One feels one would like much to change
places for the day with Hans.
Arm-in-arm, looking like some china, but exceedingly substantial
china, shepherd and shepherdess, they descend upon the town. One
rubs one's eyes and stares after them as they pass. They seem to
have stepped from the pictured pages of one of those old story-books
that we learnt to love, sitting beside the high brass guard that
kept ourselves and the nursery-fire from doing each other any
serious injury, in the days when the world was much bigger than it
is now, and much more real and interesting.
Munich and the country round about it make a great exchange of
peoples every Sunday. In the morning, trainload after trainload of
villagers and mountaineers pour into the town, and trainload after
trainload of good and other citizens steam out to spend the day in
wood and valley, and upon lake and mountain-side.
We went into one or two of the beer-halls - not into the swell cafes,
crowded with tourists and Munich masherdom, but into the low-
ceilinged, smoke-grimed cellars where the life of the people is to
be seen.
The ungenteel people in a country are so much more interesting than
the gentlefolks.
