Ask people to think of a fairy tale castle in Germany, and most will immediately think of Neuschwanstein, the extraordinary fantasy-come-to-life of Bavaria’s “mad” King Ludwig. What’s less known is that the mountain-top palace is just one of many romantic dreams in stone across the country. In the 19th century Germany was not one country, but a patchwork of many, and architecture was one of the ways the rulers of sought to outdo each other.
There’s been a fortification on the island at the southeast edge of Lake Schwerin since the early Middle Ages, when the Slavic ancestors of the Dukes of Mecklenburg settled there. Prints show a lovely Renaissance palace there in the early 1600s, but the place went out of fashion and was in bad shape by the time father and son dukes in the early 19th century decided to rebuild it. Romanticism was sweeping the art world, architecture looked backwards to re-create (and improve) historic styles and Biedermeier furniture and fashion was all the rage.
Schwerin is a wonderful pastiche of all of this, but where Ludwig based Neuschwanstein on his visions of the high gothic, the Dukes of Mecklenburg looked to the Loire Valley. The German castle starts with Blois, mixes in bits of Chambord and Ambois, adds on lashings of additional decorative detail in moulded terra cotta panels, and supersizes it all. It’s surrounded by formal gardens studded with ornate statuary, and its lakeside position on the edge of both Mecklenburg’s capital city and a vast park makes it the focus of scores of picturesque views. Inside, there’s a fortune in gold leaf, overlapping layers of decorative detail and a throne room that makes the one at Buckingham Palace look subtle and understated. A sensitive soul, or a French purist, might condemn the place as an over-the-top assault on the senses. Those who like opulence, however, really need to get Schwerin on their bucket lists.
Schwerin’s current dazzle, however, is really only a generation old. There are reasons you probably haven’t heard of it, and for why everything is quite so glittering today. Like neighbouring Rostock, Schwerin Castle didn’t have a good 20th century. Its dukes abdicated in 1918, it went through two losing world wars, then ended up behind the iron curtain. Maintaining, much less celebrating, the architecture of the wealthy ruling classes was never going to fit the zeitgeist of the GDR. One can only imagine the beating the place took in various communist state incarnations, including a training college for kindergarten teachers. The current tour includes a peek into a few rooms that haven’t been restored yet, their faded, shabby grandeur emphasising just what an extraordinary job local craftspeople have done bringing this sleeping beauty back to life.
Following the re-unification of Germany, Mecklenburg-Vorpommern became a new state and the castle the seat of its government. Renewed civic pride and a desire to reclaim a near-lost past must have inspired the restorers, and the accountants who funded them. In addition to the 19th century palace wing, there's a magnificently modern council chamber inserted into a hall within the old fabric that was beyond resurrection. If you didn’t see those still-to-be-restored rooms it would be hard to believe that this place had ever fallen on hard times.
Rich woodwork differentiates Schwerin. Dark panelling gleams. Animals and plants twine in carved detail. Parquet and marquetry floors dazzle. It’s no surprise, given that forestry is still one of this area’s key industries and our train passed many cars stacked high with fresh-cut timber on the way from Rostock. But it’s a long way from a felled tree to creating a heraldic fantasy on the floor of your throne room that’s so detailed you’d think someone had painted it, rather than inlaying it with wood.
Aside from the throne room, layered with marbles, heraldry, gilt, opulent fabrics and detailed plasterwork, my favourites were the three rooms built into the main round tower overlooking the gardens and lake. While each had spectacular views, the decor varied considerably. The lowest level was a highly feminine vision of Napoleonic neo-classicism, in pinks, burgundies, and faux marble, complete with a small copy of Canova’s shocking nude reclining statue of Napoleon’s sister, Pauline Borghese. One floor up is a bower of love and flora, where the Duchess of the time is painted in circular insets around the room with flowers of each month in her hair, as more flowers cascade down the curtains and across the plaster. On the top floor the tower turns masculine, all dark colours and gothic tracery on the ceiling.
Outside the castle is surrounded by beautiful formal gardens planted with abundant colour, made all the more photogenic because they’re sandwiched in between the lake and the castle’s fanciful towers. There’s a unique sunken orangery that now serves as a restaurant. Beyond, the town itself is full of gracious architecture and there are vast parks near the castle. Plus boat rides on the lake. (Sadly, we didn’t have time for anything beyond the main building, where admission comes with an excellent audio guide in English that will encourage you to linger.)
And don’t miss one of the best signs ever that Germans really do have a sense of humour, found on the crossing signals at the intersection outside the castle. The building is supposedly haunted by the ghost of a diminutive cavalier named Petermännchen. Schwerin’s town council has immortalised him in the stop and go lights of the pedestrian crossing. Just another piece of magic in this place that’s well off the usual tourist track, despite its magnificence. If you’re ever in Northeast Germany, make Schwerin a priority and help put it back on the sightseeing map.
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