VOLUME CXXXIINOVEMBER 20, 1927NUMBER 2533
THE
AMERICAN ARCHITECT
FOUNDED 1876
AMMERSCHWIHR, KAYSERSBERG AND RIQUEWIHR
A Trio of Diverting Villages in Alsace Comment and Sketches by Samuel Chamberlain
VIOLENT as its history has been, Alsace has the appearance of a peaceful land whose placidity has never been disturbed. It is a verdant picture of calm repose. First there is a strip of loam on the river bank, a farmer’s Paradise, bountiful with grain and vegetables, checkered with blocks of heavily burdened fruit trees. Then, rising abruptly out of this rich ribbon running the Rhine, is a ponderous range of hills, thickly cloaked with evergreens. At the summit of the sombre ridge is a line which used to mark the frontier between Germany and France. The sentry boxes of the gendarmes and the cottages of the customs officials still linger in this lofty wilderness gaping wan and windowless. Once the formalities were cumbersome and the scrutiny close at these crossroads, but now one slips by without being observed even by a passing jack-rabbit. It was through these wooded hills that the trenches ran for the duration of the war.
Between the plain and the mountain is the magic slope which produces the noted wines of Alsace, and it is at this charmed altitude, where one can get a faint glimpse of Germany across the Rhine, that three unblemished medieval villages are found. They are even older than the reputation of their wines, preserving a faithful and heart-warming picture of distant centuries. A discordant note is not to be found in them (excluding gaping tourists such as the present scrivener). They have the ro
mance of a dusty Dutch painting, the glamour of a grotesque stage set and the gratifying virtue of being genuine. The three of them, incidentally, are within walking distance of one another. One hardly gets beyond the outskirts of one village before the crimson and cream profile of another peeps up over the rolling vineyards. So a word about them ought not to be wasted.
They are comfortable towns, and they boast a fairly high ratio of bath tubs, gas meters and electric toasters, but such trifles are not permitted to alter the village cachet. Radio antennae shoot up sharply on a few roof tops, but the storks’ nests still overshadow them. The name of Ammerschwihr, the first of the three towns, will be found emblazoned on many a famous long-necked bottle of Rhine wine. Vineyards are its greatest pride, but the village architecture is more stimulating to the visitor. You come into a spotless main street, paved with rose-colored cobbles, and bordered with overhanging houses whose upper stories are rather elaborately timbered. Old wrought iron shop signs, enlivened with capering figures, protrude in prodigal abundance from every inn, from cobblers’ shops and patisseries. Similar touches of humorous fantasy spice up the roof lines as weather vanes or brighten the opening above some dark doorway. Look down a side street and you perceive a dizzy, dunce-cap type of tower, encircled with bands, pierced with strange windows and softly stained by the rain. It has an air of unreality, of absurd lack of utility, but a bit of snooping reveals that it is jammed to the rafters with hay. Every vista in Ammerschwihr has its element of lavender and green, for wisteria grow in abundance, out of windows and over walls. (Agricultural note.) The clumsy carts of vine-owners rattle by, laden with tanks of copperas liquid to be sprayed on the vines. The jolted passengers, tanks on their backs,
(Copyright, 1927, The Architectural & Building Press, Inc.)
THE
AMERICAN ARCHITECT
FOUNDED 1876
AMMERSCHWIHR, KAYSERSBERG AND RIQUEWIHR
A Trio of Diverting Villages in Alsace Comment and Sketches by Samuel Chamberlain
VIOLENT as its history has been, Alsace has the appearance of a peaceful land whose placidity has never been disturbed. It is a verdant picture of calm repose. First there is a strip of loam on the river bank, a farmer’s Paradise, bountiful with grain and vegetables, checkered with blocks of heavily burdened fruit trees. Then, rising abruptly out of this rich ribbon running the Rhine, is a ponderous range of hills, thickly cloaked with evergreens. At the summit of the sombre ridge is a line which used to mark the frontier between Germany and France. The sentry boxes of the gendarmes and the cottages of the customs officials still linger in this lofty wilderness gaping wan and windowless. Once the formalities were cumbersome and the scrutiny close at these crossroads, but now one slips by without being observed even by a passing jack-rabbit. It was through these wooded hills that the trenches ran for the duration of the war.
Between the plain and the mountain is the magic slope which produces the noted wines of Alsace, and it is at this charmed altitude, where one can get a faint glimpse of Germany across the Rhine, that three unblemished medieval villages are found. They are even older than the reputation of their wines, preserving a faithful and heart-warming picture of distant centuries. A discordant note is not to be found in them (excluding gaping tourists such as the present scrivener). They have the ro
mance of a dusty Dutch painting, the glamour of a grotesque stage set and the gratifying virtue of being genuine. The three of them, incidentally, are within walking distance of one another. One hardly gets beyond the outskirts of one village before the crimson and cream profile of another peeps up over the rolling vineyards. So a word about them ought not to be wasted.
They are comfortable towns, and they boast a fairly high ratio of bath tubs, gas meters and electric toasters, but such trifles are not permitted to alter the village cachet. Radio antennae shoot up sharply on a few roof tops, but the storks’ nests still overshadow them. The name of Ammerschwihr, the first of the three towns, will be found emblazoned on many a famous long-necked bottle of Rhine wine. Vineyards are its greatest pride, but the village architecture is more stimulating to the visitor. You come into a spotless main street, paved with rose-colored cobbles, and bordered with overhanging houses whose upper stories are rather elaborately timbered. Old wrought iron shop signs, enlivened with capering figures, protrude in prodigal abundance from every inn, from cobblers’ shops and patisseries. Similar touches of humorous fantasy spice up the roof lines as weather vanes or brighten the opening above some dark doorway. Look down a side street and you perceive a dizzy, dunce-cap type of tower, encircled with bands, pierced with strange windows and softly stained by the rain. It has an air of unreality, of absurd lack of utility, but a bit of snooping reveals that it is jammed to the rafters with hay. Every vista in Ammerschwihr has its element of lavender and green, for wisteria grow in abundance, out of windows and over walls. (Agricultural note.) The clumsy carts of vine-owners rattle by, laden with tanks of copperas liquid to be sprayed on the vines. The jolted passengers, tanks on their backs,
(Copyright, 1927, The Architectural & Building Press, Inc.)