Encountering the King
When I was five years old, I lived opposite the Botanical Garden and close to one of the public school buildings. I used to watch the boys and girls pour…
Location: Munich
“Encountering the King” from When I was a Girl in Bavaria by Bertha Tauber Harper, 1932.
When I was five years old, I lived opposite the Botanical Garden and close to one of the public school buildings. I used to watch the boys and girls pour forth twice a day from the big portals of the large schoolhouse. I longed for the time when I should be one of them, for during school hours the whole neighborhood seemed deserted and lonely, since I was an only child and had no playmates. I amused myself by looking longingly through the iron gate of the Botanical Garden, which, to me, was forbidden ground. One of the guards, who had sometimes noticed me and spoken to me, allowed me to slip through the gate and to play in a shady corner, but I was not to pick flowers nor to wander farther. This cherished little spot directly behind the huge palace of glass became my daily paradise. I was perfectly happy there. I built imaginary castles out of sticks and leaves. I talked to the beetles and lizards which darted and crawled in and out of the greenery, and I imagined they knew the names I gave them. I was lonely, but happy.
One dark day when Mother had not allowed me to go into the Garden because it was too damp, I sat on the steps in front of our house as usual, waiting for the school children to come out. But it must have been a holiday, for I waited and waited, and not a sound came from the schoolhouse. I must have felt especially lonely, for, without consulting Mother, I suddenly made up my mind to visit Father, who, I knew, was painting the King’s portrait in an upper story of the royal residence. Father had taken me there on one or two occasions, so I knew the way.
I resolutely started out, bareheaded and tousled and probably not overclean. It was a distance of nearly a mile, along quiet Louisenstrasse, then across a large plaza with fountains and monuments, and through an ancient portal—a relic of the days when Munich was a fortified city. This led into a lively, crowded business street. I squirmed my way through, unconcerned and unnoticed, until I reached the wide plaza with the great equestrian statue, the royal Opera House on one side, and my destination, the King’s Palace, on the other.
The Palace occupied a whole square, with a courtyard in the center. I knew the building well, and slipped unnoticed by the sentries who were stationed at each entrance. But I must have wandered into the wrong wing of the square building, for as I reached a wide marble staircase, everything seemed very strange in the big white silence, and I began to cry. The echo of my cries seemed to rebound from every corner, and I was thoroughly frightened. Presently one of the many white and gilded doors opened, and a tall gentleman in gray came out and asked me what I wanted.
“I want my papa!” I sobbed.
“Who is your papa? ” he asked in a gentle, soothing voice.
“Herr Tauber,” I told him, with a finger in my mouth. My parent’s name and address had been firmly impressed upon me, after former solitary expeditions which I had occasionally undertaken.
“Come, I will take you to your papa,” the gentleman in gray assured me, taking my dirty hand.
Through a long corridor he led me, then around a corner and up some stairs. When he saw that I had difficulty in following his long strides, he lifted me over several steps at a time. Then we came to another long corridor, which seemed to be all windows. At the end of the corridor there was a door, at which my strange guide knocked. I heard somebody call from within: “Herein!” Then the door was opened and Father appeared. He made a deep bow, while he said: “Why, Majesty!” He looked very much surprised as he stood there with palette and mahlstick in his hands.
After exchanging a few friendly words with my father, the gentleman departed.
“You rascal,” said Father. “How did you get here? Do you know it was the King himself who brought you here? ”
“That wasn’t a king,” I protested. “Kings wear long white cloaks and have golden crowns on their heads and silver scepters in their hands.”
It took Father some time to convince me that kings wear house gowns like other people and that they have many things to do besides sitting on thrones with crown and scepter.
When I returned home after my adventure in the royal palace, the reception I received from Mother was anything but enthusiastic. I rather think it took some strong interceding on Father’s part to keep her from administering the severe punishment I deserved for causing her so much anxiety.
In order to avert any further escapades, I was sent to the near-by Kindergarten.
And a real children’s garden it was, conducted according to the ideals of Froebel and Pestalozzi. What schooling we had there was based entirely on play, and was given outdoors in a delightful garden with many winding paths. Glass houses were provided for rainy or cool days. Occasionally Queen Maria Theresa made a visit, accompanied by some of her ladies-in-waiting. This was always a festive occasion. Some of the little girls were allowed to recite little verses or to present a bouquet of flowers, which were graciously received, usually with a kiss. I faintly remember these ladies coming through the garden gate in immense crinolines and wearing little hats on top of towering coiffures, with streamers of gay ribbons fluttering about them. That was in the late fifties.
In 1859 the first railroad train from Austria pulled into the Munich Depot amid great festivities, to which I was allowed to accompany my parents. To me the little train, decorated with wreaths and hemlock boughs, looked like a forest of Christmas trees rolling into town. The streets were gaily decorated with flags and flower garlands, and the air was full of music. I can still remember how gay I felt. But the festive day came near having a tragic end for me.
In the afternoon, Mother took me to the house recently occupied by my paternal grandfather, who had died. It was a large house in the more aristocratic section of the city, and it had a big courtyard, which interested me more than Grandfather’s rooms, where Mother had some work to do. I was allowed to play with the children in the yard.
A recent downpour had formed nice, irresistible puddles between the cobblestones. We—about six of us—were not slow in divesting ourselves of our shoes and in splashing about to our hearts’ content, a treat I could not often indulge in. Then one of the boys called out:
“Who dares to dance on top of the boards over yonder hole?”
“H’m, that’s nothing,” I said, and in an instant I was on top of one of the shaky boards, which quickly gave way. Into the ill-smelling cesspool I should have gone, but the fear of the large rats which I once had seen in this yard kept me desperately holding myself with outstretched arms between the remaining boards.
All the other children, seeing my predicament, had fled in terror. The yard was deserted. I could not have held out in the struggle very much longer, but just then a liveried servant came from the house, carrying a pitcher with which to draw water from the adjoining pump. He saw my danger and pulled me out. I was dripping and covered with slime, which splashed all over his maroon uniform and shining buttons.
My mother’s astonishment, when I was brought to her in that indescribable condition, can easily be imagined. I dimly remember that I had to be conveyed home in a Droschke (hack) and that a big spanking was administered as soon as I could be handled.
No wonder Munich, at that time, had the reputation of being an unhealthy city, full of typhoid and other fevers, when it had no drainage, when cesspools and wells stood side by side! But in the early sixties a great scientist, Ludwig von Pettenkofer, came to the rescue and installed a perfect drainage system. He also found a way of leading the pure waters of the Alpine mountain streams into the city by means of aqueducts. Munich has erected handsome monuments to his memory.
And I can well remember the time when people had to do their nightwork by candle-light, either by the unsteady flicker of tallow candles which required snuffing every few minutes, or by the more expensive wax candles which were used on festive occasions or in the houses of the rich. Gradually whale-oil lamps came into use. Then about 1860 petroleum was discovered, and oil lamps were converted into petroleum lamps and every one was excited over the improvement.
Later on, gas was conducted into the principal arteries of the city and the streets were then supplied with gas lanterns. Every evening an army of lamplighters could be seen coming forth from the City Hall carrying long sticks with little torches which looked like so many fireflies swarming in all directions.
With these they lighted each lantern, rows and rows of them. At daybreak these same lamplighters went from lamp-post to lamp-post to extinguish the yellow flickering flames. What labor to keep a big city from being plunged into darkness throughout the night!
Harper, Bertha Tauber. When I was a Girl in Bavaria, Lothrop Lee & Shepard Co., 1932.
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