Mitz and Fritz of Germany Part 3

CHAPTER IV

BAYREUTH AND A PLAN

Did you ever dream of becoming so great that a whole town would exist in your memory? That is what happened in the case of Richard Wagner, the little boy who stood in a market square and listened to "The Huntsman's Chorus."

Mitz and Fritz and their parents arrived in Bayreuth (B[=i]'roit') in time for the Wagner festival. People had come from all over the world to hear the great Wagner operas. They are performed in a beautiful theater built especially for that purpose.

During the festival, the whole town talks and thinks and remembers Richard Wagner. In every shop window are pictures of the composer. Even a newspaper is published which prints only matters concerning Richard Wagner.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HOME OF RICHARD WAGNER--BAYREUTH]

Mitz and Fritz left their wagon home and began to wander through the woodland town. Fritz was so happy and excited that one would have thought it his own festival. He had read and heard much about Bayreuth.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHILDREN PLAYING AT THE FESTIVAL]

Mitzi, too, was impressed. But this did not stop her from nibbling at a bar of chocolate and smearing her round face.

"What do all the blue and white banners mean?" asked Fritz.

"They are the colors of Bavaria," said Mitzi.

Just as we have our states, so has Germany hers. In each part of the country the people are different from those of other parts.

In the United States the southern people are different from the western cowboy. In Great Britain the Scotch are different from the Welsh. In Switzerland the Italian-Swiss are different from the French-Swiss.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE SCHUHPLATTLER, A NATIVE FOLK DANCE OF THE BAVARIAN MOUNTAINS]

In Germany the Bavarian is a jolly farmer The German who lives by the Rhine is fun-loving and cheerful. But the Prussian is strict and very serious.

Mr. Toymaker was a Prussian. So is the former Kaiser, who ruled Germany before the World War. Now the ex-Kaiser is living quietly in Holland, and Germany is a republic like our country.

But let us go back to Mitz and Fritz. It seems that I cannot resist telling you a few things about their country as we go along. However, I am sure Mitz and Fritz would not object to that. For all Germans want to learn, even while they play.

Mr. Toymaker tried to sell his toys in the crowded market place of Bayreuth. But he was not very successful. People were thinking only of the glorious music they had come to hear.

Visitors wandered about the town. They stood beside the grave of Wagner in the garden of his home. In this grave the musician is buried with his faithful dog.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MARKET PLACE--BAYREUTH]

It is here that we find Mitz and Fritz and Mrs. Toymaker. Frank lay at their feet.

"Father is so disappointed," said Mrs. Toymaker. "He has sold so few toys."

"Perhaps in the next town he will sell more," said Fritz. Then he took his mother's hand. "Please," he added wistfully, "tell us something about Richard Wagner."

Mrs. Toymaker was much like Fritz and not very much like Mr. Toymaker.

Somehow she forgot her worries about not selling toys when she thought of Wagner. So she smiled and told the children this story:

"When Richard was about fourteen he went to school in Dresden. But he soon became very homesick for his family, who were living in Prague (Prak). He had no money, so he and a schoolmate decided to walk to Prague.

"It was a long distance, and the boys grew very weary and hungry. At last Richard made up his mind to hail the first coach and to beg for money. The other boy was timid and hid in the bushes.

"Richard stood in the center of the road as a coach came along. He held up his hand and the coach stopped. But the poor boy's knees were shaking, and he could hardly speak."

Mitzi interrupted her mother. "Why not?" she asked. "I would have spoken. I would have said, 'Give me money. I am hungry.'"

"Yes," laughed Mrs. Toymaker. "I have no doubt of that. For you are always hungry and you can always talk! But, you see, Richard was different."

"A bit foolish, like Fritz," said Mitzi knowingly.

The mother paid no attention to this remark but went on with her story: "The people in the coach were kind and threw money to Richard. He and his friend had a good dinner and finally reached Prague. But they say that he never forgot this experience."

A light began to s.h.i.+ne in Mitzi's eyes as her mother finished the tale.

An idea had been born in her busy little head. That evening after supper she took Fritz by the hand.

"Come," she whispered. "I have something to tell you--something very exciting." She led him away from their wagon, out upon the moonlit road.

"Fritz," she said, "I have thought of a way to help Father. I thought of it after Mother told that story about Richard Wagner. Now, if Richard had been a boy musician like you, he might have played for people and--"

"Do you mean that he might have played on his trip to Prague?" asked Fritz.

"Yes," said Mitzi. "In every town. The people would have thrown him so much money that he could have bought all the bread and sausage and--"

Fritz laughed at Mitzi's wide eyes.

"Well, but what has that to do with our helping Father?" he asked.

"Don't you see?" she replied. "You shall play on the streets, and people will throw coins. Then, even if Father cannot sell toys, we shall still have money with which to buy food."

"Oh, Mitz!" said Fritz.

"Oh, whist!" cried Mitzi impatiently. "I am going to make you do it!

You'll see how easy it will be."

"But Father will not let me do it," said Fritz. "He does not like my fiddling. He would punish me."

"We won't tell him," said Mitzi. "He only forbade you to play when he puts you to work. Other times, it is not wrong for you to do it. So, when Father is selling toys in the next market place, we'll run off. You shall play your violin, and pretty soon crowds of people will gather and--"

"Oh, Mi--" began Fritz.

"Oh, fiddlesticks!" snapped Mitzi. She took him firmly by the arm.

"Come," she said. "It is all settled. It is a fine plan. So now let us find something to eat and then go to bed."

CHAPTER V

ALONG THE ROAD