North Iowa times. [volume] (McGregor, Iowa) 1867-current, 1868-12-02
McGREGOR, IOWA, WEDNESDAY, DEC. 2, 1863
Che Great Freiburg Organ.

The Great Freiburg Organ.
We continue to copy from the New
York Chronicles "Keynots in Europe
correspondent His style is so fresh, so
truth>like, SO enthuiastic that we can not
resist expressing admiration. This week
we give his description of one of the
modern wonders of the world. We will
not visit Freiburg now. Keynote's pen
picture gives it all to US. We can hear
the storm, the tempest, the sigh of the
winds, the wall of the doomed, the shouts
Of the redeemed, just as we'll at McGregor
as if VIC were in the old city of Freiburg.
TX. n" is far from a novice in writing,
and anything but X N. in
knowledge of the world. Here is his
fascinating letter on the Organ:
must not forget to tell you about the
Freiburg Organ-the sublimest piece OF
musical machinery in the world. Thous.
ands "stop off, at this queer old town to
hear its organ. A celebrated hand was at
the keys when l was there. Twice day
the doors of the ancient and august Ca.
thedral were thrown open, and the public
admitted by ticket which cost franc.
The second time heard the great organ
was in the early evening. OF that time
will write. 1t was all far ahead of my
great expectations. 1t was the highest
moment of my tour-a consummate eli
max of the glorious experiences through
which had lust passed.
1t was twilight when we took our seats
Slowly the shadows deepened. Wierd
and somhre looked the great arch of CELL
ing, the huge walls, the white altar, the
indistinct outlines Of the gorgeous pict-
ures, the prodisious crucifix, the enor-
nous columns. A single candle was
burning at the altar. Another threw its
feeble illumination over the wonderful
which we were wrapt. The company,
gathered in the centre of the Cathedral,
sitting motionless and silent, looked like
captives in dungeon. But the gloomi.
ness of the place heightened the effect of
what transpired there.
Suddenly the blast Of thousand t-um-
pets startled NE from my reverie. Such a
Niagara of music as came rushing down
upon me! held my breath in dismay.
Cannon doomed, bugles blared, sabres
clashed. In the distance came the fife
and drum, ,hurrying up the reinforcements.
| recalled my sitting on fence and lis
tening to tho battle of Antietam. The
din would subside, and then another hor-
rible clangor and thunder would indicate
the renewal of the conflict. l heard the
moan Of the man who fell at my feet,
wounded to death.
Gradually it all died away. Silence,
and then dirge. The church was a
nausoleum. This was the wall of the
lost. You could hear sobs in the aud
ience. Such sense of dependency never
got possession of me before.
Then came thunderstorm so true to
nature as to teIrify human nature. A
pair Of little ones near me, huddled up to
their mother-a peasant woman, like the
one that Michael Angelo took for the
model Of his Madonna. She had gone to
heaven for franc A heavenly trust
was in her face.
You saw the lightning in the sound. l
never saw sound before. The plaintive
winds sighing through the trees-O, it
was like the sigh of the orphan race going
up to the Great Father. 1t was irresisti- :
ble. The French lovers that sat by the
pillar, stopped their cooling and wept.-
The peasant woman covered her face with
her hands. Tears came to the eyes of the
big, gross German. realized the power
Of pathos. must have sobbed aloud.
The dying away of that thunderstorm
1t was marvellous masterpiece of art.
1t was wonderful, wonderful. l wish l
were child, that l might describe it
faithfully. The subsiding wind, rising
and falling pillows of sound, the scraping
of the trees as they slowly regained their
places, the rsll Of the dist INT thunder, the
intervals of the lightning getting longer
and longer, the whistle of the wind down
the chimneys, the long, low, dismal howl
of the expiring hurricane, as it owled
around the house and hurried away to the
woods-it was all so real to the ear, that
the eye shared in the delusion, and the
iilusion was complete.
We had the Grand Mass, the Dead
March in Saul, ana Judas Maccabeus. We
had winter storm and summer calm, q
terrific tempest and soothing zephyr; an
earthquake with its tidal wave of devas-
tation, and rain gently giving drink to
parched flowers; the roar Of lion, aad
the piping of a thrush the thunder Of a
park Of artillery, and the pitiful plant of
a babe. Now i, was Napolior desolating
Europe with the dogs of war, now it was
Florence Nightingale bringing wine to the
wounded, and now Jenny Lind charming
away the demon Of misanthropy with the
genius of song.
But highest Of all were the strains OF
"vox humana." That pipe entranced me.
have Toasted upon that ever since.
Whenever feel my senses losing their
hold of ''the land beyond the river"
recall the melody Of celestial voices that
came to me that evening in the Cathedral
at Freiburg.
We leaned forward and half rose, fran
tically intent upon catching every note OF
that bewitching harmony.
1t was the singing of the redeemed. far
away in the mansions prepared for them.
There was no strain Of sadness in it. 1t
was the singing OF the pure in heart, who
saw God as they sang; the alteration OF
those in whom perfect love had east out
fear; the thanksgiving of those who had
attained the poace which passeth all UNI
derstanding; the song of victory Of those
| who had overcome and received the
crown; the rapture Of those who were tc
go no more out forever, bat were to bt
forever with the Lord
0 how l was stirred, gladdened, mad.
dcned, saddened, by that organ of Frei-
burg! 1t picked me up in it's arms and
carried me wildly, and with the speed Of
lightning, through the vast, strange realm
of human experience, and ! saw what it Is
not lawful to utter. 1t had an answering
tone to every human passion; it gave ex.