And as the priests intoned and the fresh young voices of an invisible
choir floated out and the magnificent rumble of the organ shook the
very foundation of the cathedral, we forgot that we were there to
visit a sight of Cologne, we forgot our night of discomfort, we forgot
everything but the spirit of worship, and we came away without
speaking.
* * * * *
From Cologne to Dresden is stupid. We went through a country
punctuated with myriads of tall chimneys of factories, which reminded
us why so many things in England and America are stamped "Made in
Germany."
We arrived at Dresden at five o'clock, and decided to stop there and
go to the opera that night. The opera begins in Dresden at seven
o'clock and closes at ten. The best seats are absurdly cheap, and
whole families, whole schools, whole communities, I should say, were
there together. I never saw so many children at an opera in my life.
Coming straight from Paris, from the theatrical, vivacious,
enthusiastic French audiences, with their abominable _claqueurs_, this
first German audience seemed serious, thoughtful, appreciative, but
unenthusiastic.
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