FREIBURG--FANTASTIC CITY--THE YOUTHS OF GERMANY--MUSIC AND LEGENDS
OF THE OLD TOWN--CATHEDRAL BY MOONLIGHT
I cannot overcome the feeling in strolling through these old German
towns that I am on the stage of a theatre. Painted houses never look
solid or ancient and especially when they are fantastic in decoration
and brilliant in colour and are kept up. This city certainly is ancient
but it is too well scrubbed and done up to be pleasing. Even the very
superb cathedral is subject to the same objection. All the images
inside and out glow with colour, and all the monuments likewise, and
when compared to a cathedral like Westminster, for instance, or many in
France, it lacks dignity and for that very reason. If you can banish
from your thoughts all this and remember only the beautiful lines of
the church, then you will appreciate the structure, but you will never
enjoy it.
[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL OF FREIBURG, BADEN
By permission of F. Firth & Co.]
The Cathedral is interesting and very stately, but in its inspection
there is no such deep satisfaction, like unto a draught of spring water
on a hot day, which one experiences in England and France.
After I had wandered around the outside, which must appeal to every
one, and through the nave, I approached the choir, to be greeted by the
smell of soap and wet rags. Just inside the grating in the south aisle
sat half a dozen scrub-women as loudly dirty as only scrub-women know
how to be, munching great hunks of bread.
I was told that I could not enter the holy of holies without the
Sacristan. He was not to be found, but from the glimpse I had beyond,
I don't regret it,--the chapels are full of monuments coloured to the
last degree of gorgeousness,--saints in red, green, and blue with heads
much too large for their bodies--which is generally the case with
German statues--stand and lie around in all directions.
The statues in this great church are nearly all of plaster, which at
once detracts from their interest. How they escaped throughout the
centuries is a marvel.
There are many quaint structures in these streets, all freshly painted,
and I find myself poking them, half expecting to discover canvas.
To-day the charm of Germany does not fasten upon me until the shadows
gather and the lights come out in her ancient city of Freiburg. Perhaps
the spirits of the neighbouring Black Forest then descend upon the
place. It is still theatrical, but one is in the mood for theatres
after night falls, and as one moves through the fantastic place
one would not be surprised to be accosted by any of the figures
from Grimm's _Fairy Tales_. There are many old fairy godmothers and
Rumplestiltskins wandering about. The throng is all moving in the same
direction, and if you follow you will find a vast concert hall. There
are thousands there, and, not knowing the customs of the university
towns, I take a seat in the central section of the hall, only to be
told promptly that it is reserved, and to be waved to the surrounding
galleries. Then I discover that the centre is filled by the students,
hundreds of them, divided into societies, the members of each wearing a
different coloured cap, and every man with a great stein of beer before
him. Groups of red, blue, yellow, green, and purple caps, worn all the
time, make splotches of brilliant colour all over the hall, and shade
bright wholesome faces,--the hope and strength of Germany, such boys as
these,--manly young fellows all of them; and I cannot but feel sad when
remembering that I saw no such scene throughout all my long tour in
France. There must be young men there, but where are they? All through
the provinces whenever I saw any and could talk with them, I found them
bent upon going to Paris, which is not usually to their advantage. They
did not seem to possess the strong feeling for "home" which keeps these
Germans where they were born until they leave the fatherland for ever.
Certainly Berlin is very much farther from being Germany than Paris is
from being France. Here to-night, two hours are spent in listening to
superb music from an orchestra of a hundred and more musicians, and
the contrast between the vicious, lascivious gardens and halls of Paris
is borne in upon one most markedly.
Pondering upon what the future holds for these two nations, I pass
off into the night with this German multitude and hear on all sides,
"Good-night, good-night," and in fact, every one does seem to have gone
off to bed and I shortly have this ancient university town of Freiburg
all to myself, though there may be Fausts and Mephistopheles about; I
should not be surprised to have the latter suddenly appear and, drawing
liquid fire from yonder beer keg, sing his famous Song of Gold. The
moon is at the full and the place looks more than ever like a scene in
a theatre. Indeed, I think if you pushed, you could shove aside the
front of yonder house and show us the interior, but, rounding a corner,
I come suddenly before the great minster. Its lace-like majestic spire
soars far up into the blue of heaven and seems to hold a diadem of
stars around its cross. If there are any witches about, they are in the
deep shadows of its great portals yonder which, being closed, protect
them from a sight of the holy interior, and they may have their evil
way for a time, but I see nothing save a large black cat and I do not
think to-night that her mistress is evilly disposed. I am certain
yonder fat King Gambrinus on the walls of that drink-hall is chuckling
at me as I move off into the silence of the shadows, and so to bed
where honest people should be at such an hour, leaving the moon to see
what she may. Amidst the electric lights of the great cities, the moon
is not of much account nowadays, but in these quiet old towns she is
of importance, and to-night has thrown the shadows of yonder lace-like
spire so sharply athwart the great square that I stop to trace its
pattern with my stick, and looking up find her laughing at me, it
would seem. She wrote a book once about what she has seen. I have it
somewhere. It is in quaint old German and called, "Hear what the Moon
Relates," and from its pages, I judge her to be an old gossip, for she
tells much which she should keep silent about, but, to bed, to bed, or
one may meet a committee of the _Vehmgericht_.