three men on the bummel-第15章

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They　don't　know　we　belong　to　you；　and　you　may　trust　us　implicitly
not　to　reveal　the　secret。　　We'll　hang　about　behind；　and　get　in
their　way。　　Ride　zig…zag　in　case　they　shoot。〃

I　wish　this　book　to　be　a　strict　record　of　fact；　unmarred　by
exaggeration；　and　therefore　I　have　shown　my　description　of　this
incident　to　Harris；　lest　anything　beyond　bald　narrative　may　have
crept　into　it。　　Harris　maintains　it　is　exaggerated；　but　admits　that
one　or　two　people　may　have　been　〃sprinkled。〃　　I　have　offered　to
turn　a　street　hose　on　him　at　a　distance　of　five…and…twenty　yards；
and　take　his　opinion　afterwards；　as　to　whether　〃sprinkled〃　is　the
adequate　term；　but　he　has　declined　the　test。　　Again；　he　insists
there　could　not　have　been　more　than　half　a　dozen　people；　at　the
outside；　involved　in　the　catastrophe；　that　forty　is　a　ridiculous
misstatement。　　I　have　offered　to　return　with　him　to　Hanover　and
make　strict　inquiry　into　the　matter；　and　this　offer　he　has　likewise
declined。　　Under　these　circumstances；　I　maintain　that　mine　is　a
true　and　restrained　narrative　of　an　event　that　is；　by　a　certain
number　of　Hanoverians；　remembered　with　bitterness　unto　this　very
day。

We　left　Hanover　that　same　evening；　and　arrived　at　Berlin　in　time
for　supper　and　an　evening　stroll。　　Berlin　is　a　disappointing　town；
its　centre　over…crowded；　its　outlying　parts　lifeless；　its　one
famous　street；　Unter　den　Linden；　an　attempt　to　combine　Oxford
Street　with　the　Champs　Elysee；　singularly　unimposing；　being　much
too　wide　for　its　size；　its　theatres　dainty　and　charming；　where
acting　is　considered　of　more　importance　than　scenery　or　dress；
where　long　runs　are　unknown；　successful　pieces　being　played　again
and　again；　but　never　consecutively；　so　that　for　a　week　running　you
may　go　to　the　same　Berlin　theatre；　and　see　a　fresh　play　every
night；　its　opera　house　unworthy　of　it；　its　two　music　halls；　with　an
unnecessary　suggestion　of　vulgarity　and　commonness　about　them；　ill…
arranged　and　much　too　large　for　comfort。　　In　the　Berlin　cafes　and
restaurants；　the　busy　time　is　from　midnight　on　till　three。　　Yet
most　of　the　people　who　frequent　them　are　up　again　at　seven。　　Either
the　Berliner　has　solved　the　great　problem　of　modern　life；　how　to　do
without　sleep；　or；　with　Carlyle；　he　must　be　looking　forward　to
eternity。

Personally；　I　know　of　no　other　town　where　such　late　hours　are　the
vogue；　except　St。　Petersburg。　　But　your　St。　Petersburger　does　not
get　up　early　in　the　morning。　　At　St。　Petersburg；　the　music　halls；
which　it　is　the　fashionable　thing　to　attend　AFTER　the　theatrea
drive　to　them　taking　half　an　hour　in　a　swift　sleighdo　not
practically　begin　till　twelve。　　Through　the　Neva　at　four　o'clock　in
the　morning　you　have　to　literally　push　your　way；　and　the　favourite
trains　for　travellers　are　those　starting　about　five　o'clock　in　the
morning。　　These　trains　save　the　Russian　the　trouble　of　getting　up
early。　　He　wishes　his　friends　〃Good…night；〃　and　drives　down　to　the
station　comfortably　after　supper；　without　putting　the　house　to　any
inconvenience。

Potsdam；　the　Versailles　to　Berlin；　is　a　beautiful　little　town；
situate　among　lakes　and　woods。　　Here　in　the　shady　ways　of　its
quiet；　far…stretching　park　of　Sans　Souci；　it　is　easy　to　imagine
lean；　snuffy　Frederick　〃bummeling〃　with　shrill　Voltaire。

Acting　on　my　advice；　George　and　Harris　consented　not　to　stay　long
in　Berlin；　but　to　push　on　to　Dresden。　　Most　that　Berlin　has　to　show
can　be　seen　better　elsewhere；　and　we　decided　to　be　content　with　a
drive　through　the　town。　　The　hotel　porter　introduced　us　to　a
droschke　driver；　under　whose　guidance；　so　he　assured　us；　we　should
see　everything　worth　seeing　in　the　shortest　possible　time。　　The　man
himself；　who　called　for　us　at　nine　o'clock　in　the　morning；　was　all
that　could　be　desired。　　He　was　bright；　intelligent；　and　well…
informed；　his　German　was　easy　to　understand；　and　he　knew　a　little
English　with　which　to　eke　it　out　on　occasion。　　With　the　man　himself
there　was　no　fault　to　be　found；　but　his　horse　was　the　most
unsympathetic　brute　I　have　ever　sat　behind。

He　took　a　dislike　to　us　the　moment　he　saw　us。　　I　was　the　first　to
come　out　of　the　hotel。　　He　turned　his　head；　and　looked　me　up　and
down　with　a　cold；　glassy　eye；　and　then　he　looked　across　at　another
horse；　a　friend　of　his　that　was　standing　facing　him。　　I　knew　what
he　said。　　He　had　an　expressive　head；　and　he　made　no　attempt　to
disguise　his　thought。

He　said：

〃Funny　things　one　does　come　across　in　the　summer　time；　don't　one？〃

George　followed　me　out　the　next　moment；　and　stood　behind　me。　　The
horse　again　turned　his　head　and　looked。　　I　have　never　known　a　horse
that　could　twist　himself　as　this　horse　did。　　I　have　seen　a
camelopard　do　trick's　with　his　neck　that　compelled　one's　attention；
but　this　animal　was　more　like　the　thing　one　dreams　of　after　a　dusty
days　at　Ascot；　followed　by　a　dinner　with　six　old　chums。　　If　I　had
seen　his　eyes　looking　at　me　from　between　his　own　hind　legs；　I　doubt
if　I　should　have　been　surprised。　　He　seemed　more　amused　with　George
if　anything；　than　with　myself。　　He　turned　to　his　friend　again。

〃Extraordinary；　isn't　it？〃　he　remarked；　〃I　suppose　there　must　be
some　place　where　they　grow　them〃；　and　then　he　commenced　licking
flies　off　his　own　left　shoulder。　　I　began　to　wonder　whether　he　had
lost　his　mother　when　young；　and　had　been　brought　up　by　a　cat。

George　and　I　climbed　in；　and　sat　waiting　for　Harris。　　He　came　a
moment　later。　　Myself；　I　thought　he　looked　rather　neat。　　He　wore　a
white　flannel　knickerbocker　suit；　which　he　had　had　made　specially
for　bicycling　in　hot　weather；　his　hat　may　have　been　a　trifle　out　of
the　common；　but　it　did　keep　the　sun　off。

The　horse　gave　one　look　at　him；　said　〃Gott　in　Himmel！〃　as　plainly
as　ever　horse　spoke；　and　started　off　down　Friedrich　Strasse　at　a
brisk　walk；　leaving　Harris　and　the　driver　standing　on　the　pavement。
His　owner　called　to　him　to　stop；　but　he　took　no　notice。　　They　ran
after　us；　and　overtook　us　at　the　corner　of　the　Dorotheen　Strasse。
I　could　not　catch　what　the　man　said　to　the　horse；　he　spoke　quickly
and　excitedly；　but　I　gathered　a　few　phrases；　such　as：

〃Got　to　earn　my　living　somehow；　haven't　I？　　Who　asked　for　your
opinion？　　Aye；　little　you　care　so　long　as　you　can　guzzle。〃

The　horse　cut　the　conversation　short　by　turning　up　the　Dorotheen
Strasse　on　his　own　account。　　I　think　what　he　said　was：

〃Come　on　then；　don't　talk　so　much。　　Let's　get　the　job　over；　and；
where　possible；　let's　keep　to　the　back　streets。〃

Opposite　the　Brandenburger　Thor　our　driver　hitched　the　reins　to　the
whip；　climbed　down；　and　came　round　to　explain　things　to　us。　　He
pointed　out　the　Thiergarten；　and　then　descanted　to　us　of　the
Reichstag　House。　　He　informed　us　of　its　exact　height；　length；　and
breadth；　after　the　manner　of　guides。　　Then　he　turned　his　attention
to　the　Gate。　　He　said　it　was　constructed　of　sandstone；　in　imitation
of　the　〃Properleer〃　in　Athens。

At　this　point　the　horse；　which　had　been　occupying　its　leisure
licking　its　own　legs；　turned　round　its　head。　　It　did　not　say
anything；　it　just　looked。

The　man　began　again　nervously。　　This　time　he　said　it　was　an
imitation　of　the　〃Propeyedliar。〃

Here　the　horse　proceeded　up　the　Linden；　and　nothing　would　persuade
him　not　to　proceed　up　the　Linden。　　His　owner　expostulated　with　him；
but　he　continued　to　trot　on。　　From　the　way　he　hitched　his　shoulders
as　he　moved；　I　somehow　felt　he　was　saying：

〃They've　seen　the　Gate；　haven'　t　they？　　Very　well；　that's　enough。
As　for　the　rest；　you　don't　know　what　you　are　talking　about；　and
they　wouldn't　understand　you　if　you　did。　　You　talk　German。〃

It　was　the　same　throughout　the　length　of　the　Linden。　　The　horse
consented　to　stand　still　sufficiently　long　to　enable　us　to　have　a
good　look　at　each　sight；　and　to　hear　the　name　of　it。　　All
explanation　and　description　he　cut　short　by　the　simple　process　of
moving　on。

〃What　these　fellows　want；〃　he　seemed　to　say　to　himself；　〃is　to　go
home　and　tell　people　they　have　seen　these　things。　　If　I　am　doing
them　an　injustice；　if　they　are　more　intelligent　than　they　look；
they　can　get　better　information　than　this　old　fool　of　mine　is
giving　them　from　the　guide　book。　　Who　wants　to　know　how　high　a
steeple　is？　　You　don't　remember　it　the　next　five　minutes　when　you
are　told；　and　if　you　do　it　is　because　you　have　got　nothing　else　in
your　head。　　He　just　tires　me　with　his　talk。　　Why　doesn't　he　hurry
up；　and　let　us　all　get　home　to　lunch？〃

Upon　reflection；　I　am　not　sure　that　wall…eyed　old　brute　had　not
sense　on　its　side。　　Anyhow；　I　know　there　have　been　occasions；　with
a　guide；　when　I　would　have　been　glad　of　its　interference。

But　one　is　apt　to　〃sin　one's　mercies；〃　as　the　Scotch　say；　and　at
the　time　we　cursed　that　horse　instead　of　blessing　it。



CHAPTER　VII



George　wondersGerman　love　of　order〃The　Band　of　the　Schwarzwald
Blackbirds　will　perform　at　seven〃The　china　dogIts　superiority
over　all　other　dogsThe　German　and　the　solar　systemA　tidy
countryThe　mountain　valley　as　it　ought　to　be；　according　to　the
German　ideaHow　the　waters　come　down　in　GermanyThe　scandal　of
DresdenHarris　gives　an　entertainmentIt　is　unappreciatedGeorge
and　the　aunt　of　himGeorge；　a　cushion；　and　three　damsels。

At　a　point　between　Berlin　and　Dresden；　George；　who　had；　for　the
last　quarter　of　an　hour　or　so；　been　looking　very　attentively　out　of
the　window；　said：

〃Why；　in　Germany；　is　it　the　custom　to　put　the　letter…box　up　a　tree？
Why　do　they　not　fix　it　to　the　front　door　as　we　do？　　I　should　hate
having　to　climb　up　a　tree　to　get　my　letters。　　Besides；　it　is　not
fair　to　the　postman。　　In　addition　to　being　most　exhausting；　the
delivery　of　letters　must　to　a　heavy　man；　on　windy　nights；　be
positively　dangerous　work。　　If　they　will　fix　it　to　a　tree；　why　not
fix　it　lower　down；　why　always　among　the　topmost　branches？　　But；
maybe；　I　am　misjudging　the　country；〃　he　continued；　a　new　idea
occurring　to　him。　　〃Possibly　the　Germans；　who　are　in　many　matters
ahead　of　us；　have　perfected　a　pigeon　post。　　Even　so；　I　cannot　help
thinking　they　would　have　been　wiser　to　train　the　birds；　while　they
were　about　it；　to　deliver　the　letters　nearer　the　ground。　　Getting
your　letters　out　of　those　boxes　must　be　tricky　work　even　to　the
average　middle…aged　German。〃

I　followed　his　gaze　out　of　window。　　I　said：

〃Those　are　not　letter…boxes；　they　are　birds'　nests。　　You　must
understand　this　nation。　　The　German　loves　birds；　but　he　likes　tidy
birds。　　A　bird　left　to　himself　builds　his　nest　just　anywhere。　　It
is　not　a　pretty　object；　according　to　the　German　notion　of
prettiness。　　There　is　not　a　bit　of　paint　on　it　anywhere；　not　a
plaster　image　all　round；　not　even　a　flag。　　The　nest　finished；　the
bird　proceeds　to　live　outside　it。　　He　drops　things　on　the　grass；
twigs；　ends　of　worms；　all　sorts　of　things。　　He　is　indelicate。　　He
makes　love；　quarrels　with　his　wife；　and　feeds　the　children　quite　in
public。　　The　German　householder　is　shocked。　　He　says　to　the　bird：

〃'For　many　things　I　like　you。　　I　like　to　look　at　you。　　I　like　to
hear　you　sing。　　But　I　don't　like　your　ways。　　Take　this　little　box；
and　put　your　rubbish　inside　where　I　can't　see　it。　　Come　out　when
you　want　to　sing；　but　let　your　domestic　arrangements　be　confined　to
the　interior。　　Keep　to　the　box；　and　don't　make　the　garde