The probability is that, if you arrive by train and see first the Restaurant of the Station, you will stay at Zwinger’s; if you come into the town by road, crossing the bridge that spans the harbour, and see first the Restaurant of Zwinger, you will put up at the Restaurant of the Station.
Assuming that you stay at Zwinger’s, this is what happens. The carrier of your bag (who looks like a fisherman, and walks as a fisherman, but is not a fisherman) throws it down outside the restaurant, and, sinking on one of the green iron chairs, groans aloud a protest against the scheme by which one has to work ere one can gain five pence; he rolls a cigarette of black tobacco, and strikes a match which makes other customers choke and cough. Then comes, leisurely, one of the Misses Zwinger, accepting salutations with the austere air of a lady bored by deference. Miss Zwinger, without asking the desires or p. 108wishes of the new arrival, engages in swift and shrill altercation with a dog, hitherto inoffensive, and occupied with the duties of explorer at the kerb; the dog goes, but, at a safe distance, expresses an opinion by four sharp barks, that bring from every corner of the triangular market-place, and especially from the Town Hall at the base, several dogs, to whom he explains the grievance.
“You require?”
Miss Zwinger calls her sister from the sanded floor interior to help with the task of fending off an insurgent boarder. The restaurant is full; you may be able to engage a furnished room opposite; why not go to the hotel out in the forest? It is preferred, at this season, to take only those who wish to stay for a month; would a double-bedded room suit? Finally, having finished the duet, they leave, with a twirl of skirts, giving the centre of the stage, so to speak, to a short, grim, black-capped man who, hands deep in trousers pockets, talks as one giving an imitation of distant thunder. Outside clients rise from their chairs, inside customers put down ribald journals with pictures intended to be amusing, and stroll out to enjoy themselves. Here comes the final test of the novice.
I have seen young couples, husbands and wives, or brothers and sisters, come from the narrow lane and, recognising Zwinger’s, say instantly:
p. 109“Oh, my goodness! This will never do!”
Others (and these especially when ladies have been of the party) retire after the contest with the Misses Zwinger. Some, enduring this encounter, turn and run, trembling and affrighted, on being faced by the uncompromising host himself. A few (mostly artists) survive all of the dangers, and are grudgingly permitted to carry their bags up a narrow wooden staircase, and find a room, the number of which has been screamed at them: in the room they discover a milk jug nearly half-full of water, and a small damp piece of linen riding on the clothes-horse. Apart from these defects, I will say that Zwinger’s, once conquered, gives in, so far as bedroom and meals are concerned, with a fairly good grace.
Dinner in the large room at the back (entrance gained by way of the kitchen) is a good, sufficient meal, to which it is only necessary to bring the appetite to be gained by wandering in the woods, or a brisk ride in tramcars from the sea. Framed paintings on the wall, and paintings on the wall with no frames, some a trifle obscured by age, and possessing the signatures of men no longer youthful. Four tables up and down the room; the table on the right reserved for a set of young women who, at the beginning of the evening meal, talk so persistently of the contributions they have made during the day to p. 110the art of England and America, that one’s French neighbour, with serviette tucked in at throat, can, I fear, scarcely hear himself eat his soup.
“Most awfully pleased with what I’ve done to-day. If the light hadn’t begun to go off—”
“I’m like that, too. Sometimes I simply can’t do anything, and then, another time—”
“My dear, the model was too comic for words. Talking all the time. If I’d only understood what he was saying, I could write a book about him, and that’s a fact!”
“Absolutely in love with the place. Could stay here for a whole week, only I must be getting along.”
The serving of the meal has a touch of over-emphasis that sometimes startles those who possess nerves; after a while, one becomes accustomed to the method of banging each dish on the table with a clatter. It is no exaggeration, but the mere truth to say that, a request being made for more bread, a chunk is cut from the yard-long loaves and thrown at the diner; with practice, a certain dexterity can be gained, especially by those expert in the cricket-field. Five courses to the meal, and now and again between two, a considerable interval, whilst the Zwinger family and its dependents have a row in the kitchen, the guests sitting back patiently until the last word is uttered. The nice question p. 111of allotting this last word is not easy to decide, for when the rumbling bass of Zwinger has fired what appears to be a parting shot, and the girls return to the dining-room with plates, and guests pull chairs forward, one of the young women may think of another argument, and the two go back to the kitchen, where the dispute recommences. The quarrel finally at an end, the Zwinger ladies come in, scarlet as a result of animated discussion, and they serve the next course with more than usual truculence. Boarders go outside to take their coffee and to smoke, eyed narrowly, as they pass through, by Zwinger, to be joined at tables on the pavement by wonderful youths in corduroy suits, which suggest that they are either artists with a definite aim in life, or porters belonging to the railway of the North.
You can always tell at Zwinger’s a new arrival by the circumstance that, after taking some thought in regard to the arrangement and wording of the phrase, he advances to the counter, where Zwinger scowls in a manner that excuses the acidity of contents of some of the bottles ranged there.
“It makes good weather,” remarks the new arrival, cheerily.
Zwinger replies with an ejaculated grunt.
“Many of the world here?”
Zwinger—a most difficult speaker to report with accuracy—says something like “S-s-t!”
p. 112“If you will have the kindness to give me a good cigar.”
Zwinger pushes a box forward, and the perplexed new arrival, tempted, I am sure, to fall back on Ollendorf, and to ask for the new inkstand of his great-uncle, refrains from further speech, and tempts the fates by making selection from the compartment marked 15 c. Outside he, on explaining his grievance, ascertains that there is no need to feel specially dishonoured by the gruffness accorded to him. Zwinger must not be considered with the eye that one gives to, say, the manager of the Carlton away in London. Zwinger (declare the hopeful) may be right enough once you get to know him. Zwinger (admit the candid) is certainly trying, but you have to put up with something in coming to a quiet place of this kind. The tramcars clang, and hoot, and screw across the market-place, and provide a more pleasing subject for conversation.
Disappearance of the curfew bell might have been coincident with the entry of Zwinger into public life. At a quarter past ten, he shows signs of restlessness, jerking commands to the long man-servant, keeping at the doorway a keen eye on the round tables. As each becomes free, Zwinger orders it, with its chairs, to be taken inside, and, although he permits himself to exhibit no signs of gratification, I am certain he feels secretly p. 113pleased when small parties of young men come across, and, finding no place, give up their original intention. If they endeavour to pass through the doorway, Zwinger, taking no notice of them, remains there so stolidly that they are compelled to take notice of him. I have seen him snatch newspapers from the hands of those who appeared disinclined to observe the face of the clock: I have observed him give a hint to an occupied chair by kicking it. He turns down the lights, one by one. In desperate cases, where a couple of young Englishmen, with the conventional ideas of the licence enjoyed at restaurants abroad, fill a fresh pipe, I have seen him take a broom, and, with a few resolute strokes, send them choking and half-blinded from the restaurant. When a late-stayer, with an idea of making a good and amiable exit, says, in departing, “Good-night ............