The Colbiana Vol. 3 No. 2 (February, 1915)
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Colby College Digital Commons @ Colby The oC lbiana College Archives: Colbiana Collection 2-1915 The olC biana vol. 3 no. 2 (February, 1915) Colby College Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.colby.edu/thecolbiana Part of the Higher Education Commons Recommended Citation Colby College, "The oC lbiana vol. 3 no. 2 (February, 1915)" (1915). The Colbiana. 8. https://digitalcommons.colby.edu/thecolbiana/8 This Journal is brought to you for free and open access by the College Archives: Colbiana Collection at Digital Commons @ Colby. It has been accepted for inclusion in The oC lbiana by an authorized administrator of Digital Commons @ Colby. For more information, please contact [email protected]. THE COLBI AN A Volume 3 February, 1915 Number 2 Contents A Trip Through the Hartz Mountains ALICE C. MATHER, 1916................... 3 His Hero, VIVIENNE A. WRIGHT, 1916........................................................ 6 The Evolution of Feminism, Dorothy N. Webb, 1915....................................... 7 Apple Blossom Time, E. MILDRED H. BEDFORD, 1915.............................. 9 A Walk in Early Winter,ELLA ROBINSON, 1916.............................................. 10 Board of Editors................................................................................................... H Editorials .............................................................................................................. H Y. W. C. A. Notes................................................................................................. 13 Laughs ................................................................................................................ 13 College Interests ................................................................................................. 13 Alumnae............................................................ ^1 THE COLBIANA Volumej FEBRUARY, 1915 Number 2 A TRIP THROUGH THE HARTZ MOUNTAINS In those little villages of Germany, nestled away in the forest-clad nooks and crannies of the Hartz Mountains, we found the Germany of mediaeval days; the spirit of a past century lingers there, unchanged by the rush and hurry of modern civilization; the villages themselves, the people, and their customs are still much as they must have been in the early days of the Empire; the world has left these little hamlets to slumber on, content in their seclusion and happy in their reminis cences of their former glory. We came first to Goslar, a town of a few hundred inhabitants, in the foothills of the mountains. A narrow street, cobbled with large round stones over which rudely constructed carts bumped clumsily, led up from the station. It was lined with tiny shops and homes, one set directly against the next. They were built of clay, browned and scarred by wind and weather; the diagonal cross timbers were also stained, yet they added that note of quaintness which is so char acteristic. The walls were thick and massive; tiny latticed windows, red tiled roofs, mottos or signs swinging over the warping door ways, which open directly upon the narrow cobbled sidewalks, the carvings and paintings on the cross beams—all these things com bined to make these little village homes the unique, curious things they were. At one side of the street rose the towering remains of an old Roman fort, crumbling slowly but bearing evidence of the days of strength and power. As the street wound in and out it finally opened upon the market-place, a great open square, cobbled in round stones, and surrounded by old romanesque buildings which had withstood the wear of time, a moss covered church, a court house and the Burgermeister’s residence. In the center of the square was a curious old fountain, where the water still trickled merrily from one basin to the next. Pigeons strutted about the square or balanced themselves lazily on the edge of the fountain. Children in their little German rompers and aprons played about the fountain. There was a quietness, a somberness about the place: we felt like intruders break ing in upon a far-gone past; we feared lest we should break this spell which held us enchanted, and which seemed to take us back to those dream-like days of the Middle Ages. We crossed the square and made our way past that old romanesque Dom Kirche, toward the old palace of the kings of the Hohenzollerns, the Kaiser Haus. It stood a massive, grand old structure against the mountain side, surrounded by broad acres, and proud in its wide terraces and buttresses. On the right and left of the main approach, stood two great statues, one of Barbarossa and the other of Frederick the Great, mounted on war 4 THE COLB I AN A horses, commanding in their severity and might. The castle itself was well preserved. Wonderful paintings, depicting the deeds of heroes, lined the walls of the throne room. W ith reverence, the guide told us of the old warriors and kings who had walked these very halls before us. We were hushed and seemed to feel the force of their presence. All through the castle we wandered, living over again those scenes which had passed there, feeling pride in the achievements of those grand old characters. We went down into the dungeons, under the very heart of the castle; our blood ran cold as we heard of the awful deeds which had transpired there; at times, we had to stoop in passing from one cell like room to the next. We went down winding, dangerously narrow steps, where the guide’s flickering torch seemed to make the darkness only more intense. With a sigh of relief, we again found ourselves in the main castle; we visited the private chapel of the kings, and we wondered just what passed through the minds of those who knelt before that simple altar; were not their thoughts of ambition or power? From a balcony near the top of the castle, a magnificent view, one which must have made any king’s heart glad, stretched out before us. The quaint red-roofed hamlet, clustered about an open square, the church spire rising from the midst, the open fields, cultivated and well kept, the forest-clad mountains en circling the whole—a scene wonderful in its unique charm and beauty • A gentle rain had set in, as we descended again to the town and made our way toward the market-place. Suddenly we heard the slow majestic strains of Chopin’s funeral march. We stopped, and from one of the narrow alleys which led into the square, came a funeral procession. People stood silently in their doorways, and watched it pass, as the wonderful rich chords of that march filled the air. Following the band, came the hearse, drawn by four black horses, covered with long black blankets and trappings. Four black-gowned livery-men, wearing curious three-cornered hats and carrying long black staffs, guided the horses. The hearse itself was jet black and strangely contrived. The men of the village, wearing long black coats and high silk hats, followed the hearse. The rain which had set in increased and yet the procession moved on unmindful, unheed ing. As the last of the procession passed out across the square amid the haze of the storm, and the last sobbing note of the dirge died out, a caft suddenly jolted noisily across the cobblestones of the square, rousing us from the reverie into which we had fallen, and break ing the spell which had possession of us. That same afternoon, we went on to Wemgrode, and there found rooms in a hotel on the market-place, adjourning the old Rathaus. As in Goslar, there was a fountain in the center of the square, decor ated with the coats of arms of those who had aided in its construction. The court house or “Rathaus,” as they say in German, was orna mented with an infinite number of carved images, some representing the saints and apostles, while others were fantastic gargoyles. The whole was exquisitely carved and painted; mottos, inscriptions of all sorts adorned it, making it a gem of its type. Towering high above the town, was the “Schloss,” and there lived the petty royalty, the kaiser’s under-rulers. Its towers and battle ments were pointed and stood silhouetted against the deep, dark THE COLB I AN A 5 green of the hill-side trees. That evening, making our way through the narrow, crooked streets, we climbed the hill along a beautiful woodland path to the castle. We came first to the servant’s quarters, which lined one side of the road, and which surmounted a sheer wall. On the other side of the road, surrounded by a great wall, loomed the castle. Soldiers paced back and forth under the great arched gateway; the massive gates which would soon be closed and barred for the night, stood ajar. Under the overhanging trees the darkness increased, a few twinkling stars peeped through the branches, far below where the red roofs of the village were just faintly discerni ble, a few lights began to shimmer softly, a dog barked ominously, and with the spell of the mediaeval days upon us, we retraced our steps toward the town below, whence the faint calling sound of voices rose softly, where the lights flickered cheerfully. The following day, we took the trip to the top of the Brocken, the highest point of land in the northern part of Germany. It was beau tiful beyond description, and, as the Germans would say, ‘Wunder- schon.” A vast forest of pine and fir surrounded us; near at hand grew brilliant wild flowers; occasionally a deer darted through the underbrush, as the narrow-gauge train puffed and struggled up the mountain. Tiny villages appeared, so far below that we could dis cern merely the bright red roofs. Mountains rose all about us. Here and there, we would stop at some mountain resort, where the Germans indulge in their winter sports. As we ne.ired the top, vegetation be came stunted; the trees were bent and torn by the wind; and at the very top, there was no sign of vegetation; everything was bleak and wind-swept.