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Updated: May 28, 2025
My Dear, I have taken the apartment in the Behrenstrasse; that on the Thiergarten is too uncomfortable for you in going in and out in wet winter weather. * It is better that I should procure and arrange everything for you in advance; then you need only alight here and sink into my open arms and on a ready sofa; that would be so pretty; only come soon, my beloved angel; today the weather is already bitter cold, and write me exactly when I can come for you to Z. Do not be offended, either, at my note of yesterday, and do not think that you have offended me, but please come quickly.
You will find them seeking the romance of Berlin's greying night amid the Turkish cigarette smoke and stale wine smells of the half-breed cabarets marshalled along the Jägerstrasse, the Behrenstrasse and their tributaries. You will find them up a flight of stairs in one of the all-night Linden cafés, throwing celluloid balls at the weary, patient, left-over women.
Berlin, in the wanderlust of its darkened heavens, is not the ample-bosomed, begarneted, crimson-lipped Minna angling in its gaudy dance decoy in the Behrenstrasse; nor the satin-clad, pencilled-eyed Amelie ogling from her "reserved" table in the silly sham called Moulin Rouge; nor yet the more baby-glanced, shirtwaisted Ertrude laughing in the duntoned Café Lang.
The teachers who had overtaken us on the way recognized among them college friends who praised the delicious vintage supplied by the palace guards. My brother and I were also fated to see Frederick William IV. ride down the Behrenstrasse and the Unter den Linden with a large black, red, and yellow band around his arm.
The teachers who had overtaken us on the way recognized among them college friends who praised the delicious vintage supplied by the palace guards. My brother and I were also fated to see Frederick William IV. ride down the Behrenstrasse and the Unter den Linden with a large black, red, and yellow band around his arm.
After this digression let us hurry right back to that loyal Berliner whom we left seated in the Palais du Danse on the Behrenstrasse, waiting for the hour of two in the morning to come.
The teachers who had overtaken us on the way recognized among them college friends who praised the delicious vintage supplied by the palace guards. My brother and I were also fated to see Frederick William IV. ride down the Behrenstrasse and the Unter den Linden with a large black, red, and yellow band around his arm.
It is bedtime now for sane folks, but at this moment a certain madness which does not at all fit in with the true German temperament descends on the crowd. Some go upstairs to another part of the building, where there is a dancehall called the Admiralskasino; but, to the truly swagger, one should hasten to the Palais du Danse on the second floor of the big Metropolpalast in the Behrenstrasse.
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