leave ours
alone we could meet on equal terms. But that is the one thing this
particular breed of German cannot do. He must be always arguing with
you about the superiority of his nation to yours, and you soon think
him the most tiresome and offensive creature you ever met. In private
life you can usually avoid him and seek out those charming German
people who, even if their Tageblatt teaches them that they should hate
England, will never extend their hatred to the English stranger within
their gates, and who will admit you readily and kindly to their
pleasant unaffected lives. Germany is full of such people, whatever
the German newspapers are saying.

Presumably every country has the press that suits it, and in one
respect German journalism is more dignified and estimable than our
own. It does not publish columns of silly society gossip, or of
fashions that only a duchess can follow and only a kitchen-maid can
read. Nor would the poorest, smallest provincial Tageblatt descend to
the depths of musical criticism in which one of our popular dailies
complacently flounders all through the London season.

"I cannot tell you much about last night's Wagner opera, because to my
great annoyance the auditorium was dark nearly all the time. Once when
we were allowed to see each other for a moment I noticed that the
Duchess of Whitechapel was in her box, looking so lovely in cabbage
green. Mrs. 'Dicky' Fitzwegschwein was in the stalls with a ruby
necklace and a marvellous coat of rose velours spangled in diamonds,
and on the grand tier I saw Lady 'Bobby' Holloway, who is of course
the daughter-in-law of Lord Islington, in black net over silver, quite
the dernier cri this season, and looking radiant over her sister Lady
Yolande's engagement to the Duke of Bilgewater. Richter conducted with
his usual brilliance, and the new Wotan sang with great elan, although
he was obviously suffering from a cold in his head."

It is impossible to imagine Berlin waking some winter morning to find
such a "criticism" as this on its breakfast table. In Germany, people
who understand music write about music, and people who understand
about fashions write about fashions, and the two subjects, both of
them interesting and important, are kept apart. Society journalists
who write about Lady Bobbies and Mrs. Fitzwegschweins do not exist yet
in Germany, and so far the empire seems to worry along quite
comfortably without them. I once asked a well-known En