"We love Munich, but not everyone is of our opinion. It is true that
Munich is rather lacking in police officers, that _Les Pompiers de
Nanterre_ is not sung here, that we notice an absence of assaults,
swindlings and murders that is truly desolating for the future of this
capital. On the other hand, we have seen magnificent theatres where
Goethe is played, we have visited museums which contain treasures of
art and of genius, we have seen monuments in the purest Greek style,
great gardens like the Bois de Boulogne, immense cafés where one is
served by pretty girls whom no one dreams of chaffing beyond reason,
except, perhaps, some passing wags who have only their trouble for
their pains.
"We have climbed up inside 'The Bavaria,' the enormous bronze statue
which towers above the city, and through the eyes of which six people
are able to see before them the sweep of land extending to the
mountains of the Tyrol. We have visited the hall of the portraits of
beautiful women of the country, where one imagines oneself in a sort of
Montyon Gallery of love, and where, if her nose be of an heroic cast,
the daughter of a shoemaker may find herself side by side with the
daughter of a princess. The king, Ludwig I., who lodged in his palace
this ingenuous display of Germanic beauty, loved all pretty women; and
the good Bavarians recount that at his death the following scene must
have taken place at the gate of Heaven:
"Rap! Rap!"
"'Who is there?' asks St Peter.'
"'It is I, Ludwig, King of Bavaria!'
"'One moment,' replies the blessed Apostle. Then he shouts in a voice
of thunder: 'Get the eleven thousand virgins out of the way quick! Here
is Ludwig of Bavaria just arriving!"
"But we must not laugh too much about that king who, in the place of
military glory, has bequeathed to his people schools where the children
are taught to develop a lofty and noble character."
"That is very good, Villiers, but you must not read any more," cried
I, interrupting him. "Let us hurry to the post, there is still time
before the evening collection. Let us send the article at once, the
more you allow the time to pass, the less chance there is of its being
published, for, in spite of your conciliatory sentence, present time
does not wait."
[1] Forever clanks at my girdle the heavy key of the dream.
[2] O shepherd, Vesper kindles at the west!
[3] I am the boatman of the lunar seas!
X
After the tiresome incident of the Hôtel des Quatre Saisons, when
Villiers had removed his shoes before a noble audience, we sulked at
the social world, refused its invitations, and when there was nothing
very interesting at the theatres, we loved to gather in the evening at
the house of Franz Servais.
Servais, who made very frequent visits to Munich, had there a large
apartment on the ground floor, in a quarter a little away from the
centre. He possessed a piano, around which we passed many delightful
hours, thanks to the unwearied kindness of Hans Richter, who played us
fragments from the _Rheingold_ to initiate us a little into the work
which we were so soon to have the happiness of seeing represented.
Servais had not held any resentment against Villiers; he quite
understood now that he had done what he believed was necessary, and
they had become good companions and were on the best of terms.
Sometimes we amused ourselves by playing charades. It was undoubtedly
I who proposed this kind of diversion, of which I was very fond. It was
a pastime that had pleased my father, and with which, at Neuilly, he
had often enlivened the Thursdays at home of the Rue de Longchamp.
From the first, Servais showed a remarkable aptitude. He was always
ready with something opportune, something unexpected, and he was never
deterred by the fear of producing comical effects. Villiers, great
actor as he was! declared himself to be incapable of improvising two
sentences, so reserved for himself the honour of guessing the word of
the charade. Schuré requested to be allowed to hold the office of the
public--a rather abstracted public--while Scheffer and his dog, which
never left him, were both very attentive. As for Richter, he consented
to appear in the rôle of a mute personage, so mute even, that upon one
occasion when representing a sick man, he allowed the brilliantine to
be poured into his mouth without a protest, in order not to spoil the
effect.
How did the lady of many names, who ought to have had something else
to do, take it into her head to announce to the whole city the way in
which we passed our evenings? It always seemed to be known. One evening
when we had had supper at the Café Maximilian, just as we started to go
out, we saw several carriages roll up and stop one after the other in
front of the Café. Before we had time to think about it, the Countess
Muchanoff alighted from the first coach and entered hastily.
"At last you are found!" cried she, "you have become very elusive, you
are never at your apartments, you never come when one invites you, so
we decided to look for you everywhere. For the last hour we have been
going to all the beer-gardens, all the restaurants in Munich; this is
the very last one."
We were a little disconcerted. Villiers had made a show of running
away, but the retreat was cut off, the doors of the other carriages
opened, ladies and gentlemen, who figured in the elegant society which
had been present at the disastrous fête, spread out over the much
be-glorified side-walk.
"It is very wrong of you to be so exclusive," continued Madame
Muchanoff, "to organise charming evening parties, without letting
anyone know! Now that we have discovered you, we shall take you all
away with us. Come, come, you must do some charades, we are all so
curious to see that!"
"Charades!"
How did they know?... and did they really imagine that we would proceed
to play at charades in the city?
"But, dear lady----" said I to her, "it was only
among ourselves and as one would play at children's games, that we
amused ourselves so; we should lose all our spontaneity if we undertook
to be serious about it."
They begged and they insisted, but we remained firm and unmoved. We
asserted that we considered them all as our guests, that we ought to
receive and entertain them, and that they must excuse us for not being
able to do it in a Café.
At this moment someone opened for us an empty room, turned on the
lights, and all these gay people, very much pleased, went in there,
followed by the surprised and admiring gaze of the public. The ladies
loosened their evening wraps and revealed their bare shoulders and
light costumes. The men were in evening coats.
Many of the persons present we hardly knew, and at first we were a
little ill at ease. But someone ordered tea, someone else champagne,
the women lighted their Russian cigarettes, as slender as toothpicks,
and the momentary awkwardness vanished. Count von Berghem, a man with
very fascinating manners, of whom I know nothing more than his name,
entered into a discussion with Schuré and Servais upon the analogies
which exist between the Gods of Edda, from whom Wagner has taken his
heroes, and the Gods of Olympus, between Wotan and Jupiter.
The Countess Muchanoff seemed determined to reconquer Villiers, who
escaped from her as long as possible, but she made such gracious
advances to him, she expressed such a lively admiration for his talent
and his mind, that he regained all his assurance.
In fact, this rather unusual overture, this unexpected invasion,
became a very charming and cordial event. The conclusion of the episode
revealed Villiers' character: he was no longer crestfallen at having
seated himself upon the piano and allowed his feet to dangle, he only
regretted that he did not have his Maltese cross in his pocket on this
occasion, so that he could pin it to his waistcoat.