three men on the bummel(三个闲逛的人)-第25节
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most romantic ravine to be found in the Black Forest。 The last time I
walked down it some hundreds of Italian workmen were encamped there
hard at work； training the wild little Wehr the way it should go； bricking
the banks for it here； blasting the rocks for it there； making cement steps
for it down which it can travel soberly and without fuss。
For in Germany there is no nonsense talked about untrammelled nature。
In Germany nature has got to behave herself； and not set a bad example to
the children。 A German poet； noticing waters coming down as Southey
describes； somewhat inexactly； the waters coming down at Lodore； would
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be too shocked to stop and write alliterative verse about them。 He would
hurry away； and at once report them to the police。 Then their foaming
and their shrieking would be of short duration。
〃Now then； now then； what's all this about？〃 the voice of German
authority would say severely to the waters。 〃We can't have this sort of
thing； you know。 Come down quietly； can't you？ Where do you think
you are？〃
And the local German council would provide those waters with zinc
pipes and wooden troughs； and a corkscrew staircase； and show them how
to come down sensibly； in the German manner。
It is a tidy land is Germany。
We reached Dresden on the Wednesday evening； and stayed there over
the Sunday。
Taking one consideration with another； Dresden； perhaps； is the most
attractive town in Germany； but it is a place to be lived in for a while
rather than visited。 Its museums and galleries； its palaces and gardens； its
beautiful and historically rich environment； provide pleasure for a winter；
but bewilder for a week。 It has not the gaiety of Paris or Vienna； which
quickly palls； its charms are more solidly German； and more lasting。 It is
the Mecca of the musician。 For five shillings； in Dresden； you can
purchase a stall at the opera house； together； unfortunately； with a strong
disinclination ever again to take the trouble of sitting out a performance in
any English； French； or； American opera house。
The chief scandal of Dresden still centres round August the Strong；
〃the Man of Sin；〃 as Carlyle always called him； who is popularly reputed
to have cursed Europe with over a thousand children。 Castles where he
imprisoned this discarded mistress or thatone of them； who persisted in
her claim to a better title； for forty years； it is said； poor lady！ The
narrow rooms where she ate her heart out and died are still shown。
Chateaux； shameful for this deed of infamy or that； lie scattered round the
neighbourhood like bones about a battlefield； and most of your guide's
stories are such as the 〃young person〃 educated in Germany had best not
hear。 His life…sized portrait hangs in the fine Zwinger； which he built as an
arena for his wild beast fights when the people grew tired of them in the
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market…place； a beetle…browed； frankly animal man； but with the culture
and taste that so often wait upon animalism。 Modern Dresden undoubtedly
owes much to him。
But what the stranger in Dresden stares at most is； perhaps； its electric
trams。 These huge vehicles flash through the streets at from ten to
twenty miles an hour； taking curves and corners after the manner of an
Irish car driver。 Everybody travels by them； excepting only officers in
uniform； who must not。 Ladies in evening dress； going to ball or opera；
porters with their baskets； sit side by side。 They are all…important in the
streets； and everything and everybody makes haste to get out of their way。
If you do not get out of their way； and you still happen to be alive when
picked up； then on your recovery you are fined for having been in their
way。 This teaches you to be wary of them。
One afternoon Harris took a 〃bummel〃 by himself。 In the evening； as
we sat listening to the band at the Belvedere； Harris said； a propos of
nothing in particular； 〃These Germans have no sense of humour。〃
〃What makes you think that？〃 I asked。
〃Why； this afternoon；〃 he answered； 〃I jumped on one of those electric
tramcars。 I wanted to see the town； so I stood outside on the little
platformwhat do you call it？〃
〃The Stehplatz；〃 I suggested。
〃That's it；〃 said Harris。 〃Well； you know the way they shake you
about； and how you have to look out for the corners； and mind yourself
when they stop and when they start？〃
I nodded。
〃There were about half a dozen of us standing there；〃 he continued；
〃and； of course； I am not experienced。 The thing started suddenly； and
that jerked me backwards。 I fell against a stout gentleman； just behind
me。 He could not have been standing very firmly himself； and he； in his
turn； fell back against a boy who was carrying a trumpet in a green baize
case。 They never smiled； neither the man nor the boy with the trumpet；
they just stood there and looked sulky。 I was going to say I was sorry；
but before I could get the words out the tram eased up； for some reason or
other； and that； of course； shot me forward again； and I butted into a white…
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haired old chap； who looked to me like a professor。 Well； HE never smiled；
never moved a muscle。〃
〃Maybe； he was thinking of something else；〃 I suggested。
〃That could not have been the case with them all；〃 replied Harris； 〃and
in the course of that journey； I must have fallen against every one of them
at least three times。 You see；〃 explained Harris； 〃they knew when the
corners were coming； and in which direction to brace themselves。 I； as a
stranger； was naturally at a disadvantage。 The way I rolled and staggered
about that platform； clutching wildly now at this man and now at that；
must have been really comic。 I don't say it was high…class humour； but it
would have amused most people。 Those Germans seemed to see no fun
in it whateverjust seemed anxious； that was all。 There was one man； a
little man； who stood with his back against the brake； I fell against him
five times； I counted them。 You would have expected the fifth time
would have dragged a laugh out of him； but it didn't； he merely looked
tired。 They are a dull lot。〃
George also had an adventure at Dresden。 There was a shop near the
Altmarkt； in the window of which were exhibited some cushions for sale。
The proper business of the shop was handling of glass and china； the
cushions appeared to be in the nature of an experiment。 They were very
beautiful cushions； hand…embroidered on satin。 We often passed the shop；
and every time George paused and examined those cushions。 He said he
thought his aunt would like one。
George has been very attentive to this aunt of his during the journey。
He has written her quite a long letter every day； and from every town we
stop at he sends her off a present。 To my mind； he is overdoing the
business； and more than once I have expostulated with him。 His aunt
will be meeting other aunts； and talking to them； the whole class will
become disorganised and unruly。 As a nephew； I object to the impossible
standard that George is setting up。 But he will not listen。
Therefore it was that on the Saturday he left us after lunch； saying he
would go round to that shop and get one of those cushions for his aunt。
He said he would not be long； and suggested our waiting for him。
We waited for what seemed to me rather a long time。 When he
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rejoined us he
