Watching on the Rhine

by Violet R. Markham

At Cologne the Rhine is still untroubled by any sense of the doom which awaits it. The river takes a wide bend as it approaches the town, a lucky chance which is admirable from the aesthetic point of view. The traffic is very considerable. Huge barges bearing coal, iron, and all manner of merchandise are dragged up stream by powerful tugs. At night the view from the banks is mysterious and beautiful. A great net of twinkling lights cast over town and quays is reflected a hundredfold in the dark waters. Lights from the barges, anchored alongside the banks after the day’s work, twinkle back in reply to the messages from the shore. Everything seems astir, as though town and river were moved by some dim half-earthly emotion. When morning comes it will reveal that many of these fairy lights only mark the presence of factories and workshops. But night with her indigo mantle has given another and more mysterious turn to the scene. The massive Hohenzollern bridge which spans the river exactly opposite the Dom is a typical expression of the spirit of modern Germany—strong, powerful, practical. It is a fine bridge, and I have so much to say in criticism of German taste that I am glad for once in a way to note the entire success with which they have handled an architectural problem concerned with the carrying, at one and the same time, of railway lines, trams, and passenger traffic. Especially fine is the bridge at night, when it hangs like a chain of light across the river; trams and trains passing like swift-moving constellations among the firmament of the illuminated spans and pillars. The awkward mass of the Dom lies in close proximity to the bridge, but they do not interfere with one another.

The bronze equestrian figures of the four Hohenzollern kings which guard the two ends of the bridge are among the few satisfactory examples of modern monuments which I have seen in Germany. Generally speaking, the country is bespattered with statues of the Hohenzollerns, the artistic merit of which is nil. Never did a reigning house impose itself so mercilessly, in bronze, stone, and iron, on a docile people. Cologne, needless to say, has an ample share of imperial statues. The Emperor William I. had a head which in particular did not lend itself to plastic treatment; his whiskers, which jump at one from innumerable squares, have a tendency to rouse my worst passions. There is little humorous in the state of Germany to-day, but the onlooker can extract some minor entertainment from the squabbles which rage in official and unofficial German circles as to the fate of the Hohenzollern statues. The Socialists, in fiery language, complain that the mind of young Germany is being corrupted by these flaunting images of an oppressive autocracy, and demand that the statues be consigned to the decent obscurity of the cellars of the local museum. The bourgeoisie are equally loud in the demand that the statues should be treated as historical relics and left where they are. The topic bids fair to become the hardy annual of Socialist perorations. Meanwhile there is other work to be done and the Hohenzollerns remain.

Life in Cologne is very pleasant for the occupying army. As with the Hohenzollern bridge, so with the town itself—it is typical of the material excellence which before the war marked the German organisation of practical life. German local authorities throughout the country have kept a firm and admirable grasp on the town-planning of their large modern cities. The individualism of the speculative builder is not allowed to run riot here. Not only are the new quarters in Cologne well and solidly built, but open spaces abound. Fortifications can have their sanitary uses, for near the antiquated forts in the suburbs stretches a broad belt of open country devoted to allotments and market gardens. There are no signs of the jerry-builder running up shoddy houses to the detriment of future generations. Except in the old quarters of the town along the Rhine there are no obvious slums. Yet Germany, like all the rest of the world, is feeling the shortage of houses which has been an economic consequence of the war, and complaints of overcrowding are common.

But the real interest of Cologne lies elsewhere than in the prosperous latter-day development of the town. The wide streets and boulevards encircle the kernel of a famous mediaeval city. And mediaeval Cologne goes back to a still older foundation. The modern buildings and opulent dwelling-houses of the Ring smother, but cannot wholly obliterate, the memories of the Empress Agrippina and the settlement, called after her, Colonia Agrippina—subsequently Colonia—Köln.

My friend, Mr. John Buchan, always declares that countries which have been romanised stand in a wholly different category from savage lands, such as Prussia, which have never known that great civilising influence. The Rhineland, with its more liberal culture and gentler manners than Germany east of the Elbe, is a good illustration of this theory. Rome has been here, and where Rome has passed some element of quality abides. Famous among the Roman settlements, Cologne played a part no less important in mediaeval history. A leading member of the Hanseatic League, the relations between Cologne and London in the fifteenth century were close. If we rule Cologne to-day, Cologne at an earlier date has dictated to us. In the reign of Edward III, foreign trade in the city of London was largely conducted through the corporation of Cologne merchants established in the Steelyard. The internal life of Cologne was torn in mediaeval times by fierce dissensions. Nevertheless, mediaeval German art owed much of its development in painting and architecture to the artists and master builders of the lower Rhine.

After the sixteenth century Cologne, like other cities of the Hanseatic League, lost much of its importance, and the place fell to a low ebb for more than two centuries. Its rise into new prosperity during the nineteenth century registers various phases in the great national revival which took place throughout Germany, and also the considerable social improvements which, it must be admitted, followed on Prussian rule.

The traces of mediaeval Cologne are sadly obliterated. Of the Roman period practically nothing remains. The Germans are desperate people in all matters concerning the upkeep and restoration of ancient buildings. They are terribly painstaking and have the best intentions, unhappily with dire results. No words in Baedeker lay so cold a hand on my heart as the frequent phrase, “the church has in recent times undergone a thorough restoration.” Thorough in their vandalism such efforts are. Meagrely endowed with artistic taste, no nation in the world lays hands so heavy and so obliterating on the monuments of the past. The one idea apparently is to make everything clean and tidy. To this end interiors of ancient Romanesque churches are covered with a pitiless layer of reinforced concrete on which lines are scratched to represent stones. German taste further revels in modern mosaics of a gross and gaudy character sprawling over wall and vault. Church after church in the Rhineland have I seen ruined in such fashion. In Cologne the noble proportions of ancient Romanesque buildings, such as the Apostelkirche, the Gereonskirche, Santa Maria im Capitol, stagger under the weight of the artistic atrocities they are forced to carry.

The ex-Emperor was one of the worst offenders in these matters. His vain and restless spirit exacted incense as connoisseur and art critic no less than as war lord. An entourage of docile snobs hastened to encourage him in this view, and he was allowed to destroy at will the beauty of various churches which, thanks to his fiat, have lost all their essential quality. The Altenberger Dom in the Bergische Land, a model in miniature of Cologne Cathedral and an exquisite example of early Gothic, was immolated in this way thanks to a visit from the Emperor. He declared that the church must be restored, as it did not look clean. To-day the interior presents the appearance of a bathroom.

This being the typical German spirit in matters artistic, it is hardly surprising that many precious relics of the past have gone under in Cologne. The fine old Rathhaus still remains, but the mediaeval town walls have inevitably succumbed to the needs of modern traffic and expansion. At several points the old gates have been left standing, forlorn-looking objects marooned among the substantial buildings of the last twenty years. Broad though the highway of the Ring, beyond which modern Cologne spreads outwards, the principal streets in the neighbourhood of the Dom Platz are unusually narrow. The mediaeval houses have vanished; the cramped space of the mediaeval street remains.

The Höhe Strasse, the principal thoroughfare, is crowded with people throughout the day. In the evening it is almost impossible to elbow your way through the dense mass of sightseers. A pedestrian must make up his mind to float along with the great stream of traffic and reach his destination when borne there on the current. Here are the principal shops, and shopping and bargains have played a considerable part in the life of the Army of Occupation. Bargains were certainly to be had in the early days before old stocks were exhausted, but their elusive delights have long since vanished from the scene. Prices have soared as the mark fell in value, and did not fall in turn when the mark improved. They stand to-day at a high level even for the English, who benefit by the exchange. How the German population can afford to buy anything at figures so exaggerated in marks is a mystery.