The morning of May 23, 1912, witnessed the christening of a new German icon. For many Germans, it was a wonder of the modern age, a powerful symbol of the nation's achievements in industry, engineering, and technology. For others, it was the embodiment of all the evils wrought by political, social, and cultural transformation. Some said it expressed the character of the German people, in a manner similar to Cologne Cathedral and Sanssouci, the palace of Frederick the Great. But there were those who thought it “appeared as a typical manifestation of the new Germany, with its huckstering and obtrusive manners, more a snobbism than a symbol of German competence.” The Kaiser was fascinated by this expression of the ambition, ingenuity, and might of an Empire in which he believed power rested with himself, the Prussian nobility, and a powerful military complex. And yet Hamburg's mayor, Johann Heinrich Burchard, echoed the feelings of many when he described this new wonder as “above all … the product of a flourishing, self-conscious German middle class.” Although extolled as a symbol of German unity, Social Democrats denounced the modern leviathan as an expression of class inequality and lamented that ten men were killed and one hundred injured while constructing it. With this in mind, how could Germany be proud of what it had achieved?
Terrestrial laser scanning for heritage conservation:
the Cologne Cathedral documentation project
