Was there ever elsewhere such a blue, transparent sky as this here in Munich? At noon, looking up to it from the street, above the gray houses, the color and depth are marvelous.It makes a background for the Grecian art buildings and gateways, that would cheat a risen Athenian who should see it into the belief that he was restored to his beautiful city.The color holds, too, toward sundown, and seems to be poured, like something solid, into the streets of the city.
You should see then the Maximilian Strasse, when the light floods the platz where Maximilian in bronze sits in his chair, illuminates the frescoes on the pediments of the Hof Theater, brightens the Pompeian red under the colonnade of the post-office, and streams down the gay thoroughfare to the trees and statues in front of the National Museum, and into the gold-dusted atmosphere beyond the Isar.The street is filled with promenaders: strangers who saunter along with the red book in one hand,--a man and his wife, the woman dragged reluctantly past the windows of fancy articles, which are "so cheap,"the man breaking his neck to look up at the buildings, especially at the comical heads and figures in stone that stretch out from the little oriel-windows in the highest story of the Four Seasons Hotel, and look down upon the moving throng; Munich bucks in coats of velvet, swinging light canes, and smoking cigars through long and elaborately carved meerschaum holders; Munich ladies in dresses of that inconvenient length that neither sweeps the pavement nor clears it; peasants from the Tyrol, the men in black, tight breeches, that button from the knee to the ankle, short jackets and vests set thickly with round silver buttons) and conical hats with feathers, and the women in short quilted and quilled petticoats, of barrel-like roundness from the broad hips down, short waists ornamented with chains and barbarous brooches of white metal, with the oddest head-gear of gold and silver heirlooms; students with little red or green embroidered brimless caps, with the ribbon across the breast, a folded shawl thrown over one shoulder, and the inevitable switch-cane; porters in red caps, with a coil of twine about the waist; young fellows from Bohemia, with green coats, or coats trimmed with green, and green felt hats with a stiff feather stuck in the side; and soldiers by the hundreds, of all ranks and organizations;common fellows in blue, staring in at the shop windows, officers in resplendent uniforms, clanking their swords as they swagger past.Now and then, an elegant equipage dashes by,--perhaps the four horses of the handsome young king, with mounted postilions and outriders, or a liveried carriage of somebody born with a von before his name.As the twilight comes on, the shutters of the shop windows are put up.
It is time to go to the opera, for the curtain rises at half-past six, or to the beer-gardens, where delicious music marks, but does not interrupt, the flow of excellent beer.
Or you may if you choose, and I advise you to do it, walk at the same hour in the English Garden, which is but a step from the arcades of the Hof Garden,--but a step to the entrance, whence you may wander for miles and miles in the most enchanting scenery.Art has not been allowed here to spoil nature.The trees, which are of magnificent size, are left to grow naturally;--the Isar, which is turned into it, flows in more than one stream with its mountain impetuosity; the lake is gracefully indented and overhung with trees, and presents ever-changing aspects of loveliness as you walk along its banks; there are open, sunny meadows, in which single giant trees or splendid groups of them stand, and walks without end winding under leafy Gothic arches.You know already that Munich owes this fine park to the foresight and liberality of an American Tory, Benjamin Thompson (Count Rumford), born in Rumford, Vt, who also relieved Munich of beggars.
I have spoken of the number of soldiers in Munich.For six weeks the Landwehr, or militia, has been in camp in various parts of Bavaria.
There was a grand review of them the other day on the Field of Mars, by the king, and many of them have now gone home.They strike an unmilitary man as a very efficient body of troops.So far as I could see, they were armed with breech-loading rifles.There is a treaty by which Bavaria agreed to assimilate her military organization to that of Prussia.It is thus that Bismarck is continually getting ready.But if the Landwehr is gone, there are yet remaining troops enough of the line.Their chief use, so far as it concerns me, is to make pageants in the streets, and to send their bands to play at noon in the public squares.Every day, when the sun shines down upon the mounted statue of Ludwig I., in front of the Odeon, a band plays in an open Loggia, and there is always a crowd of idlers in the square to hear it.Everybody has leisure for that sort of thing here in Europe; and one can easily learn how to be idle and let the world wag.They have found out here what is disbelieved in America,--that the world will continue to turn over once in about twenty-four hours (they are not accurate as to the time) without their aid.To return to our soldiers.The cavalry most impresses me; the men are so finely mounted, and they ride royally.In these sparkling mornings, when the regiments clatter past, with swelling music and shining armor, riding away to I know not what adventure and glory, I confess that I long to follow them.I have long had this desire; and the other morning, determining to satisfy it, I seized my hat and went after the prancing procession.I am sorry I did.For, after trudging after it through street after street, the fine horsemen all rode through an arched gateway, and disappeared in barracks, to my great disgust; and the troopers dismounted, and led their steeds into stables.