It Is Like Seeing A Christmas Pantomime
Under An Aurora Borealis.
In America we could not do these things
- at least we never have done them.
Either the performance would
be poor or the provender would be highly expensive, or both. But
here the show is wonderful, and the victuals are good and not
extravagantly priced, and everybody has a bully time.
At eleven-thirty or thereabout the show at the ice palace is over
- concluding with a push-ball match between teams of husky maidens
who were apparently born on skates and raised on skates, and would
not feel natural unless they were curveting about on skates. Their
skates seem as much a part of them as tails to mermaids. It is
bedtime now for sane folks, but at this moment a certain madness
which does not at all fit in with the true German temperament
descends on the crowd. Some go upstairs to another part of the
building, where there is a dancehall called the Admiralskasino;
but, to the truly swagger, one should hasten to the Palais du Danse
on the second floor of the big Metropolpalast in the Behrenstrasse.
This place opens promptly at midnight and closes promptly at two
o'clock in the morning.
Inasmuch as the Palais du Danse is an institution borrowed outright
from the French they have adopted a typically French custom here.
As the visitor enters - if he be a stranger - a flunky in gorgeous
livery intercepts him and demands an entrance fee amounting to
about a dollar and a quarter in our money, as I recall.
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