Impressions of a Music Student
By
Mabel W. Daniels
Boston
Little, Brown, and Company
1905
Copyright, 1905,
By Little, Brown, and Company.
All rights reserved
Published March, 1905
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.
Dear Cecilia:—
Here I am in my Meccaat last after a "calm sea and prosperousvoyage." Would that youwere with me to share my pleasures, and,yes, I am selfish enough to add, my troubles,too, for you have such a magical power ofcharming away the latter that they seembut trifling vexations. Then I should soenjoy watching your delicious blue eyesopen wide at these Germans and their queercustoms, and oh! how you would elevatethe tip of your aristocratic nose at my boxof a study, which, however, I consider theheight of cosiness and comfort—from aGerman standpoint.
Lest by this last remark I've imperilledmy reputation for patriotism, let me hasten to assure you that I am as far from adoptinga foreign point of view in my contemplationof Man and the Universe as whenwe used to walk from college down to HarvardSquare and "have out" the discussionskindled by our four o'clock lecture. It'sonly in the concrete things of life that I'vebeen forced to abandon my Bostonian, andtherefore, of course, unimpeachable standards.I have learned how unwise a thing itwould be for me to say to a German landlady,"Show me an apartment with runningwater, steam heat, electric lights, and aporcelain bath-tub." The poor bewilderedcreature would give me over at once intothe hands of the omnipotent Polizei on theground of insanity. But perhaps, after all,the best way of explaining myself is to followthe injunction in your letter: "Begin atthe beginning and tell me all about it."
Mütterchen and I arrived at Munich latein the evening, and went directly to a hotelnear the station, where we slept soundlyafter our long trip. Early the next morningI set out to look for a permanent abode. On my list were a number of well-recommendedpensions, and I chose, naturally, the nearestat hand. It was not so easy to find as I hadat first thought, for a German street has aqueer fashion of changing its name everyfew blocks, so I deemed it wisest to inquirethe way of a passer-by. Frankly, I hadrather prided myself on my knowledge ofthe language, fondly imagining that I shouldhave no trouble in understanding it or inmaking myself intelligible. With that sublimeassurance born only of ignorance, Iapproached an honest-faced workman, andin a charmingly idiomatic sentence inquiredthe shortest way to Barer-strasse. Hestared at me hard for a moment, and thenburst into a flood of harsh-sounding words,not one of which fell familiarly on my ear.I was puzzled for a moment, but, thinkingI must have mistaken his nationality, Ibowed my thanks and made my way to apolicem