COLOGNE, ITS CATHEDRAL AND OTHER THINGS.
There may be altogether too much of even cathedrals. After going through
those in London, then tackling those in Northern France and wandering
through those in Paris, going out of your way to see a dozen more or
less in Southern France, then taking by the way the big and little ones
in Switzerland, one gets, as it were, somewhat tired of cathedrals, and
wishes the necessities of travel did not compel him to see more of them.
To a certain extent they are all alike. It is true they are all built in
different styles, but there is a striking family resemblance, and they
are so alike that after you have seen a dozen or two you will not be
very much interested in those to follow.
The interiors are all alike, and the "objects of interest" are the same.
They have the same style of pictures, there is always a "Descent from
the Cross" by an old master, and there is a well-selected assortment of
saints, also by old masters, and the interiors are always dim and
sombre, and have the precise kind of light that aggravates the always
too faithful picture of a saint undergoing martyrdom, or dead just after
martyrdom.
Mr. Tibbitts discoursed at length upon the general gloominess of
religious institutions. Inasmuch as the builders of churches put in
their time and money for the good of mankind, he wondered why they
didn't have the knowledge of human nature, and the good sense of those
engaged in wicked pursuits.
[Sidenote: AN ORTHODOX CHURCH.]
"Cathedrals in Europe," said he, "and even the churches in our own
beloved country, are always the darkest, gloomiest places that human
ingenuity can possibly devise. I remember the one my grandmother used to
compel me to attend when I was a boy of six. The interior, even to the
pews, and their furnishings were of a dark and dismal color, the
hen-coop pulpit was dark, the trimmings about it were dark, the windows
were narrow and very high up. The ceiling was dark, and to add to the
prevailing gloominess, there were outside green blinds over the windows
that admitted just enough light to make the gloom of the interior felt.
And then the domine was a sallow man with gray hair, brushed back from
his forehead; and he dressed in a black frock coat buttoned up to his
chin. He was the least cheerful picture in the church.
"The seats in the pews were very high, and slanted slightly forward, as
did the backs; and as the feet of a six-year-old child wouldn't touch
the floor, it was the most distressing thing in life to sit there. And
then the music! The worthy old gentleman in the pulpit, in a voice as
harsh as a saw mill, would grind out a most doleful hymn, which was
always sung to most doleful music. And that was followed by a sermon
three hours long, on the doctrine of foreordination! Cheerful, for a boy
of six, who, when dragged into that gloom on a bright June morning,
looked longingly out upon the bright, green fields, on which the soft
sunlight was falling like a benison from a good Creator; and who, to get
to the church, had to cross a beautiful brook with trout, which knew no
Sunday, swimming in the clear waters, every ripple of which was an
invitation to him.
"Now the wicked people are a great deal more wise than this. A wicked
place is always made attractive. There never was such a lie written as
"Vice is a monster of such hideous mien." Vice is not hideous; it is
that which follows vice that is hideous. Champagne is as beautiful as
can be; its effects are hideous. It isn't the getting drunk that is
hideous; it is the resultant headache the next morning. A bar-room is
always made light and pleasant; there is silverware, and curious glass,
and chandeliers, and warm fires, and everything pleasant and cheerful.
Your merchant, who is worldly if not wicked, makes his place as pleasant
as possible, and even the butcher dresses his meats in sprigs of
evergreen. If I ever go into the ministry, I shall do away with gloom,
and have my place as pleasant as light and flowers can make it. As
religion is the best thing in the world, I don't see why it should be
made the gloomiest. As for these pictures--bah!"
Then we went through the cathedral. We did it as a duty.
There's another trouble about cathedrals, and that is the "restoration"
that is going on perpetually and constantly. They were all commenced
some hundreds of years ago, they were very slow in building, and by the
time the last part was done the first part had decayed, and had to be
restored. Go wherever you may in a cathedral, you shall see a large part
of it disfigured with scaffolds, with workmen on them, and building
material around, giving one the idea they are yet unfinished.
It is said by scoffers and sneerers that the reason why it took several
centuries to finish a cathedral was to prolong the time for pulling
money out of the faithful, and that the perpetual restorations that are
going on are for the same purpose, but of course that is a slander. Boss
Tweed might do such a thing, but not those filled with zeal for
cathedrals.
Cologne has many points of interest, but the principal one is its grand
cathedral, the fourth largest in Christendom; St. Peter's at Rome
standing first, the cathedral at Milan second, St. Paul's in London
third, Cologne fourth.
Though it may not be so huge in its dimensions as the other three, it
certainly cannot be excelled in beauty of design or artistic excellence
in construction. It is cruciform in shape, with a total length of one
hundred and forty-eight yards, and sixty-seven yards breadth. Its walls
are one hundred and fifty feet high, the roof two hundred and one feet,
and the tower over the transept three hundred and fifty-seven feet, and
the two towers over the west façade two hundred and fifty feet high.
Tibbitts didn't think much of the architect. The tower over the
transept, he insisted, should have been an inch, or an inch and a half,
wider at the top.
These figures, however, give but a faint idea of the immensity of the
structure, whose imposing appearance is greatly heightened by the
elaborate galleries, turrets, flying buttresses and cornices that adorn
every portion of the walls and towers.
[Sidenote: THE GREAT CATHEDRAL.]
The history of this cathedral, which has been building since 1248, is
somewhat interesting to those who take any interest in cathedrals. The
foundation stone was laid on the twenty-fourth of August, 1248, by
Archbishop Conrad, of Hechstaden, but it was a number of years before
anything more was done. In 1322 the choir was finished and consecrated.
In 1388 the nave was fitted up for use, and in 1447 the bells were
placed in the south tower. From that time the interest in the work
gradually died out, and it seemed as though the original design would
never be carried out. In 1796 the French took off the lead roof that had
been placed over the decaying building, and converted it into a hay
magazine.
It was not till 1823 that anything was done to restore the church. In
that year the work of renovation commenced, and a few years later a
talented architect named Zwirner, suggested the completion of the
building according to the original designs. The idea was
enthusiastically taken up, and in 1842 the work was begun, and has been
steadily continued, until now only a few finishing touches remain to be
given.
The architect who first designed this structure, undoubtedly the finest
Gothic edifice in the world, is not definitely known, though it is
commonly supposed to be Meister Gerard, of Riehl, a small village near
Cologne. The imaginative people there had to have a legend about the
cathedral, which is as follows:
Archbishop St. Engelbert conceived the idea of building, on the site of
an old Roman church, the most magnificent cathedral the world ever saw.
He called to him a young architect and told him to prepare plans in
accordance with this idea. The young man, delighted with this
opportunity of distinguishing himself and making his name famous
forever, worked night and day to design a building that would meet the
requirements of the Archbishop. But there was one part he could not
master. He became almost insane over his disappointment, and was about
to give up, when one night he dreamed he saw the missing portion
sketched on the wall of his chamber. Thoroughly awakened, he sprang from
his bed to make a copy of it. But it had disappeared, and in the room
stood Satan with an illuminated parchment in his hand. This contained
the long sought plan. Satan, doing the regular thing, offered it to the
despairing architect on condition that he should have his soul and that
of the first person who entered the cathedral. The young man was
distracted. He wanted the plan, and told Satan he might have his soul;
but he could not barter away the salvation of another. Satan smiled,
returned the parchment to his bosom, and was about to go away, when the
young man acceded to his terms.
The devil knew his business. He knew that the architect's ambition would
not let him stop for a soul or two, as he had mortgaged his own, and
that he would get him finally. He has gone on that principle ever since
and has always won.
[Illustration: LEGEND OF THE CATHEDRAL--COLOGNE.]
[Sidenote: HOW SATAN WAS FOOLED.]
The plans were then made out, and work on the beautiful edifice was
pushed rapidly forward, and at length was so far completed that a date
was set for the consecration. Then the architect realized the position
he was in. Not only was his own soul everlastingly lost, but that of an
innocent person. This so preyed upon his mind that the people noticed
his agitation and besought the Archbishop to ascertain the cause. The
unhappy man finally told the good father the whole circumstance, much to
the latter's horror. He was advised to make his peace with God, while
the Archbishop determined to sacrifice a woman of ill-repute who was in
prison awaiting sentence, by making her the first to enter the church.
When the day for consecration came, a long box containing, as was
supposed, the poor woman, was carried to the cathedral, the door was
opened, the lid of the box was taken off, and the unfortunate victim
crawled on her knees into the church, the attendants sprinkling holy
water all the time.
As she entered there was a terrific noise. Satan appeared, broke the
neck of the unfortunate in the box, flying off, presumably, with her
soul. He then flew to the architect's house and broke his neck. As Satan
disappeared from the church, the woman arose from the box, went into the
building to pray, while the servants carried from the dome the carcass
of a pig, which had been enveloped in a woman's gown, and sacrificed.
This legend will not do, any more than the other legends you hear about
these places. Satan could not have been fooled with a pig. It is no
compliment to him. To suppose that he did not see the woman enter the
church is to give him credit for very little intelligence and a most
singular neglect of his own business; and the attempt to try to swindle
him with so clumsy a contrivance is too absurd. And then why should
Satan be perpetually swindled? The contract was a fair one, and should
have been carried out in good faith.
It may be remarked, in passing, that Satan does not, now-a-days, appear
to those having charge of government buildings in the United States,
making offers of plans and other assistance, that he may get them in the
end. He is too acute for that. Why should he go to the trouble of
helping them, when he knows perfectly well that he will get them,
anyhow? He doesn't waste his time that way any longer.
The interior of the cathedral is large and very impressive, the
fifty-six pillars which support the roof being of huge but graceful
dimensions, giving a pleasing aspect to the whole. The stained glass
windows are particularly fine, being among the best in Europe.
The various chapels that surround the nave are all handsomely decorated
with statues, frescoes, and fine altars, done in the highest style of
art. The wood carving representing The Passion in the altar of St. Clara
is especially good, as is also the tapestry on the walls back of the
choir stalls, illustrative of the Nicene creed and the seven sacraments.
This tapestry was worked by the ladies of Cologne, and is a fine
specimen of that style of art.
From the cathedral the visitor naturally turns to the other churches,
but a hasty inspection of them is all that is required, for, after the
cathedral, everything else loses its interest. There are some very
imposing edifices, which, if they did not suffer so by comparison with
the cathedral, would be considered fine specimens of early architecture.
For instance, the Gross St. Martin, consecrated in 1172, which is a
massive building, with an imposing tower surrounded by four corner
turrets.
The still older church, St. Maria im Capital, consecrated in 1049, is in
the shape of a cross, built in the Romanesque style. The interior is
decorated with modern frescoes that are very badly done, being of light
and gaudy colors, that do away entirely with the idea that they adorn a
place of worship. Other churches of interest are, St. Peter's and St.
Cecilia, the former of the sixteenth and the latter of the tenth and
twelfth century; St. Gereon, dedicated to the three hundred and eighteen
martyrs of the Theban legion, with their Captain Gereon, who perished on
the site of the church during the persecutions of the Christians under
Diocletian.
On the substructure of an ancient Roman stronghold stands the
Rath-house, a picturesque building erected in different centuries,
beginning with the fourteenth. Here the meetings of Hanseatic League
were held in the fourteenth century.
From the Rath-house the visitor turns to the markets, passing through
narrow, dirty streets, with high overlapping houses, to the monument of
Frederick William III., a huge equestrian statue of the King. Here is
the Heumarkt, and a busy sight it is. As far as the eye can reach is a
vast concourse of people, buying and selling all manner of things. The
women, with their white caps and peculiar dresses, flit hither and yon,
talking, laughing and jesting with men, who are arrayed in costumes that
suggest the old Rheinish peasants, made familiar by the painters of the
old Rheinish school.
[Sidenote: ELEVEN THOUSAND VIRGINS.]
Time was when Cologne, founded by the Ubii, when Agrippa compelled them
to migrate from the right to the left bank of the Rhine, was a power in
that land. At the end of the fifteenth century she was the wealthiest
and most influential city in Germany: Not only was it great in commerce,
but it was the center of German art, both in architecture and painting,
as may be seen yet by the elegant buildings, designed and erected in
those olden days, that are yet standing, and in the pictures of that age
that are still preserved.
Cologne's great troubles were internal dissensions, which finally led to
the banishment of the Protestants in 1608. It was due more than to any
other one cause, to these discords that caused the city to gradually
decline in power as early as the middle of the sixteenth century. Later
on she lost nearly all her importance and continued in a state of
lethargy until the Prussians obtained control in 1815, since which time
her trade and commerce have been steadily improving, making her to-day
one of the chiefest commercial cities in Germany.
In the old church of St. Ursula are the alleged bones of eleven thousand
virgins. The legend is that this sainted woman, a Scotch princess, was
returning from a pilgrimage to Rome with eleven thousand virgins in her
train, and they were set upon by the barbarous Huns and all slain. There
can be no doubt as to the truth of the legend (if you want to believe
it), for you are shown, through gratings, bones enough to stock a
cemetery.
I have no opinion about it. Possibly St. Ursula was skillful enough to
corner that number of virgins; but would the Huns have slain them all?
That makes us pause. It was a great many years ago, and I am glad the
legend has it (for I wish to believe all the legends I can) that the
virgins came from a country far distant from Cologne. Could a saint, be
she ever so devout, find that number in Cologne now? It is not for me to
say. Possibly they are all gone on pilgrimages. Let us take the legend
down at one gulp, and forget the fact that among these bones are the
remains of any number of males, and likewise any number of animals.
In this same church you are shown one of the identical jars in which
water was miraculously turned into wine at the marriage in Cana, and
various other relics, such as the teeth of saints, and cheerful things
of that nature, in which I really could take no especial interest. After
the eleven thousand skeletons of virgins, anything else in the way of
relics seemed tame. If they had saved the teeth of eleven thousand
saints, it would have been something like; but isolated teeth, single
teeth at that, make too small a show. The teeth were doubtless genuine,
but there were too few of them.
Cologne is probably the best known city in Europe. Leaving out the
wonderful cathedral, and the bones of the virgins and the history that
clings to it, giving it a musty and ancient flavor, it is the place
where cologne water was invented, and where is the American school-girl
who does not know all about that? She may know nothing about the
cathedral, but she knows all about that especial perfume. A man named
Farina invented it several generations ago, and every male child born
since in the families of perfumers has been christened Farina. There are
at least fifty places where the "original" is sold. Here you get the
genuine, and though you shall have it much better in any little drug
store, in any Western village in America, you buy a flask of it in
Cologne, at one of the originals. It is the thing to do. Our party all
supplied themselves, though I noticed that the most of them threw the
flasks away, from the train on the way to Brussels. It was genuine, but
cologne by any other name would smell as sweet.
* * * * *
Home! There are other countries to see, but, first, home. Three
thousand miles away lies a land fairer than any yet visited, a
country more pleasing. We are glad that our time is expended, for
we go home! Six months of absence is quite enough, and the thought
of returning makes the blood course quicker in one's veins. And yet
never was time more profitably spent than in these rambles through
strange countries, for the experience put us in condition to
appreciate our own. An American has no idea how good America is,
till he sees Europe. He does not know how good a government he has,
till he lives for a time under others. It requires a glimpse of
oppressed Ireland or king-ridden Prussia, to make one properly
appreciate a Republic. We have no palaces, but we have no soldiers.
We have no cathedrals, but we have no paupers. We have no ruins,
and shall never have, for under our system the ephemeral structures
of to-day will be replaced to-morrow with what will be eternal.
Every American should go abroad once at least, that he may, with
sufficient fervor, thank the fates that cast his lines in pleasant
places. And so, glad that we have been abroad, but much gladder to
get back, we turn our faces westward. Our exile is ended.
THE END.
* * * * *
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
when its gets older=> when it gets older {pg 19}
Never heerd of=> Never heard of {pg 29}
Then there is the eminently respectable shops=> Then there are the
eminently respectable shops {pg 48}
assured us that he know=> assured us that he knew {pg 61}
peace and and quietness=> peace and quietness {pg 99}
Waiting uopn Messrs.=> Waiting upon Messrs. {pg 109}
a repectable paper=> a respectable paper {pg 114}
But is is not alone=> But it is not alone {pg 132}
an American would irrevelantly say=> an American would irreverently say
{pg 140}
must be feed=> must be fed {pg 167}
the average menhanic=> the average mechanic {pg 172}
a hugh merchantman=> a huge merchantman {pg 180}
A PLEASENT PLACE TO LIVE=> A PLEASANT PLACE TO LIVE {pg 219}
began preparing=> begun preparing {pg 120}
fire works were diplayed=> fire works were displayed {pg 263}
religous ceremonies=> religious ceremonies {pg 283}
royal palaise=> royal palais {pg 324}
for he know that=> for he knew that {pg 429}
nephews and neices=> nephews and nieces {pg 399}
as if by faries=> as if by fairies {pg 430}
than a theif has to your watch=> than a thief has to your watch {pg 450}
equivalant to ten cents=> equivalent to ten cents {pg 507}
leave Chamounix=> leave Chamonix {pg 531}
in an ampitheater=> in an amphitheater {pg 569}
to yet=> as yet {pg 601}
as my modest appeal=> to my modest appeal {pg 601}
feminity=> femininity {pg 604}
is very plenty in Baden-Baden=> is very plentiful in Baden-Baden {pg
609}
It's streets=> Its streets {pg 634}
troubulous times=> troublous times {pg 646}
Conrad I. (911-918)=> Conrad I. (911-818) {pg 650}
flying butresses=> flying buttresses {pg 666}
during the the persecutions=> during the persecutions {pg 670}