And yet one never loses a walk here in Munich.I found myself that morning by the Isar Thor, a restored medieval city gate.The gate is double, with flanking octagonal towers, inclosing a quadrangle.Upon the inner wall is a fresco of "The Crucifixion." Over the outer front is a representation, in fresco painting, of the triumphal entry into the city of the Emperor Louis of Bavaria after the battle of Ampfing.
On one side of the gate is a portrait of the Virgin, on gold ground, and on the other a very passable one of the late Dr.Hawes of Hartford, with a Pope's hat on.Walking on, I came to another arched gateway and clock-tower; near it an old church, with a high wall adjoining, whereon is a fresco of cattle led to slaughter, showing that I am in the vicinity of the Victual Market; and I enter it through a narrow, crooked alley.There is nothing there but an assemblage of shabby booths and fruit-stands, and an ancient stone tower in ruins and overgrown with ivy.
Leaving this, I came out to the Marian Platz, where stands the column, with the statue of the Virgin and Child, set up by Maximilian I.in 1638 to celebrate the victory in the battle which established the Catholic supremacy in Bavaria.It is a favorite praying-place for the lower classes.Yesterday was a fete day, and the base of the column and half its height are lost in a mass of flowers and evergreens.In front is erected an altar with a broad, carpeted platform; and a strip of the platz before it is inclosed with a railing, within which are praying-benches.The sun shines down hot;but there are several poor women kneeling there, with their baskets beside them.I happen along there at sundown; and there are a score of women kneeling on the hard stones, outside the railing saying their prayers in loud voices.The mass of flowers is still sweet and gay and fresh; a fountain with fantastic figures is flashing near by;the crowd, going home to supper and beer, gives no heed to the praying; the stolid droschke-drivers stand listlessly by.At the head of the square is an artillery station, and a row of cannon frowns on it.On one side is a house with a tablet in the wall, recording the fact that Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden once lived in it.
When we came to Munich, the great annual fair was in progress; and the large Maximilian Platz (not to be confounded with the street of that name) was filled with booths of cheap merchandise, puppet-shows, lottery shanties, and all sorts of popular amusements.It was a fine time to study peasant costumes.The city was crowded with them on Sunday; and let us not forget that the first visit of the peasants was to the churches; they invariably attended early mass before they set out upon the day's pleasure.Most of the churches have services at all hours till noon, some of them with fine classical and military music.One could not but be struck with the devotional manner of the ****** women, in their queer costumes, who walked into the gaudy edifices, were absorbed in their prayers for an hour, and then went away.I suppose they did not know how odd they looked in their high, round fur hats, or their fantastic old ornaments, nor that there was anything amiss in bringing their big baskets into church with them.
At least, their ******, unconscious manner was better than that of many of the city people, some of whom stare about a good deal, while going through the service, and stop in the midst of crossings and genuflections to take snuff and pass it to their neighbors.But there are always present ****** and homelike sort of people, who neither follow the fashions nor look round on them; respectable, neat old ladies, in the faded and carefully preserved silk gowns, such as the New England women wear to "meeting."No one can help admiring the simplicity, kindliness, and honesty of the Germans.The universal courtesy and friendliness of manner have a very different seeming from the politeness of the French.At the hotels in the country, the landlord and his wife and the servant join in hoping you will sleep well when you go to bed.The little maid at Heidelberg who served our meals always went to the extent of wishing us a good appetite when she had brought in the dinner.Here in Munich the people we have occasion to address in the street are uniformly courteous.The shop-keepers are obliging, and rarely servile, like the English.You are thanked, and punctiliously wished the good-day, whether you purchase anything or not.In shops tended by women, gentlemen invariably remove their hats.If you buy only a kreuzer's worth of fruit of an old woman, she says words that would be, literally translated, "I thank you beautifully." With all this, one looks kindly on the childish love the Germans have for titles.
It is, I believe, difficult for the German mind to comprehend that we can be in good standing at home, unless we have some title prefixed to our names, or some descriptive phrase added.Our good landlord, who waits at the table and answers our bell, one of whose tenants is a living baron, having no title to put on his doorplate under that of the baron, must needs dub himself "privatier;" and he insists upon prefixing the name of this unambitious writer with the ennobling von;and at the least he insists, in common with the tradespeople, that Iam a "Herr Doctor." The bills of purchases by madame come made out to "Frau----, well-born." At a hotel in Heidelberg, where I had registered my name with that distinctness of penmanship for which newspaper men are justly conspicuous, and had added to my own name "&wife," I was not a little flattered to appear in the reckoning as "Herr Doctor Mamesweise."THE GOTTESACKER AND BAVARIAN FUNERALS
To change the subject from gay to grave.The Gottesacker of Munich is called the finest cemetery in Germany; at least, it surpasses them in the artistic taste of its monuments.Natural beauty it has none:
