dialect!" The Baron and Baroness were extremely kind,
however, and did their utmost to make us feel at home, while Frau
von Waldfel was in her element. These foreigners do so appreciate an
opportunity to practise their English!

Between the continual making and consuming of numberless small
sandwiches, which she prepared in a marvellously skilful fashion from
her bread and butter, she conversed in the following manner, never
pausing for a reply:

"Have you been to Dresden or Hamburg or Berlin? I don't care for those
cities at all. They're frightful. Why, they simply starve you! Of
course in Hamburg one does find good meat pie; the only decent thing in
Dresden is the pastry. But give me Vienna! That's the city of Europe!
One can get most _be-au-ti-ful_ things to eat there."

Shades of the Sistine! Fancy travelling through Europe "for thy
stomach's sake"! Possibly, however, this is no more unworthy an object
than that of an American girl whom I met yesterday. "Like Munich? I
should rather say not. There isn't one decent shop in the place!"

Just to think of all the articles they are writing at home to prove that
we are fast developing an artistic sense!

Anything more inconvenient than the arrangement of meals would be hard
to find--with the exception of breakfast. This is served when and where
you want it and consists of rolls and coffee. It seems we are especially
lucky inasmuch as we receive honey also "without extra charge," as
the Baroness impressively added. At eleven o'clock comes the _Zweites
Fruehstueck_ which I rather imagine I shall omit. At one occurs
_Mittaggessen_, a pompous meal requiring at least an hour. At five every
one has afternoon coffee and a bit of cake. I hear there are any number
of beguiling outdoor cafes where one can sit under the trees and hear
good music. At seven-thirty your true son of Germany hungers yet again,
and _Abendessen_ (supper) is served. If, however, one wishes to attend
any form