It's a quiet place, almost overlooked between the schoolyard and the palace garden, yet it bears a weight that cannot be measured – only sensed. The memorial fountain at Elster Castle stands there like a brick interjection. A small colonnade, painted a milky yellow, protects the little stone fountain. Above it, an inscription in gold: "God's little fountain has water in abundance..." – a pious verse that speaks of sowing, death, and homecoming. It sounds pathetic if you read too quickly. But anyone who stops here, who hears the gentle dripping and contemplates the golden water pipe with its dragon head, realizes: This is not a cliché, but a silent promise.
The place is dedicated to the memory of "fallen friends from the seminary" – young men whose names are unknown, but whose lives resonate in these verses. The architecture is modest, almost rural – and that is precisely what makes it touching. Not a heroic pose, not a martial monument – but a fountain. Life. Water. For all.
The garden vines all around. In early autumn, the leaves turn bright yellow, in summer, the perennials hum. It's a peaceful place. Perhaps too peaceful for the history it bears. Or perhaps just right. For those who stand here think not only of war. But of what remains – when everything else passes away.