DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62134#0025
EASTER EVE.
17
The first church on Easter Eve that Madame Thekla and
I visited was the Ludwig’s Church. As we entered beneath
the lofty portal which stood open to receive the throngs of
devotees and curious, a very firmament of stars glittered to-
wards us through the darkened church. A curtain of dead
gold brocade fell from the vaulted ceiling, hiding from view
Cornelius’s Last Judgment, above the high altar. And
from the ceiling to within but a short space of the altar
gleamed a galaxy of tapers, burning in groups of six to-
gether, and so arranged as to form starry crowns.
These starry crowns appeared suspended in the air above
a square enclosure of lovely shrubs and flowers, hedged in
by tall burning tapers. This little garden bloomed upon
the broad platform before the altar. A pale effigy of Christ
reposed among these roses, tulips, stocks, myrtles, ge-
raniums, arums, ivy, upon an odorous fresh couch.
The mournful dirge which I had heard in the old St.
Peter’s Church resounded also here—now dying away,
now taken up by a group of priests who chanted at a side
altar before tapers burning upon a triangle of wood.
The whole scene strangely recalled what one has read of
dirges chanted over the dead Adonis, sleeping his last sleep
upon a couch of rose and myrtle.
We were bound for the St. Michael’s Church, which is
situated in old Munich. On our way thither Fraulein
Sanchen led me up the steps of a crumbling old building.
“You must,” said she, “see the chapel of the Herzhog
Max : sentinels watch it night and day!” This honour
doubtless was owing to the chapel being a royal one •,
but a less tasteful sepulchre could not well have been
imprisoned in a huge cage of twisted, rusty iron-work,
guarded by two solemn guards with halberts.
“ What is this strange old mass of building, Fraulein
Sanchen?” I asked, as we descended the steps, and I
VOL. II. C
17
The first church on Easter Eve that Madame Thekla and
I visited was the Ludwig’s Church. As we entered beneath
the lofty portal which stood open to receive the throngs of
devotees and curious, a very firmament of stars glittered to-
wards us through the darkened church. A curtain of dead
gold brocade fell from the vaulted ceiling, hiding from view
Cornelius’s Last Judgment, above the high altar. And
from the ceiling to within but a short space of the altar
gleamed a galaxy of tapers, burning in groups of six to-
gether, and so arranged as to form starry crowns.
These starry crowns appeared suspended in the air above
a square enclosure of lovely shrubs and flowers, hedged in
by tall burning tapers. This little garden bloomed upon
the broad platform before the altar. A pale effigy of Christ
reposed among these roses, tulips, stocks, myrtles, ge-
raniums, arums, ivy, upon an odorous fresh couch.
The mournful dirge which I had heard in the old St.
Peter’s Church resounded also here—now dying away,
now taken up by a group of priests who chanted at a side
altar before tapers burning upon a triangle of wood.
The whole scene strangely recalled what one has read of
dirges chanted over the dead Adonis, sleeping his last sleep
upon a couch of rose and myrtle.
We were bound for the St. Michael’s Church, which is
situated in old Munich. On our way thither Fraulein
Sanchen led me up the steps of a crumbling old building.
“You must,” said she, “see the chapel of the Herzhog
Max : sentinels watch it night and day!” This honour
doubtless was owing to the chapel being a royal one •,
but a less tasteful sepulchre could not well have been
imprisoned in a huge cage of twisted, rusty iron-work,
guarded by two solemn guards with halberts.
“ What is this strange old mass of building, Fraulein
Sanchen?” I asked, as we descended the steps, and I
VOL. II. C