In the outskirts of the forest stood the Gesellschaft Gasthaus, with, in the window, announcement of an entertainment in the form of an acrobatic act by “Les Original Alfonso Geissler.” The handbill, highly coloured, represented in one part of it, Monsieur, in evening dress, and with all the suavity of the dove, making request for a glass of beer from Mademoiselle at a public bar; in a second tableau discovers him, sloughed of his garb of respectability and, arrayed in multi-coloured tights, displaying all the cunning and pliancy of the serpent in marvellous contortions among the barroom properties. The proprietor informed us that he and his wife and three sons--one the hero of the handbill--were all travelling acrobats, that they had appeared frequently in England, and that they were in Sweden when the war broke out. It was observable that during the entertainment--which, despite the bill, proved to be entirely cinematographic--the proprietor obtained his incidental music by making demand upon several of the talented among the audience.
In this connection a rather notable incident occurred, though here it seemed to pass without note. A boy of about fourteen, who had earned his admission by operating the cinema for the major part of the evening, came quietly forward, took the violin from the rather faltering hand of a young soldier who had been agonizing for the last hour, and commenced to play with a sure and virile bow. He proved to be a friend of our German soldier pianist, and like him has studied at the Berlin Conservatorium.
I was now allowed to sketch freely in the streets without hindrance or interruption, save for the presence of the younglings, which, after all, need not prove distracting or disconcerting. On the contrary, it may be even stimulating. Their criticism, for one thing, is largely enthusiastic, and this sometimes proves contagious. “_Fein!_” “_Hübsch!_” The pencil probably makes effort to prove worthy of such compliment. Then again, there is generally something patient and gently apologetic in the presence of a child, while one grown-up looking over the shoulder is usually sufficient for disconcertment.
I am sketching the Kirchestrasse. The name, however, is not visible at my end of the street, and I make inquiry of the little girl who for the last ten minutes has been standing quietly by my side. She misunderstands me at first, and upon my sketch-block writes her own name, “Charlotte Reseler.” There let it remain to add the value of a memory to the drawing.