The next day, and the next, the strikers refused to either work or disperse. They were trying “the dog in the manger” system of the United States strikers, neither working nor letting work. A regiment of militia was sent there, and, unlike American militia, did their duty. A very few musket volleys, and the poor, deluded strikers went away, though a good many staid there in their blood.

[CHAPTER XIX]
1879

AMERICAN ARTISTS AT MUNICH​--​I MEET MARK TWAIN​--​TAKE HIM TO AN ARTISTS’ CLUB​--​CONVERSATIONS WITH HIM​--​BEER DRINKING​--​HE READS THE ORIGINAL OF “WHAT I KNOW ABOUT THE GERMAN LANGUAGE”​--​WE ENTERTAIN THE AMERICANS AT ZURICH​--​A LETTER FROM GENERAL SHERMAN​--​CONFEDERATES MORE POPULAR THAN UNION MEN​--​SHERMAN READY TO SURRENDER.

February 1, 1879.​--​Spent part of January in Munich, and very much of the time among the studios of the American artists. There are not less than fifty of our countrymen here, either practicing art or learning it.

Frank Duveneck (later widely known) had a large class of devoted students, who were also his followers in a style of painting peculiar to himself. There was a strong belief that he was a man of genius, but he spent much time teaching, when he ought to have been painting. Duveneck’s students followed him later to Florence, where I saw them again.

Chase was also at Munich at this time. I can imagine no city more desirable for a student of art. The social atmosphere breathes of art; the galleries, of course, are unsurpassed. There are plenty of teachers​--​and models are plenty, and all very cheap.

I was introduced to Carl Piloty, head of the Academy of Arts. It was on the street a friend and I met him. The day was cold, the wind blowing. There could be little conversation. He wore a big paletot wrapped about him, and his face and head were so covered that I could not tell what he looked like. Saw him the same evening on the platform in the academy, posing models for the students. There was great enthusiasm for him.

Like most strangers, we visited the famous breweries, and at the “Hof Brauerei” waded around over the wet, stone floors and helped ourselves to beer, as was the custom. The place was full of loud-talking people, with many soldiers among them, some sitting at tables with schooners of beer before them, others carrying their beer glasses about with them as they gesticulated together in groups. A band played all the time. It was to me a wet, noisy, half-lighted, disagreeable place; but it was “the thing” to go there and help yourself to the world-renowned beer.