All public theatrical performances were in the afternoon. The swell always entered late, attracting as much attention as possible, and took a seat on the stage, in full view of the audience. In the midst of a tragedy, he laughed aloud, to show his immunity to sentiment; at a funny play he scowled and sometimes noisily left the theatre, clanking his spurs, and saluting acquaintances as he passed out. Sometimes he would take a rush from the stage floor and playfully tickle the ear of one of the actors.
After the play, he went to the tavern, where it was important to call the waiters by their first names, showing that he was a regular patron; and when the bill was presented he must never look at the items or add them up, which might show that he was a family man, or familiar with current prices; no, he must glance carelessly at the total, and pay with a big tip.
Then in the night he went to his lodgings. One must remember there were no paved streets in London and no sidewalks and no lights; if the young gentleman could afford it, he had a linkboy, carrying a torch, precede him, for in Dryden’s later phrase, the real swell “sailed behind his link.” The boy was properly tipped, so that if he met strangers, he would call out, “My lord, step this way.” Then others gave him place, and the officers of the law respected his intoxicated condition. And so to bed.
XXXIX
A FAIR CITY
Almost every writer and thinker has the city of his dreams, his Utopia. In recent years the novelists W. H. Hudson, H. G. Wells and Alfred Ollivant have each published a book setting forth a conception of the ideal community. It is not my purpose to add another Utopia but rather to call attention to an actual city, which, while it is imperfect like everything else in this motley world, has nevertheless many advantages that might well be imitated by American cities. I refer to Munich, Germany.
Munich is my favourite European town. I had rather live in the United States of America than in any other country; partly because I was born here, partly because I like the country anyway, but if I could not live in the United States I had rather live in Munich than in any other city in the world.
Munich is nearly as large as Boston and yet as quiet as a country village. Where the people are I don’t know, but those who are familiar with Boylston and Tremont Streets in Boston will see nothing like that in Munich. The streets are calm, the sidewalks uncrowded, the highway uncongested by traffic; there is no Great White Way; there are no flaring lights; there is no hurly-burly. You can hear your own footsteps. An American who arrived at Munich at nine o’clock in the evening, observing the silence of the streets, asked his taxi driver to take him somewhere. The driver said, “Isn’t that rather indefinite?” “You know what I mean—take me where there is a lot of noise and a lot of people.” The driver answered, “What you want is the railway station.” And indeed that is the only place in Munich that fulfills those requirements.
There is everything in Munich to make a cultivated foreigner happy, cheerful and content with a long stay. I have never seen any town that has so much to give to the visitor. In the first place, everything that one wants to see is within easy walking distance. If one rooms in a boarding house on a side street off the Ludwig Strasse, one can walk in a few moments to the university, to the public library, to the concert halls, to the State Opera House, to the State Theatre, to the Play House, to the art galleries; and the English Garden, an enormous tract of land, is in the centre of the town and close to all of these other delectable places. In the English Garden in summer one may take long walks or one may sit down and hear music as one sips coffee or beer. In the winter one may skate on the frozen lake. Those who are fond of winter sports have the mountains close at hand. It is estimated that on some Sunday mornings in winter 100,000 people take an early train to the mountains for skiing and other amusements. In the summer the environs of Munich are beautiful. There is a series of lakes where one may take excursions in a little steamer or in a rowboat; where one may visit famous old castles and see the treasures with which they are filled.
If one is fond of tennis, there are three or four tennis courts in the heart of the city where one may become a visiting member at a nominal fee and find plenty of agreeable companions. The golf links are ten minutes by trolley, and there again the entrance fee is nominal. The only objection that I have to the golf links is that the magnificent mountains are so near that one is constantly tempted to lift up one’s eyes to the hills, and, however valuable it may be for one’s spiritual development, it is fatal to one’s efficiency in golf.
Every night in Munich there is something interesting to hear at the opera, at the theatre or at the concert hall. Every morning there is published a little paper devoted exclusively to theatrical and musical affairs. This paper gives every event that will take place in the city in the afternoon and evening, with the exact time of beginning, the exact time of closing and a complete list of the actors, singers and performers.