in November, 1918, when the Armistice was signed.
The architectural charm of Colmar lies in its haphazard and casual structure. There is none of the geometric in the town, none of the T-square and triangle, nothing that remotely resembles city planning. One house springs up with utter disregard of its neighbor, leading to a complexity of twisted walls and roofs which is rarely surpassed. An immense variety of old houses results from this
THE TOBACCO SHOP
architectural caprice, varying from grotesquely quaint, nursery-rhyme houses to statuesque Renaissance mansions. Of the latter, particular mention may be made of the “Maison des Tetes,” which is now transformed into a musty inn. It is dizzy with ornament to the very peak of its pointed facade. Three grimacing heads protrude from every pilaster, whence its name. The doorway is exquisite, embellished with escutcheons and a grille in fanciful Alsatian pattern.
The half timber work of the region has a character quite its own, differing radically from that of Normandy. The horizontal, vertical and diagonal elements appear in about equal proportion, producing an efFect more blatant than is ordinarily obtained with timbers.
The present Mairie, once the ancient Customs House, is an astounding old building, rambling about in an aimless manner, with no one facade
bearing any resemblance to any other. There is a large cloistered opening beneath it, supported by sturdy carved oak columns, furnishing refuge on rainy days for the town loiterers and also the vista for the wash drawing here reproduced. It glories in a clock tower, a sun dial, a handsome exterior staircase, wrought iron in abundance and many jeweled bits of sculpture and Gothic detail, among them the Austrian double eagle, which has weathered the stormy centuries with the patient Alsatian people. Add to these stray timbered towers, carved wood balconies, delicate Renaissance portals and ponderous Gothic ones with massive hinges, windows of leaded bottle glass and, topping it all, a giddy enamelled tile roof, set in a bright pattern of green, blue and white. All told, a delicious melange, a complete architectural hots d’oeuures variees. The critics call it vulgar, (which it probably is), and in truth it does seem rather coarse beside the delicacy of the quaint little building which now serves as the Commissiariat de Police. The flawless little balcony which adorns this facade, a glimpse of which is found in the lithograph of the market place, is a bijou of the Renaissance which can scarcely find a competitor in all Alsace. It was from this miniature loggia that the Magistrate of Colmar read proclamations to the assembled townspeople, and from here were announced the names of belligerant citizens who were due for a public flogging. What is said to be the oldest house in Colmar soars up next to it, ornamented with one of the shop signs for which Alsace is noted.
Colmar is proudest of its Museum, installed in the cool cloisters of a former Dominican convent. It is named after Schongauer, whose atelier was long in the town, but it possesses only a feeble representation of the master’s work. However, it does contain the famous retable of Isenheim by Mathias Grunewald and Nicolas de Haguenau, which was rescued from the fury of the Revolution, and which has come to be considered the masterpiece of Rhenan art. The realism of certain of these Central European primitives is as amusing as it is sometimes sickening. All of the Madonnas are plump-faced and blonde, with bulging foreheads in true Teutonic fashion. We won’t go into the unappetizing side just now.
The church of St. Martin, over whose authorship a rather acrimonious and puerile dispute has arisen between the French and German archaeologists, is well worth fighting over. One need not question the German source of the quaint old spire, nor of the Chinoiserie of its final cresting, yet the lines and Gothic detail of the church as a whole could hardly be more purely French. The dispute arises over the nationality of the architect, Le Maitre Humbret. The rival critics become quite warm under the collar in claiming the illustrious master, with honors about even.
The architectural charm of Colmar lies in its haphazard and casual structure. There is none of the geometric in the town, none of the T-square and triangle, nothing that remotely resembles city planning. One house springs up with utter disregard of its neighbor, leading to a complexity of twisted walls and roofs which is rarely surpassed. An immense variety of old houses results from this
THE TOBACCO SHOP
architectural caprice, varying from grotesquely quaint, nursery-rhyme houses to statuesque Renaissance mansions. Of the latter, particular mention may be made of the “Maison des Tetes,” which is now transformed into a musty inn. It is dizzy with ornament to the very peak of its pointed facade. Three grimacing heads protrude from every pilaster, whence its name. The doorway is exquisite, embellished with escutcheons and a grille in fanciful Alsatian pattern.
The half timber work of the region has a character quite its own, differing radically from that of Normandy. The horizontal, vertical and diagonal elements appear in about equal proportion, producing an efFect more blatant than is ordinarily obtained with timbers.
The present Mairie, once the ancient Customs House, is an astounding old building, rambling about in an aimless manner, with no one facade
bearing any resemblance to any other. There is a large cloistered opening beneath it, supported by sturdy carved oak columns, furnishing refuge on rainy days for the town loiterers and also the vista for the wash drawing here reproduced. It glories in a clock tower, a sun dial, a handsome exterior staircase, wrought iron in abundance and many jeweled bits of sculpture and Gothic detail, among them the Austrian double eagle, which has weathered the stormy centuries with the patient Alsatian people. Add to these stray timbered towers, carved wood balconies, delicate Renaissance portals and ponderous Gothic ones with massive hinges, windows of leaded bottle glass and, topping it all, a giddy enamelled tile roof, set in a bright pattern of green, blue and white. All told, a delicious melange, a complete architectural hots d’oeuures variees. The critics call it vulgar, (which it probably is), and in truth it does seem rather coarse beside the delicacy of the quaint little building which now serves as the Commissiariat de Police. The flawless little balcony which adorns this facade, a glimpse of which is found in the lithograph of the market place, is a bijou of the Renaissance which can scarcely find a competitor in all Alsace. It was from this miniature loggia that the Magistrate of Colmar read proclamations to the assembled townspeople, and from here were announced the names of belligerant citizens who were due for a public flogging. What is said to be the oldest house in Colmar soars up next to it, ornamented with one of the shop signs for which Alsace is noted.
Colmar is proudest of its Museum, installed in the cool cloisters of a former Dominican convent. It is named after Schongauer, whose atelier was long in the town, but it possesses only a feeble representation of the master’s work. However, it does contain the famous retable of Isenheim by Mathias Grunewald and Nicolas de Haguenau, which was rescued from the fury of the Revolution, and which has come to be considered the masterpiece of Rhenan art. The realism of certain of these Central European primitives is as amusing as it is sometimes sickening. All of the Madonnas are plump-faced and blonde, with bulging foreheads in true Teutonic fashion. We won’t go into the unappetizing side just now.
The church of St. Martin, over whose authorship a rather acrimonious and puerile dispute has arisen between the French and German archaeologists, is well worth fighting over. One need not question the German source of the quaint old spire, nor of the Chinoiserie of its final cresting, yet the lines and Gothic detail of the church as a whole could hardly be more purely French. The dispute arises over the nationality of the architect, Le Maitre Humbret. The rival critics become quite warm under the collar in claiming the illustrious master, with honors about even.