True, there are so many uniformed officials
aboard a German train that frequently there is barely room for the
paying travelers to squeeze in; but the cars are sanitary and the
schedule is accurately maintained, and the attendants are honest
and polite and cleanly of person - wherein lies another point of
dissimilarity between them and those scurvy, musty, fusty brigands
who are found managing and operating trains in certain nearby
countries.
I remember a cup of coffee I had while going from Paris to Berlin.
It was made expressly for me by an invalided commander-in-chief
of the artillery corps of the imperial army - so I judged him to
be by his costume, air and general deportment - who was in charge
of our carriage and also of the small kitchen at the far end of it.
He came into our compartment and bowed and clicked his heels
together and saluted, and wanted to know whether I would take
coffee. Recklessly I said I would. He filled in several blanks
of a printed form, and went and cooked the coffee and brought it
back, pausing at intervals as he came along to fill in other blanks.
Would I take cream in my coffee? I would; so he filled in a couple
of blanks. Would I take sugar? I said I would take two lumps.
He put in two lumps and filled in another blank.
I really prefer my coffee with three lumps in it; but I noticed
that his printed form was now completely filled in, and I hated
to call for a third lump and put him to the trouble of starting
his literary labors all over again. Besides, by that time the
coffee would be cold. So I took it as it was - with two lumps
only - and it was pretty fair coffee for European coffee. It tasted
slightly of the red tape and the chicory, but it was neatly prepared
and promptly served.
And so, over historic streams no larger than creeks would be in
America, and by castles and cabbages and kings and cows, we came
to Berlin; and after some of the other Continental cities Berlin
seemed a mighty restful spot to be in, and a good one to tarry in
awhile. It has few historical associations, has Berlin, but we
were loaded to the gills with historical associations by now. It
does not excel greatly in Old Masters, but we had already gazed
with a languid eye upon several million Old Masters of all ages,
including many very young ones. It has no ancient monuments and
tombs either, which is a blessing. Most of the statuary in Berlin
is new and shiny and provided with all the modern conveniences
- the present kaiser attended competently to that detail. Wherever,
in his capital, there was space for a statue he has stuck up one
in memory of a member of his own dynasty, beginning with a statue
apiece for such earlier rulers as Otho the Oboe-Player, and Joachim,
surnamed the Half-a-Ton - let some one correct me if I have the
names wrong - and finishing up with forty or fifty for himself.
That is, there were forty or fifty of him when I was there.
