On the rails again: Everything frozen along the western front (1)

Joseph Roth in Metz

Joseph Roth, born in 1899 in Brody, then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and now in Ukraine, is best known for his brilliant novel "Radetzky Marsch" about the fall of the Dual Monarchy. Less well known is his work as a sought-after newspaper reporter. In 1927, Roth, then writing for the Frankfurter Zeitung, traveled to the Saarland to report on the situation there. As a consequence of their victory in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-1871, the German Empire had annexed Alsace-Lorraine. Cities such as Metz, Strasbourg and Mulhouse thus became part of the German Empire. This annexation was not only reversed after the defeat in 1918, but as a result of the Treaty of Versailles, the Saarland became a special territory separated from the German Empire in 1920, under a League of Nations mandate, and de facto under French sovereignty. Due to its immense coal deposits, it was a highly coveted and disputed region.

Upon my departure, the streets on the way to the station are covered in snow

The circumstances were reason enough for the Frankfurter Zeitung to send its star reporter, Joseph Roth, to the Saarland. Roth, a brilliant stylist, got the extraordinary reward of one mark per line for his services. Even today, we can still enjoy his contemporary accounts, which remain worth reading despite the fact that the situation has completely changed.

Train of the S-Bahn Nürnberg in the stop of Feucht Ost

It snowed during the night. When I checked the punctuality of the trains for my planned connection in the morning, no delays were expected. In total, I had to change trains four times to get to Metz – in Nuremberg, Frankfurt, Saarbrücken, and Forbach. The shortest transfer time was right at the beginning, at nine minutes, from the S-Bahn to the ICE 724 to Frankfurt at Nuremberg Central Station.

Snow covered train yard Nürnberg Neusündersbühl

Indeed, the S-Bahn was a few minutes late and then, irritatingly, stopped just before Nuremberg Central Station. My blood pressure rose. When I arrived at the other platform in Nuremberg Central Station, the ICE 724 was just pulling in. The train was relatively empty. I find a window seat and relax. Outside, the snow clouds have given way to a cloudless blue sky. The Franconian landscape is dusted with a thin layer of snow. You can see the cold. The sunshine, however, is short-lived. Cloud cover increases towards the west.

Along the line between Nürnberg and Würzburg

Despite the wintry weather, my ICE train arrived so punctually in the impressive hall of Frankfurt's main station that I'm hopeful I can still catch the 12:02 ICE to Saarbrücken, even though the connection time is only one minute. However, disembarking is delayed because my fellow passengers in front of me are struggling to heave their rolling suitcases off the train. As I arrive at platform 11, the doors of the ICE are just closing. This means I have to revert to my original plan and take the TGV to Paris for as far as Saarbrücken. With an Interrail ticket, it can be used within Germany without a seat reservation. However, these trains to Paris are almost always packed.

ICE trains and the characteristic sign post in Frankfurt Hbf

I have almost an hour to kill at Frankfurt Central Station, but the TGV is already at the platform. On the train it says TGV France-Germany. When the doors open for boarding and the reservations are displayed, I can only find a single seat that is not reserved for my part of the trip, and that one is reserved from Saarbrücken onwards. But at least my early arrival gives me the opportunity to search for that exact seat. The other seats around me are all reserved from Frankfurt to Paris.

TGV France Allemagne waiting for departure in Frankfurt Hbf

Upon departure, it turns out that the other passengers in the coupé haven't shown up, so I have the group of four seats to myself until the first stop in Mannheim. Then all the seats are taken. Instead of checking tickets, the French conductor is kind enough to point out remaining seats in other carriages to standing passengers.

Waiting to board

In contrast to the ICE, the interior of the TGV gives a rather dull and dark impression. This may be due to the grayish interior paneling and the yellowish lighting. Although it's a double-decker train, there's actually no less space. They've also tried to make the interior more inviting in a humorous way. My window bears the inscription "Siège avec vue" (Seat with view) with the symbol of binoculars. Another glass rectangle indicates that you can take a snapshot here without a filter. Perhaps they want to lure passengers away from their constant fixation on their screens and rather look outside.

Comparison of ICE and TGV trains

Even rules are cleverly disguised as humorous suggestions. On the luggage rack, instead of the imperative German sign "It is forbidden to put luggage in the aisles," it says "Ici on pose les valises."

Interior of the TGV

Meanwhile, the train winds its way through the valleys of the Palatinate. Although the line has been electrified and the signaling system modernized, the route Mannheim – Neustadt/Weinstraße – Kaiserslautern – Landstuhl – Saarbrücken has not changed much since it was opened as the Palatine Ludwig Railway between 1847 and 1849. Before the First World War, there were plans to expand this line from two to four tracks. The main reason was likely to expedite troop transports. At the outbreak of world war I, 40 troop trains were handled daily on this route.

Look outside please

After the defeat in the First World War, the Saarland became French customs territory. Homburg station turned into a customs border station. Border controls were carried out here for passenger traffic. For a time, operations were run by the French railways. In 1935, the Saarland was reincorporated into the German Reich.

Bad weather ahead

History repeated itself after 1945. Initially, the line lay within the French occupation zone. Since the Saarland, coveted by France again, was once more under special administration, it had its own railway company, known from 1951 onwards as the Railways of the Saarland (EdS). The EdS operated the Saarbrücken-Homburg line. Homburg turned again into being a customs station. With the founding of the German Federal Railway (DB) in 1949, it became responsible for the section east of Homburg. The Saarland only rejoined the Federal Republic of Germany in 1957.

Crossing river Main after the departure in Frankfurt

Meanwhile, the light snowfall outside has turned into a full-blown blizzard. On the train, the two children of the young German-French family in the coupé opposite are becoming increasingly restless. The mother is trying her best. When she tries to read aloud for the boy, the girl becomes jealous and whines. The girl herself doesn't want to be read to, but she doesnn't want to do anything else either. The father, a Montangnard type with a long ponytail, remaines unperturbed. The family will probably have to hold out for another two hours until Paris. I for my part have almost made it.

Railcar waiting for the departure to Forbach in Saarbrücken

I get up to pack my backpack. The man next to me flinches. He had dozed off and is startled. He's from Washington, D.C. "Back home, you always have to be prepared for danger," he says, giving me an accusing look.

Abandoned Röchling Stahlwerke in Völklingen not far from Saarbrücken

Despite the heavy snowfall, the TGV arrives in Saarbrücken on time. A so-called "cigar" of the SNCF, a better version of a railbus, is already waiting for the few passengers. I hadn't expected such a small vehicle to be sufficient for the influx of international passengers in the German-French border region. But there are still seats available on the short journey.

Meanwhile the plant is museum and UNESCO monument

When Joseph Roth arrived in Saarbrücken in 1927, the Saarland was territory under French sovereignty and a League of Nations mandate. Roth describes the station as follows:

„Der Bahnhof von Saarbriicken ist der traurigste aller Bahnhöfe, in denen ich jemals ausgestiegen bin. …. Alle Bahnhöfe der Welt (mit Ausnahme der Schweizer, die elektrisch sind, und mancher russischen, die ein Stück Natur sind) dunsten grau und schmutzig. Dieser Bahnhof ist grauer als grau. Jeder Bahnhof erzeugt seinen eigenen Schmutz vermittels seiner Lokomotiven. Dieser

Bahnhof aber ist nur ein kleines Werk — und verhältnismäßig das sauberste — unter großen Werken. Rings um ihn entstehen unaufhörlich Eisen und Stahl, dampfen, flackern, glühen die Hochöfen. Tief unter ihm gräbt man Kohle. Gestank der Lokomotiven? — In dieser Gegend

der harmloseste, beinahe ein Parfüm! Ringsum hat die Erde Ritzen. Aus den Ritzen dampft es Pech und Gestank. Bunte Bahnsignale? Farblos und blaß sind sie im Vergleich zu dem Feuerwerk, das die Öfen gegen den Himmel hinaufregnen. Tunnels der Züge, finster und bedrohlich? Lichte Wege sind sie im Vergleich mit den Schächten, durch die Tausende Menschen zur Kohle steigen. Dieser grausame Bahnhof ist für den heimkehrenden Arbeiter die Place de la Concorde. In mir leuchtet noch die wirkliche Place de la Concorde (Anm.: Roth kam gerade aus Paris). Es ist also mein finsterster Bahnhof.“

("The Saarbrücken station is the saddest of all the stations I have ever alighted from. ... All the stations in the world (with the exception of the Swiss, which are electric, and some Russian ones, which are a piece of nature) are gray and dirty. This station is grayer than gray. Every station generates its own grime by means of its locomotives. This station, however, is only a small factory—and relatively the cleanest—among large ones. All around it, iron and steel are constantly being produced; the blast furnaces steam, flicker, and glow. Deep beneath it, coal is being mined. The stench of the locomotives?—In this region, the most harmless, almost a perfume! All around, the earth has cracks. From the cracks, pitch and stench steam. Colorful railway signals? Colorless and pale compared to the fireworks that the furnaces rain up into the sky. Train tunnels, dark and menacing? Bright! They are mere paths compared to the mine shafts through which thousands of people descend to the coal. This grim station is the Place de la Concorde for the returning worker. The real Place de la Concorde still shines within me (Note: Roth had just arrived from Paris). So it is my darkest station.”)

Steam engine in front of the steel works in the station of Völklingen

Today, Saarbrücken's train station is electric. Yet, in the bowels of the little train to Forbach, a diesel engine still roars. A glimpse of what life was like in Saarland during Roth's time could still be gleaned in 2018. During a steam locomotive festival, the locomotives puffed smoke through Völklingen station one stop outside Saarbrücken against the backdrop of the rust-covered Röchling steelworks. There were only two steam locomotives, and the most of the steelworks is a sleeping giant, a museum, and a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Nevertheless, torpedo cars still arrive in the still-operational section, where the glow of the filling nozzle hints at the scorching inferno within. The chapter of the mining and steel industry in Saarland isn't entirely closed, but the grime Roth describes has largely disappeared.

The so-called Torpeda cars are used to transport molten raw steel. It comes from the last blast furnace at the Saar in Dillingen for processing in Völklingen

The TGV to Paris, on which I arrived, is running late, and so it takes longer for our train to Forbach to finally depart from Saarbrücken. The small, noisy train picks its way across an invisible border into France, traversing a confusing network of tracks. Outside, a post-industrial landscape unfolds, its monotony and bleakness intensified by the snowfall.

Leaving the station in Saarbrücken

Today, the border is visible from the train only to those in the know, those who can decipher the country-specific details of the national railway systems. In Joseph Roth's time, things were different. A border meant different currency, a different language, passport control, and baggage searches. He describes it as follows:

„Ich wehre mich, aber ich erliege ihm, wenn ich im D-Zug die Grenze »überschreite«. Da fällt wie ein schwerer Zollschranken das erste Wort der neuen Landesprache vor die letzte Bahnstation der ersten. Vier Hände bohren in meinem Koffer. ….. Fremdes Geld, nicht wertlos, aber ungültig, knattert in meiner Hosentasche. Geld des Landes, das ich eben verlassen habe. Es erinnert an die Briefe der verlorenen Geliebten: nicht wertlos, aber ungültig. Ich werde es in einen Umschlag legen, einen Bindfaden darüber, in die Schublade damit. Was hab' ich sonst in meinen Taschen? Eine Zeitung in der fremden Sprache!“

(“I resist, but I succumb to it when I ‘cross’ the border on the express train. Like a heavy customs barrier, the first word of the new language falls before the last station of the first. Four hands rummage in my suitcase. … Foreign money, not worthless, but invalid, rattles in my trouser pocket. Money of the country I have just left. It reminds me of the letters of a lost love: not worthless, but invalid. I will put it in an envelope, tie a string around it, and put it in the drawer. What else do I have in my pockets? A newspaper in the foreign language!”)

France or Germany?

My mother used to collect all the coins left over from her travels and keep them in small plastic bags. Each one was neatly labeled with a tiny tag: Greek drachmas, Spanish pesetas, Italian lire. Now superfluous and worthless, a memento that makes you wonder whether to keep it or throw it away every time you come across it. Eventually, the box of coins was stolen during a burglary. I assume they ended up in a trash can somewhere. Perhaps future archaeologists will find this little treasure someday and wonder how it got there.

Germany!

We arrive in Forbach slightly late. The connecting train to Metz is already waiting on the same platform. I just have time to take a few photos with my phone. The platforms are covered in snow. Only the travelers' footprints are clearly visible. But soon they, too, will be banished to the past by the fresh snow. It's still snowing heavily. I retreat to the comfortably heated train car.

The railcar has arrived in Forbach

Through the window, glistening with droplets, I see workers in high-visibility vests busily tinkering with the TGV on the other platform, the very train that brought me to Saarbrücken. Something's clearly wrong; it should have disappeared towards Paris long ago. When my train leaves Forbach station on time, bound for Metz, the TGV remains behind in the snow-covered station. I think of the restless children of my fellow passengers. Patience is sorely tested.

TGV in pains in Forbach

Joseph Roth traveled in the opposite direction, from Metz to Saarbrücken. He astutely analyzed the national differences:

„»Fertig!« ruft der Schaffner. Der Waggon hat einen andern Rhythmus, die Lokomotive zieht nach andern Melodien. Es gibt Nationalhymnen der Eisenbahnen.“ Der Rahmen des Fensters verändert seinen landschaftlichen Inhalt. Eben enthielt er noch lächelnde Erde, Land mit Grübchen in den Wangen. Schon pressen sich Schlote, Nebel und Wälder in das gläserne Rechteck.“

("Ready!" calls the conductor. The carriage has a different rhythm, the locomotive pulls to different melodies. There are national anthems for the railways." The window frame changes its landscape. Just moments ago, it contained smiling earth, land with dimples in its cheeks. Chimneys, fog, and forests are already squeezing into the glass rectangle.”)

The train to Metz

In the past, every national railway company had its own locomotive factories. In Germany, there was Borsig or Henschel; in Austria, WLF (Wiener Lokfabrik); in Switzerland, SLM (Schweizer Lok- und Maschinenbau); in Romania, Rešita; and in France, for example, Société de Construction des Batignolles. Since there are now only a few manufacturers, the same locomotives are used in different European countries. The differences lie in the details: more electrical outlets here, reading lights there. But the intestines differ more: almost every European country uses a different safety system. For the electricity supply of locomotives, Germany uses 15 kV, 16.2/3 Hz alternating current, while in France, northern France uses 25 kV, 50 Hz, and southern France uses 1500 V direct current.

Departure from Forbach

Almost every French train station is spanned by an imposing bridge, and massive signal gantries and overhead line gantries tower above the tracks. And then there's the different language of the announcements. Is there a language more melodious than French? The language is a touch more polite, the staff a touch more attentive. Or am I just imagining it?

Little French countryside station

The world outside is changing rapidly. Through the icy glass of the train window, the post-industrial landscape gives way to snow-covered fields dotted with patches of scrubland and trees.

The snow covered fields of Lorraine

For less than 50 years, from 1871 to 1918, Lorraine, through which this train is now speeding, was under German occupation. In 1927, when Joseph Roth traveled here, that period was only a short time in the past. For him, it was still a border region:

„Zwischen Frankreich und Deutschland liegt Lothringen auf dem Weg. Noch nicht Frankreich, nicht mehr Deutschland! Grenzland, Zankapfel, Kriegsursache, erobert oder verloren.“

("Lorraine lies on the way between France and Germany. Not yet France, no longer Germany! Borderland, bone of contention, cause of war, conquered or lost.")

Platform in Metz-Ville station

In Joseph Roth's time, there was still a one-hour time difference between France and Germany. Coming from Metz, he noted that the clock there was an hour ahead of the clock in Germany.

Metz Ville, the main station built in 1908

To demonstrate their power and inspire awe, the German occupiers commissioned several spectacular construction projects after 1871. These included imposing train stations, such as those in Metz and Strasbourg. The Metz-Ville train station was built between 1904 and 1908 by the German architect Jürgen Kröger. Its Neo-Romanesque style is inspired by the early medieval Romanesque architecture of the Holy Roman Empire. Kaiser Wilhelm II personally got involved with the planning. Inside, there were also reception rooms reserved for the Kaiser, but these were never used by him.

Station hall in Metz

This train station was not even the first to be built in Metz during the German occupation. In 1878, architect Johann Eduard Jacobsthal designed a neo-Renaissance palatial train station on the Place de Roi Georges, making it the first train station in Germany. It was the third station building on this site, following a wooden structure from 1850 and a half-timbered building from 1853.

Entrance to the palace-like building of the first German-built station in Metz at Place du Roi George

The terminal station was the scene of two spectacular run-away train incidents. On January 9, 1901, a train arriving from Koblenz overshot the buffer stop at the end of the track and came to a halt in the third-class waiting room. On August 13, 1905, the Basel-Ostend express train attempted to deliver its passengers, in keeping with their status, directly to the first- and second-class dining room. Both accidents ended without serious injury.

The side from where the trains entered the terminus

The old terminal station still exists today and houses the Institut National de la Statistique et des Etudes Economiques (INSE). For rail traffic, and especially for the needs of the German army, it was already too small after 30 years, which it was replaced by the current station. The new platforms were extra wide and long and had ramps to facilitate the easy loading and unloading of the horses, which were still indispensable for the military at that time.

Buildings in the imperial part of Metz

Joseph Roth also gets off the express train in Metz. He has a rendezvous there with the German writer W., who was born in Metz. ChatGPT believes that W. is the historian, publicist, journalist, and author Hermann Wendel (1884-1936), who was indeed born in Metz. It could also have been Walter Ulbrich or Wilhelm Michel. Wendel had been living in Frankfurt since 1910, and the meeting took place 17 years later. W. takes his visitor Roth to his old favorite café, where the owner greets him with the words, "Back in town?" Between the end of the First World War and 1930, Wendel visited Alsace-Lorraine at least 50 times. The two writers rented a horse-drawn carriage, which Wendel used to show visitors around the city.

The imperial part of Metz

I don't have that luxury. I walk. It's not so easy. The snowfall has made the sidewalks icy. You have to be incredibly careful not to slip. Slowly and cautiously, pedestrians feel their way along the walls.

Place de Roi George

A large part of the development between the train station and the historic old town of Metz was built during the German occupation. No one can describe it better than Joseph Roth:

„In der Nähe des Bahnhofes ist die Welt neu und viel zu großartig! Das hat man zu Wilhelms Zeiten gebaut, Läden, ein Café, ein Hotel, öffentliche Gebäude. Die Läden haben große, breite Schaufenster, der Glanz der Spiegelscheiben teilte sich ihren Waren mit. Diese Schaufenster zeigen nicht ihre Waren, sie prahlen mit ihnen. In diese Schaufenster legt man keine Ware, man »dekoriert« sie. Ein Apfel hinter ihrem Glas ist etwas anderes als ein Apfel in der Hand. Zwischen dem Gegenstand und meinem Aug' steht das Fenster, eine kalte, durchsichtige Mauer. Sie ist aus Eis, nicht aus Glas. Die Schilder sind eine Art schwarzer Spiegel, wie man sie in der Unterwelt gebrauchen kann. Ihren Buchstaben glaube ich das Gold nicht. Die Häuser haben nicht Fassaden, sondern Etiketten, keine Wände, sonder prima Verpackung. Misstrauisch gehe ich an sie heran, wie an die schlimmen Zigaretten in den teuren Aluminiumschachteln. Vielleicht sind sie besser als die Zigaretten, ich tue den Häusern unrecht. Sie haben Küchen aus Kacheln und Badezimmer und fließendes Wasser und englisches Klosett (in den alten Häusern muss der Mensch im Schlafrock durch einen zugigen Korridor). Aber weshalb genügte ihnen nicht Hygiene, wozu brauchen sie noch Pracht? Paradeuniform tragen sie jeden Tag, wo sind ihre Kleider? Das macht sie hässlich, die Kurfürstendämme aller deutschen Städte. Festlich wollen sie sein, und sie stehen da wie verregnete Sonntage.“

("Near the train station, the world is new and far too grand! This was built in Wilhelm's time: shops, a café, a hotel, public buildings. The shops have large, wide display windows, the gleam of the mirrored panes reflecting their wares. These display windows don't show their wares, they flaunt them. You don't put goods in these display windows, you 'decorate' them. An apple behind their glass is something different than an apple in your hand. Between the object and my eye stands the window, a cold, transparent wall. It is made of ice, not glass. The signs are a kind of black mirror, the kind you can use in the underworld. I don't believe the gold in their lettering. The houses don't have facades, but labels, no walls, but excellent packaging. I approach them suspiciously, like those awful cigarettes in expensive aluminum boxes. Perhaps they are better than the cigarettes; I am doing the houses an injustice. They have tiled kitchens and bathrooms and Running water and an English toilet (in the old houses, one has to walk through a drafty corridor in one's dressing gown). But why wasn't hygiene enough for them? Why do they need splendor? They wear parade uniforms every day; where are their clothes? That's what makes them ugly, the Kurfürstendämme (Anm. Berlin’s poshest boulevard) of all German cities. They want to be festive, and yet they stand there like rainy Sundays.")

Avenue Foch

I've always wondered what contemporaries were thinking when the buildings we consider beautiful today were built. The Art Nouveau residential palaces impress with their balconies adorned with richly decorated railings, stucco ornamentation, curved gables, turrets, and figurative decorations. Here appears the opinion of a contemporary: Joseph Roth finds external ornamentation superfluous. What would he say about today's buildings, whose only ornamentation consists of a smooth glass facade?

Tour Camoufle was part of the medieval city fortifications of Metz

Even back then, dog owners and joggers were considered when these neighborhoods were planned. The old fortifications were replaced by wide avenues lined with majestic old trees. Advertising pillars were erected at strategic points. Their modern version even incorporates a public restroom—a brilliant idea. Only the massive old lampposts, which likely once provided gaslight, have been replaced by modern lights. They have an unusual shape, but they aren't exactly beautiful. A few older buildings have been preserved among them. And their is a Roman gate that looks like a triumphal arch.

The Roman gate

Avenues bear the names of generals: Joffre was the French commander on the Western Front until 1916; Maginot was responsible for constructing a useless line of fortifications meant to protect this front; and Foch was the commander at the time of the German surrender at the end of the Great War. Like their German counterparts, they ruthlessly sacrificed millions of soldiers.

Martial reliefs at the entrance to the Ney barracks

Metz has always been a front-line city and was therefore continually developed into a formidable fortress. As early as the 17th century, Vauban reinforced the fortifications. Even before 1871, a ring of fortifications was constructed 4 km from the city center. During the German occupation before the First World War, Metz was the strongest fortress in the German Empire. A second ring of fortifications was established about 20 km from the center. The original city fortifications were largely demolished and replaced by new urban districts. In 1910, approximately 13,000 German soldiers were stationed in the city, representing about 25% of the population. Remnants of fortifications from all periods can still be seen throughout the city. Some are now integrated into the public gardens overlooking the Moselle and Seille rivers. The former arsenal now houses a concert hall, but the adjacent Ney barracks, with its martial relief decorations on the entrance gate, still serves the military. A little further on, a round medieval tower of the city’s early fortifications has been preserved.

City fortification turned into a park with snow covered palm trees

But Metz has been fortunate. In modern warfare, which relentlessly seeks destruction, it has escaped unscathed. The fortresses were never put to the test. The medieval center is largely preserved and is itself on a tentative list for UNESCO World Heritage status.

Place St. Louis Metz

These districts also caught the attention of Joseph Roth as early as 1927. During his tour of the city with W., he wrote:

„Wir kamen durch schmale Gassen, die an das Seineviertel erinnern. Die gleiche düstere Heiterkeit und dieselbe Jugend im Altern. Dieser Geruch, der aus Lagerräumen, Kanälen, Rattenlöchern, Wohnungen kommt und dennoch kein Gestank ist. Denn er ist durchsetzt vom Duft des Wassers. Wären diese alten Häuser breit und solide, sie wären tragisch in ihrer Dunkelheit, in ihrer Armut, in ihrem Alter. Aber sie sind dünn und luftig. Sie sind schmal und leichtsinnig. Sie sind die Bohemiens unter den Häusem“.

(“We walked through narrow alleyways reminiscent of the Seine district. The same somber cheerfulness and youthful spirit in old age. That smell emanating from storerooms, canals, rat holes, and apartments, yet it isn't a stench. Because it's permeated with the scent of water. If these old houses were broad and solid, they would be tragic in their darkness, in their poverty, in their age. But they are thin and airy. They are narrow and carefree. They are the bohemians among houses.”)

Medieval Metz

The city has managed to keep its old town vibrant, even in winter. There's an extensive pedestrian zone full of shops. The alleyways are teeming with eager shoppers, many of them talk in German. Cars have been banished from the streets to underground parking garages. To save customers from long walks, there are small electric buses that crisscross the old town.

Marché de Noel at the Place St. Louis Metz

At Place St Louis, the stalls of the Christmas market still stand. The shingle-covered gabled roofs of the charming medieval stalls are blanketed in snow. Unlike most Christmas markets, the subtly colored stalls blend seamlessly into their medieval surroundings. Behind them, arcades house rows of restaurants, brasseries, and bistros. Even in this weather, a few smokers sit outside, sheltered by the vaulted ceilings.

Lorrainian christmas stalls

The crowning glory of the old town is the gigantic St. Stephen's Cathedral, the seat of the bishops of Metz, which sits majestically on the hill overlooking the river. The cathedral's is so impressive likely due to the nave, which is the third-highest in France. A particularly tall tower is hardly necessary. The lofty nave provides the space for the world's largest area of stained-glass windows, bathing the interior in a magical light.

St. Stephen's Cathedral and river Moselle in Metz

It's always worthwhile to look for unusual figures in the tympanum decoration of a Gothic cathedral. Why is there an elephant among these figures at Metz Cathedral? And why, a little further on, are sad-looking women holding masks in each hand?

Decorations of the facade of the cathedral

The market hall is located in the square in front of the cathedral. It's proof of how important good food is in France. The selection of fish, cheese, and meat at the stalls is unparalleled. Shoppers with shopping bags hurry from stall to stall.

It's snowing harder and harder. The path is icy under the layer of snow. The city cleaning crews can't keep up with clearing and gritting. A woman is feeling her way forward with the same caution as me. "We have to be careful," she says. "We're not used to these conditions anymore."

Snow in the medieval parts of Metz

It's evening, and I'm hungry. I had hoped in vain to find something to eat in the market hall. Instead, I go to a café on the corner of the square in front of the cathedral. But like all the other restaurants here, you can't eat until 7. The restaurant section is closed. I sit down at one of the stained tables in the brasserie and order a beer. I greedily devour the salty pretzels that come with it as a snack. Meanwhile, the waitress is fighting off coughing fits. A male figure is tattooed on the cleavage between her breasts. But even when the clock strekes seven there's no sign of the restaurant opening. There are no other guests besides me.

I end up at a typical restaurant a little further on, in a small square. The owner places a beer in front of me. Most of the other guests are Germans eating mussels. I order rabbit.

When Alsace-Lorraine was annexed by Germany in 1871, only 1,952 of Metz's 47,242 inhabitants listed German as their mother tongue. Although there was a significant influx of Germans from other German states during the German occupation, the German-speaking population in Alsace-Lorraine likely never exceeded 15-20% of the total population. The vast majority remained French-speaking. In contrast, the 1900 census in the city of Metz showed that 78% of respondents in the city district indicated German and 22% French as their mother tongue. The Germans were primarily employed in the Germanized administration and the military. By the end of World War I, however, approximately 93% of the population of Alsace-Lorraine was German-speaking. Given that speaking French openly in public was forbidden, this is hardly surprising. Following Germany's defeat, most Germans left the city and Alsace-Lorraine at the end of the war.

If he was indeed Hermann Wendel, then Joseph Roth's Führer W. also left the city of Metz before the outbreak of war. The same applies to Walter Ulbrich, Wilhelm Michel, and other German writers. The fear of reprisals was great. This would not have been surprising given the outrageous behavior the German occupying forces displayed toward the local French population during the war. Joseph Roth also addresses this in his letter from Metz:

„Ich habe auch Herrn K. kennengelernt. Bei Ausbruch des Krieges war er verhaftet worden, eingesperrt, verhört, in ein Lager gesteckt, enthaftet, überwacht, noch einmal verhaftet, noch einmal überwacht. Obligater französischer Schnurrbart. Obligater schwarzer Anzug. Obligate steife Hemdbrust. Obligates Bändchen der Ehrenlegion, das übrigens nur wenige Lothringer haben. Ein einfacher alter Herr, der Frankreich liebt und Deutschland wahrscheinlich nicht. Aber während er mir seine Geschichte erzählte, rückte der politische Anlass seiner Leiden in jene offizielle und abstrakte Gegend, in der »Geschichte« entsteht. Übrig blieb ein schwarz bekleideter Mensch, ein grauer Schnurrbart, ein altes Gesicht, der warme Klang einer Stimme, die Leiden berichtet und die an stilles Wasser erinnert. Ich saß in seinem Büro. Auf seinem alten, überlasteten Schreibtisch lagen die gelben Papiere, die Politik enthielten, und Staub, Staub, das wichtigste Element des Papiers.“

(“I also met Mr. K. At the outbreak of the war, he had been arrested, imprisoned, interrogated, put in a camp, released, monitored, arrested again, monitored once more. Obligatory French mustache. Obligatory black suit. Obligatory stiff shirtfront. Obligatory ribbon of the Legion of Honor, which, incidentally, only a few Lorrainers possess. A simple old gentleman who loves France and probably not Germany. But as he told me his story, the political cause of his suffering receded into that official and abstract realm where ‘history’ is created. What remained was a man dressed in black, a gray mustache, an old face, the warm sound of a voice recounting suffering and reminiscent of still water. I sat in his office. On his old, overburdened desk lay the yellow papers containing politics, and dust, dust, the most important element of Papers.”)

At the edge of the shopping district

Joseph Roth must have been an obsessive writer. In his short life, he wrote 26-28 books and certainly 1,000-1,200 journalistic pieces. His works fill six volumes, three each for reportage and novels, all roughly 1,000 pages long. Everything is freely available online.

One of the famous poets of Metz: Verlaine

As a Jew, Joseph Roth himself had to flee the German Reich. From 1933 onward, he wrote for exile newspapers and magazines while in exile in Paris. Marked by misfortune, disillusioned with the political situation, and suffering from alcoholism, Roth died on May 27, 1939, in a Parisian charity hospital from double pneumonia. The lethal course of the illness was exacerbated by the abrupt withdrawal of alcohol (delirium tremens).

The cathedral above the old part of Metz at night

Germaine Alazard owned the Cafe de la Post (now Cafe Tournon), his favorite café, above which Roth lived in a small room during his later years. After his death, she arranged for the publication of his last manuscript pages. In 1939, his final work was published by Allert de Lange in Amsterdam. The title of this last novella was „Die Legende vom heiligen Trinker“ ("The Legend of the Holy Drinker" La Légende du saint buveur).