Europe in the Looking Glass Read Online Free PDF

Russian, and so were the newspapers. We ate the traditional salad and drank kwass and vodka, the former tasting like strong, but not dark, sweetened beer. After dinner we proceeded to the ‘Elysium’, of which we became members on the spot. Simon was good enough to consider that my having been posted that morning in the Times as recipient of third-class honours in history, warranted a bottle of champagne. This caused a sensation. Not only did the movable units of the band transplant themselves and their instruments to the backs of our chairs, but the proprietor himself arrived, extremely thirsty. He was followed by a ‘friend’. The ‘friend’ passed some champagne to another ‘friend’, who also joined the circle. Bottles arrived automatically. We were in evening dress and felt that we were raising the tone of Berlin.
    Eventually, at closing time, the manager was so overcome that he beseeched us to return with him to his flat and ‘have a drink’. This was the last thing we wanted. However, off we drove in a body through impenetrable labyrinths and rows of narrow streets, until at length, after feeling our way through a courtyard, we were ushered into three rooms and a bathroom-kitchen on the ground floor of a large tenement building. The sitting room was the home of the coloured photograph in excelsis: life-size men with square beards and pink faces against blue skies, alternated with their wives in high sleeves and gold lockets. Next door, in a worn copper bath, reposed a mass of dirty socks in thick, grey water; while the remainder of the washing, cuddling to itself the kitchen utensils, cried to Heaven from the top of an old trunk.
    By four o’clock it was raining hard. We left, to awake next morning with a slight feeling of nausea, which decided us to leave Berlin at once.
    Nevertheless, from the point of view of talking German, our evenings had been a great success.
    Berlin has a pleasant atmosphere. Unlike Paris, it is far enough away from London to feel as if it were somewhere else. The Unter den Linden is magnificent. Whereas in Vienna the famous ‘Rings’ are entirely spoilt by the rows of plane trees that obscure them, this is wide enough to carry its double avenue. The traffic is sparse and slow. The streets are well kept and the tramlines run through the little lawns, green and well watered, that are planted in the squares, so that men are to be seen carefully cutting round them with pairs of shears. The Brandenburger Tor, surrounded by the palaces of the nobility, compares favourably with the unruined ruin at Hyde Park Corner or the flamboyance of the Arc de Triomphe. And the people are friendly – far more friendly than in France or Italy. It is this, after all, that counts most in the impression that a city gives.

CHAPTER IV
    THE DISTANCE FROM BERLIN TO NUREMBERG is three hundred and twelve miles. We had intended to start at eight o’clock, but were none of us dressed until ten. The garage was situated at the other end of the town, and the car was deposited in a cellar reached by a lift. When it came to the surface, it had to be oiled, greased and filled with petrol. Also a valve needed adjusting. The heat of the sun was intense and paralysed our actions. On our way back to the hotel we passed Henry Featherstonhaugh, bouncing along in a black satin tie and Oxford trousers. Then the operation of loading began. This in itself invariably took half-an-hour, at the end of which time a bevy of porters and pages, varying in numbers, according to the size of the hotel, would cluster round for tips. On these occasions, Simon, to whom the mention of money is anathema, used to put his hand in his pocket and distribute, without looking at them, any scraps of paper that he might find, usually leaving the whole party destitute for the rest of the day.
    It was therefore twenty minutes to twelve before we actually left the Potsdammerplatz. The first place of interest on the road was Wittenberg. The large open