CHAPTER XLV.
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.
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.