In the garden of one of the churches here, there is a KreuzGang or Via Dolorosa, a number of small shrines or "Stations" erected to commemorate the various sufferings of Christ on his way to the Cross. During Lent, prayers are } read and chanted every Friday by the priests before these shrines to a considerable assembly of devotees. I visited this Kreuz-Gang the other Friday, but did not observe anything very remarkable in the ceremony. A few priests in robes of sky-blue and white, attended by a number of choristers, and with a veiled crucifix borne before them, were slowly progressing from station to station, praying and singing, whilst a crowd composed of all ranks, and principally of women, followed them, also singing and praying. I observed a number of heads looking down into the church garden from the windows of the neighbouring houses. A knot of maid-servants at one of these windows seemed especially edified by observing the actions and bearing of one of the officiating priests. I wondered within myself whether he was the priest of whom I had once heard a strange and affecting history from Fraülein Sänchen. He was an extraordinary man, at all events-whether this sad history attached to him or not. He was singularly handsome, and knew it well enough. He marched along with the step of a soldier rather than with the step of a priest and with his keen eagle's face gazing upon his missal, and the expression was full of a certain scorn; the crisp locks of his black hair escaping from beneath his priest's cap fell upon his priest's robes in unusual luxuriance. He was no meek follower of Christ. The carnal, not the spiritual sword belonged to that hand, the epaulette to that shoulder, not purple and fine linen. The lines of the strong passionate face told of a proud nature hardened into a bitter scorn through a mistaken vocation; it was a countenance about which to weave strange imaginary histories. I have just witnessed the ceremony of the Feet-washing, which has been announced for this month past as one of the great sights of the season. My good friend at the Kriegs Ministerium kept his word faithfully, and procured tickets for us. Accordingly, Myra Amsel and I have seen the whole ceremony. At nine o'clock Myra was with me, and, early as it was, Madame Thekla advised us to set off to the Palace, as people were always wild about places, and if we came late, spite of our tickets, we should see nothing. The good old soul also accompanied us, on the plea that, as she was big and strong, she could push a way for us through the crowd, and keep our places by main |