CHAPTER 5: History and Heritage

“Could time efface the unwanted memory?” Prince murmured.

“Huh?  Could memory be unwanted?” the girl was confused.

“Has heritage reconstruction already constituted another act of violence to faith or history?”

Prince the Weary Traveller

“You’d better talk to Rocky,” suggested Bass, “he could talk about this for hours.”

“Who is Rocky?” a look of surprise crossed the girl’s face, “Another beastie friend?”

The train finally arrived in Weimar in the Freistaat Thüringen.  The train station bore the nickname KulturBahnhof for Weimar was well known for its rich cultural heritage and its strategic location in German history.

There were people waiting on the platform to greet their friends and relatives at arrival.  Mingling with the emotional crowd, the girl spotted a rockhopper penguin, having ebony feathers, pink feet, a white belly, a yellow spiky hairdo, and most of all, a humpback whale tail.  The rockhopper was hopping away from the bustling meet-and-greet activities.

“Hey Rocky, don’t run off!” Prince shouted as he chased after him.

Weimar’s heritage roots invigorated a unique charisma, not necessarily through a coherent developing entity to outsiders, but offering several distinctive facets for exploration.  The city presented aching World War II fragments as well as reconstructed magnificent palatial architecture and gifted artists.  Prince was eager to map out the sights that could have stored the magic spells.

At the fringe of the historic centre, Rocky stopped by a vast lawn abutting the Neues Museum and the shopping mall.  “The open space in front of us, called the Weimarplatz, was in fact the former Adolf Hitler Platz, an important military parade square in Nazi Germany.”

That was no ordinary lawn where a spontaneous picnic could be held in bright sunlight.  The sense of indestructible testimony was made stronger by fencing off the lawn and shutting down the connection to its people and history.

Some chapters of history might still be considered dangerous or treacherous to be remembered fondly.  They did not mingle with other chapters earning Weimar the title of the European Capital of Culture (1999), the German Classicism (also known as the Weimar Classism) and the Bauhaus cult.

“History, even left untouched, does not forget violence; people do not either, but simultaneously, later generations tend to edit their historical materials and romanticise acts,” said Rocky, “all taking place on the same historic topography, which serves as a transcendental stage for generations to constantly build on their heritage and city image.”

“Having history and heritage separated,” Prince threw out more questions, “nonetheless, has heritage reconstruction already constituted another act of violence to faith or history?  Could interpretations of historic events based on collective memories be considered authorised and thus rightful heritage?” 

The two gentlemen exchanged their views, with streams of listening and intellectual responses.   Their conversation was occasionally punctuated with comfortable silences as they gazed around the historical fabric of the city.

Meanwhile, Chococo read the city map again and again and found her favourite subject.  “Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller were the most important poets of German classical literature.”

“Weimar is also the founding place of the Bauhaus movement,” added Bianca.

The events in the timeline made a place real and familiar, if not totally convinced by truth.  Don found the city’s history too complex beyond comprehension.  Bass was silently digesting the information, while the girl was curious looking around for fresh flowers and gadgets.

Prince absorbed everybody’s viewpoints and came to a conclusion with Rocky, “C’mon guys!  Let’s head for the Bauhaus Museum, and via the Goethe-Schiller-Denkmal at the Theaterplatz and Schillerstraße, we will then arrive at the Rathaus in the Marktplatz, where we will find the archway to the Stadtschloß by the Ilm River.”

There were more royal residences of simple elegance and solid craftsmanship in the historic heart of Weimar.  The baroque Wittumspalais of Duchess Anna Amalia of Sachsen-Weimar-Eisenach, and other castles named and represented by red, yellow, and green – the Rotes Schloß, the Gelbes Schloß, and the Grünes Schloß respectively.  They also passed by the humble Schillers Wohnhaus and the Geothes Wohnhaus that housed the museum collection for the great poets and writers.

The existing neo-Gothic Rathaus in the Marktplatz was the third town hall building after the previous two versions fell victim in the fatal fires.  The intimate marketplace was adorned with the Rathaus, the Court Pharmacy, the Neptune fountain, and last but not least, the time-honoured Hotel Elephant, of which Adolf Hitler, who had descended on the city more than forty times in history, gave his bewitching speech on the balcony.

Contrary to the no-man’s-land where an immaculate lawn was shimmering in the sun, the marketplace scene was filled with local trade and laughter, just like any postcard picture would depict against the azure blue sky.

“When we build on our own heritage, we fabricate or enhance myths to protect it by adding, editing, and erasing fragments,” Rocky broke the silence, “Instead of removing permanently selective ruins and reconstructing selective artefacts that are, of course, to build up selective memories, urban designers and architects are encouraged to be valiant and well versed in the contemporary design language of their own time.”

As the beastie buddies were having a relaxing stroll in the marketplace, the girl was attracted to the delicate fragrance of fresh flowers.  She did not realise that another magical creature was waving to catch her attention.

“Do you see Flora?” asked Rocky, “If you limit yourself to sight and hearing, you could have constantly ignored the other senses.”

“I can tell by a strong fragrance, an earthy sweetness, that we have company,” replied the girl, “but I don’t see any beastie stranger around.”

Flora was no stranger to the beastie buddies.  Chococo and Flora nagged Prince to take them on a ride over the historic centre.  As soon as the girl opened her heart for a whole new experience, she could see Flora right away.  Flora was a chrysanthemum flower symbolising both happiness and grief.  Her cushion-like head, adorned with rows of creamy white ray florets, was supported by a long straight stem growing from a varnished timber cabinet.  The cabinet had two little drawers capable of holding innumerable secrets and gadgets of all kinds, regardless of their physical dimensions.

“It is all about her attitude of mind,” explained Flora.  “Young Gia can see me now because her heart is willing to see new things, receive new information, learn new knowledge, and meet new friends.”

“Really?” asked Chococo.  “It sounds simple, but not quiet.”

“Sure, she will meet more magical creatures anywhere if she opens her heart to get in touch with them,” returned Flora, “and by then, she will also see a better version of her truer self.”

When they were high up in the air, Prince allowed his eyes to hop from red-tiled gables to fluffy trees, and he traced the line of the hills and valleys on the horizon.  He starred off into the distance, and his gaze finally paused at the swirling clouds around the bell tower of the Nationale Mahn- und Gedenkstätte Buchenwald that stood on the south slope of the Ettersberg.

Geographically detached from the central city, the heritage site of the Buchenwald Concentration Camp (1937-1945), later converted to the Soviet Special Camp No. 2 (1945-1950), operated separately from the mainstream heritage and touristic framework.  While constant battles of heritage ideologies were inherent in any post-war city, the id­eology of monuments and ruins for public display had also evolved.  Heritage might not stay inclusive to their custodians; moreover, world travellers possessed immerse fervour for cultural revival from an unfamiliar nation, rather than just historical documents of traumatic incidents.

While the ladies were having a fun time, realising their primal desire of soaring and seeing like birds, Prince was caught in a deep thought.  The ride was certainly overloaded with passengers as well as the flight attendant Bass and had to come to an end fairly shortly.

After a rough landing back on the Marktplatz, Prince saw Neptune point his trident to the alley that led to where his heart had gone.  He understood that the challenge of spatial planning was to construct within the same architectural space so that the historic layers of the past, the present, and the future coexisted.  If the magic were once there, it would remain in the deepest stratum of the cultural soil.  Perhaps it was not plausible to take delight in the splendour of a city without stirring up its disturbing facets.  Instead of a symbol of oppression, one might desire a symbol of recovery or even revival.

“Finally, here we are!” exclaimed Rocky.

The Stadtschloß was used to be the residence of the dukes of Sachsen-Weimar-Eisenach.