In the charming town of Bad Arolsen that emerges from the woods like a shining baroque jewel, the prince invites Roma and Sinti from all over Europe to an annual festival. It’s thanks to these particular woodlands that, rather than appearing strange, such activities seem perfectly in order. An ancient kind of order.

As a town, Bad Arolsen emanates an unexpected geometrical strictness that you wouldn’t normally associate with a baroque town. But that’s precisely what stimulates the many visitors to reconsider their preconceived ideas of baroque as an elaborately decorative style overcrowded with hosts of fluttering little angelic figures. The prince has opened his palace to the public, and it’s certainly worth visiting.

There are all kinds of princes, counts and landed gentry in the state of Hesse. They all fit surprisingly well into the overall picture of a profoundly middle-class and democratic post-war construct, which is what this state actually is. They are very useful as far as history and regional identity are concerned, even though big-city inhabitants visiting one of the little residential towns occasionally express their surprise at the language of the local subjects who have preserved the style of feudal times.

It seems to me that, despite all the regional contrasts and contradictions, Hesse has maintained its equilibrium. This may surprise some people who are accustomed to arguing in terms of conurbations and structural weaknesses. I venture to claim that the tolerability of Frankfurt and its surroundings is guaranteed because the tranquil areas absorb the pressures of this region that sometimes threatens to overheat. The little metropolis with the many banks and its tendency to suck in and swallow everything around it – this city owes its pleasant climate to the “Mittelgebirge.” By that I don’t mean just the real fresh winds that come to town from the Taunus – but all that surrounding countryside, its enduring tranquillity and measured pace.